#love to see mundane shots like that

[rubikor]

genshin calm scenery

[winxanity-ii]

SACRILEGIOUS DEVOTION [1/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: So, Father Charlie is out here losing all his morals and sanity on Grotesquerie and my mind couldn't help but match it, so what's a better idea other than channeling all the religious trauma/journey into a spicy one-shot? i for one feel like it's a mini-therapy, but enough rambling, enjoy 😩🫶🏾 i'm in love with a holy man, mother 😔…. second part: 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Father Charlie Mayhew was a sick man.

Not in the manner of flesh, but of spirit. He could feel the sickness festering in the quiet corners of his heart, a sinful yearning that had taken root there, twisting itself around his thoughts like creeping ivy.

It was a sickness that, he believed, made him a grotesque parody of the holy man he was meant to be. For how could he call himself righteous, devoted, when every whisper of prayer felt stained by the way his eyes followed you, Sister ____?

You were a vision of purity, an embodiment of the kind of gentle devotion that Father Charlie envied and craved all at once.

He watched you from a distance, always careful not to draw your gaze, afraid of what you might see if you looked too deeply. How dutiful you were, sweeping the church aisle with a focus that made him forget the dust and see only the graceful motion of your hands.

The sun, filtered through stained glass, seemed to seek you out, casting colors on your habit as if to mark you as someone far beyond his grasp, almost holy in your mundane tasks.

It was in the mornings, when he heard the soft chime of your laughter in the courtyard as you fed the pigeons, that he felt the deepest sting of his wretchedness.

The world seemed simpler in those moments, your laughter echoing off the stone walls, the warmth of early sun painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. He wondered if you knew how your kindness drew even the animals to you, their heads dipping into your palms as if receiving communion.

There was a stillness to you, a gentleness in every gesture.

The worst of it was during your services. Father Charlie had seen you on your knees before, hands folded in earnest prayer, your lips moving softly as you whispered your devotion to God.

He would stand at the back of the chapel, watching with a mixture of awe and something far darker. He told himself it was admiration, but the truth festered beneath that facade.

It was longing, a hunger that ached at the edges of his soul.

A storm raged outside the convent one evening, winds battering the church walls with a fury that mirrored the tempest building in his chest. The clouds were bloated, dark as his thoughts, and thunder rolled across the sky with a violence that shook even the faith he held so dear.

You had come to his chambers in the dead of night, your knock barely audible over the howling wind. He had been preparing for bed, freshly out of the shower, wearing only his boxers when he heard you at the door.

The creak of the old wood seemed to echo forever as he opened it, and there you stood, eyes wide, looking so impossibly fragile in the dim candlelight of the corridor. Your modest night slip clung to your form, the thin fabric shifting in the draft that sneaked in from the hallway.

Charlie's breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you, innocence incarnate, seeking refuge with him.

He hesitated for only a moment before allowing you in, quickly wrapping himself in a silk robe that hung loosely on his shoulders, barely tied. He knew he should not let you enter, but there was something in the way you looked at him—so trusting, so devoted—that made him abandon every rational thought.

You had come asking to pray with him, your soft voice trembling as you spoke. The storm outside seemed like a reflection of the turmoil within him as he let you step past the threshold, closing the door behind you.

Now, you were here, kneeling before him, your eyes upturned and wide, waiting for his command, for his instruction like the obedient servant of God that you were.

Your soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, a gentle, "Father...?"

Charlie could only lament to himself how sinfully pure you looked. He hummed softly, his eyes dark as they trailed over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders, the delicate line of your neck.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across your skin, highlighting the innocence that made his hunger all the more unbearable.

"Yes, forgive me, Sister. Let us now pray," he finally said, his voice low and rough, the words nearly swallowed by the sound of the wind outside. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead, and you leaned into the touch without hesitation, your eyes closing as if his hand was a blessing.

He swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling deeper into the forbidden desires he had tried so desperately to keep buried.

He began to pray, his voice low, raspy, each word a struggle against the chaos inside him. "Heavenly Father, we come before you tonight..." But the words felt hollow, their meaning slipping away as he watched you, kneeling so obediently at his feet.

His eyes darkened, wandering further down, tracing the lines of your form. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath—it all seemed to pull him further from the sanctity of the moment.

He should have been thinking of God, of salvation, of the purity of the prayer—but instead, he was thinking of you, of the way the thin fabric clung to your skin, the soft curve of your breasts visible through the modest slip.

He licked his lips, his gaze fixed on the delicate line of your collarbone, the way it rose and fell with each breath you took.

The more he spoke, the less the words mattered. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, spreading through his body, his thoughts growing more erratic, each word of the prayer slipping further from its sacred meaning, twisting into something profane, something filthy. "Protect us from all evil..." he whispered as he traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, the words a bitter irony as he felt himself drawn further into the darkness of his desires.

His hand moved lower, fingers trailing down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat. His touch was gentle, but there was a weight behind it, a hunger that he could no longer deny.

He could almost see the curve of your bare skin beneath the thin fabric, the outline of your body that he should not be imagining. He tried to focus on the prayer, but every word felt like a lie. He let out a shaky breath, the prayer faltering on his lips. "Guide us... guide us in your light," he managed, his voice thick with the weight of his longing.

The storm outside raged on, the wind howling as if to warn him, but Father Charlie could no longer hear it. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears as he looked down at you, so trusting, so willing.

As the final words of the prayer fell from his lips—"Amen"—you echoed him, your voice soft and unwavering. You blinked open your eyes, looking up at him with such innocence and Charlie felt himself slip past the point of no return.

He knew that no amount of prayer could ever cleanse him of what he wanted, that he could no longer pretend, no longer fight against the pull that drew him to you—the sweet, precious nun who had unknowingly captured his very soul.

Father Charlie stood, his robe slipping slightly from his shoulders, exposing the toned muscle beneath. The wind howled outside, and thunder bellowed again, followed by a flash of lightning that lit the room in a brief, startling blaze of white.

You were still kneeling before him, your wide eyes following his every movement, the flickering light casting you in both shadow and radiance.

Charlie bent at the waist, his fingers reaching out to cup your jaw, thumb caressing your bottom lip as his half-lidded eyes trailed over your face. "Sister ____," he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of affection, his name for you almost reverent, as though you were something sacred, something he could worship in his own unholy way.

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath his touch, a soft stutter escaping your lips. "F-Father...?"

He grasped one of your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours, and as he stood, he gently urged you to rise with him. His gaze never left your face, his eyes dark and full of something raw. He began to speak, his voice barely more than a murmur, the words heavy with confession. "As a man of God, there are expectations placed upon me," he started, his tone wavering between remorse and something darker, something that made his grip on your hand tighten. "I am meant to guide, to protect, to remain steadfast in my faith."

His other hand moved, slowly pulling your trembling hand against his bare stomach, pressing your palm against the hard planes of his abdomen.

You gasped, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, your hand trembling beneath his. The heat of his skin burned into your palm, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Charlie continued, his voice lowering, growing more intense as he spoke. "But these days... these days, Sister, I find myself at war. At war with desires that threaten to consume me..." His words trailed off, and he let out a low hum as he rubbed your hand across his stomach, the movement slow, deliberate.

Your hand hesitated for a moment, the warmth of his skin making you tremble as you instinctively pulled back. But his grip was firm, guiding you back, and slowly, tentatively, your fingers splayed across his stomach, your touch feather-light.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering down before you took a timid step closer, as if drawn by some invisible force. Your gaze shifted to the side, your cheeks warming with embarrassment at the proximity, at the way you could feel his heart beating beneath your palm.

Father Charlie's eyes never left you, and he could see every ounce of hesitation, every flicker of uncertainty that danced across your face. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke, his voice a low murmur, "There's no need to be afraid, Sister. You are safe here... with me."

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as you dared to look up at him, your eyes meeting his through the veil of uncertainty.

There was something in his gaze, something dark and magnetic that pulled at you, made your pulse race. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw; the touch almost comforting, but there was an intensity behind it that made you shiver.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice to speak, your fingers trembling slightly against his skin. He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curve of his lips, and he hummed again, satisfied with your silent answer.

His other hand moved to rest against the small of your back, pulling you just a little bit closer, his robe parting further, exposing more of his chest.

Your breath hitched as you felt the distance between you closing, the way his body seemed to envelop yours. You could barely think, your mind clouded with the storm of emotions and the strange, electric pull you felt toward him.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, his eyes darkening as he watched you. You felt your pulse quicken, your knees weakening under the intensity of his gaze.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and something darker, something that made your heart pound even harder. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your body react, leaning in just slightly, as if craving more of his warmth, his touch.

His fingers trailed lower, coaxing your hand along his body, and you felt the tension, the desire in every muscle. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a husky whisper, "Let me show you, Sister ____... let me show you what devotion truly means."

He kissed you then, his lips crashing against yours like a man starved. His mouth moved hungrily, tasting, devouring, and you felt his tongue lick into your mouth, coaxing a soft, surprised whimper from your throat. His groan vibrated against your lips, the sound raw and desperate.

Your head spun, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the sheer need in his kiss.

You pulled back, gasping for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss. He didn't give you a moment to recover; his lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.

He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken beneath you. The heat of his mouth trailed down, his tongue flicking out to soothe each small bite, and you felt your body trembling, a warmth pooling low in your belly.

Charlie's hands were relentless, holding you steady as your body threatened to give out, your knees buckling as his mouth worked against your skin. He pulled back only long enough to whisper your name, his voice thick with something between reverence and hunger.

Before you knew it, he had scooped you up, his arms strong and sure as he carried you towards his bed. Your breath hitched, your fingers clinging to his robe as he moved, each step filled with purpose.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His eyes roamed over you, dark and filled with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Father Charlie moved quickly, his hands deft as he pushed your slip off your shoulders, the fabric sliding down your skin and pooling around your waist. His lips followed the path of the falling slip, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your shoulders, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

You shivered beneath his touch, the cool air of the room prickling at your exposed skin, your nipples pebbling in response.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you, and he let out a low groan, his hands running along your bare arms, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "You're like a goddess," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence and lust. "Perfect. Untouched. A temptation I can't resist." His lips found your collarbone, kissing, nipping, his words vibrating against your skin.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, trailing down the center of your chest, his hands spreading across your back, urging you to arch into him. His kisses were relentless, each one making your breath catch, making your body react in ways that felt both unfamiliar and thrilling.

You couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do, where to touch.

Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze filled with hunger. He pushed you back against the bed, guiding you to lie down, his hands never leaving your body, his touch possessive, as if he couldn't bear to be without contact. He looked down at you, splayed out before him, your slip barely covering you, and he licked his lips, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dripping with a mix of adoration and hunger. "So innocent, so pure... and all mine." He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands working the slip further down your body, baring you completely to him.

The cool air made you shiver, your body exposed, vulnerable, and you couldn't help the way your legs shifted, instinctively trying to close.

Charlie's hands moved to your knees, gently but firmly pushing them apart, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction. His lips moved from your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he groaned against you.

He pulled the slip away entirely, tossing it aside, his hands roaming over your bare skin, mapping every inch as though he were committing you to memory. "You are... perfection," he muttered, his voice strained, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch.

His lips moved lower, trailing down your body, leaving a heated path across your chest, your stomach, and further down. His hands were strong, keeping your legs pinned open to the bed, his fingers pressing into your thighs with a possessive hold. He kissed along your inner thighs, his warm breath fanning over your skin, making you shiver, anticipation coiling in your belly.

You instinctively tried to scoot back, to move away as you felt his breath getting closer to your core, but Charlie's grip tightened, his hands holding you firmly in place. He looked up at you, his eyes dark, almost predatory, as he whispered, "Stay still, Sister... let me worship you."

He breathed you in, a deep, satisfied groan rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if savoring the scent of you, and then he leaned in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

A squeal, half surprise and half pleasure, escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the bed.

Father Charlie's tongue moved with a purpose, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands kept your legs spread, his grip firm and unyielding as he worked his mouth against you, his groans vibrating against your core.

He was relentless, his mouth moving with a hunger that made your head spin, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you.

You could feel his smooth skin against your inner thighs, the sensation only adding to the overwhelming pleasure that built inside you. His tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against you, his eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

The sight of you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with every ragged breath—only seemed to spur him on, his groans growing louder as he tasted you.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your hips bucking against his mouth, a whimper slipping from your lips. Charlie's hands moved to hold your hips down, pinning you to the bed as he continued, his tongue delving into you, his nose brushing against your clit as he worked, utterly consumed by the taste of you.

He was lost in it, in you, his tongue moving faster, his mouth desperate as he devoured you.

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, your body trembling beneath him. The heat built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter, until you felt like you might break apart. His name fell from your lips, a breathless plea, and he groaned in response, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body ready to fall apart under his touch.

Your first orgasm washed over you without warning, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you feeling weightless, your entire body trembling as you came undone beneath him. You melted into the bed like butter, your limbs going limp as the intensity of it left you breathless.

Charlie's mouth moved against you with a fervent hunger, drinking in every bit of your release as if it were the most sacred offering.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the sensation grew overwhelming, your body growing sensitive to his touch. He didn't stop, his tongue moving lazily, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, his mouth still savoring you.

Your grip on his head shifted, your fingers now pushing at him, trying to get him to stop, but his hands only gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you in place. "W-Wait..." The heat in your stomach was already starting to build again, the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue igniting another fire deep within you.

Charlie groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, his face buried even further between your legs, his tongue relentless.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, your body trembling once more as the pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your mind spinning as you tried to form words, but all that left your throat were broken, incoherent sounds—static that filled the room as you babbled.

You tried to scoot back, to move away from the overwhelming sensation, but Charlie's strong arms wrapped around your hips, yanking you back down, his grip unyielding. His own hips pressed into the bedding below, his desperation evident as he devoured you.

You teetered on the edge once more, the pleasure too much, too intense, until it finally broke over you again, your body arching, your mind going completely blank as you came undone a second time.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on you, the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming ecstasy that left you gasping for air.

As you came down from your high, your body trembling, Father Charlie finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. He stared up at you with dark, lidded eyes, his expression filled with hunger, with desire that seemed insatiable.

There was no hesitation, no regret—only a raw need that made it clear he no longer cared about going against his vows, no longer cared about the priesthood or what was right.

All that mattered to him was you.

A/N: i'm sorry, i just watched Grotesquerie last night and i've become obssessed.... ugh, the tension between father charlie and sister megan is just *chefs kiss* it's clear that megan is obviously meant to be y/n and the screenplay was written in the intent of it being catered to the female gaze because wheeeeww 😩...

[noekawa]

DOTING BOYFRIEND !

meal; oneshot

condiments; rambling, not pole winner post I just gotta share my love for him, Boyfriend! Katsuki Bakugo/reader

Katsuki Bakugo whose heart nearly bursts when he sees you walking into the dorm’s lobby with Eri in your arms, smiling so brightly as the little girl snuggled up and babbled to you about Aizawa. He snaps candid pictures and videos, ignoring the teasing from Mina and Sero.

“You’re acting like a proud father!” Mina jokes as she nudges his arm lightly.

He grumbles as he takes the secret photoshoot seriously, bending down slightly to get a perfect shot “I’ll make her my wife before that.”

Sero couldn’t help but be laugh “Woah? Dude has his priorities set!”

Kirishima butts in and a nervous drop of sweat goes down his neck “Bakubro your hands are making sparks..”

He only stops once nine rows in his gallery was filled with your pictures.

Katsuki Bakugo who usually goes to bed early, stays up just to learn how to help women deal with painful cramps after seeing you curled up and whining about the pain. The next day your desk is overflowing with chocolates and a thermos full of warm cranberry juice.

Katsuki Bakugo who gives a soft smile when he sees you on TV, answering stupid questions on a daily talk show. His eyes filled with adoration when you answered with his name when you were asked whose food you preferred the most.

Katsuki Bakugo who shamelessly answers with your name when a journalist asks what’s his secret to face danger head on.

Katsuki Bakugo who just melts into a pile of mush when seeing you do anything mundane, he’s too enamored by your existence.

Katsuki Bakugo who adds a brooch to his hero costume, which consisted of yours and his initials. Placing it proudly on his chest as a good luck charm.

Katsuki Bakugo who immediately covers your frame when a villain appears, refusing to even let them see you by using his taller structure to hide you. If they laid a hand on you they’d have burn marks lathering their stomach.

Katsuki Bakugo who holds you close to his chest at night as you were busy peppering kisses all over his face, he grins like crazy before letting out a lovesick sigh “Whatever you’re doing to me, I can’t even be mad about it.”

[housepartyprotocol]

Teammates

Oscar Piastri x teammate!reader

summary: Oscar and his teammate have a close hilarious relationship

Masterlist / TipJar

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, lewishamilton and 2,109,851 others

ynusername Photo of oscar accurately describes how I feel going into my home gp

view all 10,293 comments

oscarpiastri how do you always find the worst photos of me

ynusername i take them bb oscarpiastri oh my god user best teamates on the grid

user if only the mclaren car was better for them

user i think mclaren should be more worried about yn's insane internet presence ynusername omg no..... dont tell them mclaren you are mistaken we live for this

lewishamilton home race !

georgerussell silverstone ! ynusername Brit squad assemble ! landonorris here we come !

user YN is my favourite driver by a landslide

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, georgerussell and 1,992,938 others

ynusername he may've been schooled in this country but he is in desperate need of an education on pure culture

view all 41,291 comments

user I love the fact the minute she is not racing she has the craziest nails

user are they acrylics ynusername they are press ons, easy on easy off ynusername easy way to be hot

oscarpiastri I love that these are the photos you post, you're education was not coffee shops and bookshops

ynusername what nope it was very mundane oscarpiastri nothing with you is mundane user shots fired user petition for yn to release the other photos landonorris petition signed alexalbon petition signed

lewishamilton the most cultured driver crown might be passed down soon

ynpiastri omg can you knight me too lewishamilton i wish! user the crown needs to be passed on now

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, lewishamilton, and 802,439 others

oscarpiastri Just shy of a podium but got to witness the united kingdoms honorary princess on a podium. (also its not her birthday, her birthday is in 8 months)

view all 99,204 comments

user its always her birthday!

user always !! ynusername it is! oscarpiastri I am not getting you gifts everyday user he gets her birthday gifts..

ynusername mclaren domination in the foreseeable future

oscarpiastri so soon user i love them user they should date

f1fanupdates

liked by 3,420 users

f1fanupdates For the uneducated and borderline uncultured, meet the McLaren cuties. Teammates YN LN and Oscar Piastri channel the Gen Z unmedia-trained craziness. Having known each other from F3 days, their social media makes McLaren admins have heart attacks. Both having wins under their belt, it makes them a very strong team, a force. Would I be lying if I said they would be cute together...

view all 198 comments

user I love them, they are my parents, together or not

user they are iconic I hope they never get trained

user they are the hottest drivers, McLaren slayed with this pairing

user preach

user I already thought they were dating

user no they are just friendly user I bet there are underlying feelings

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, landonorris, and 2,202,420 others

ynusername checking out the opposition. checking OUT the opposition

view all 70,436 others

user she is unhinged

user she is iconic

user is she dating lewis

user nah lewis is married user since when?!?

oscarpiastri don't you dare jump ship

ynusername can't promise anything pooks oscarpiastri you better mclaren you better ynusername till death does us part x

lewishamilton you are not smart with this caption

ynusername innocent until proven guilty lewishamilton you are baiting him user WHO, LEWIS TELL US user OMgggg drama

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, lewishamilton, landonorris and 892,104 others

oscarpiastri pov we were meant to be at the technology centre at 9. One of us was

view 67,241 comments

ynusername nooo youve made me look bad, it was traffic

oscarpiastri So, thats not an ice cold coffee in the selfie you sent me ynusername no one was meant to see that oscapiastri nothing you send me is safe sweetheart ynusername I ... okay user omg is she lost for words

user thats possible??

user omg they sent each other photos

user thats not a crazy thing user just let me believe they have feelings

mclaren ohhhh thats why you were late

ynusername no not at all mother mclaren mother is disappointed oscarpiastri what is happening? mclaren its okay son oscarpiastri oh hell naw we are not siblings user hes not helping the rumours

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, mclaren, and 2,579,546 others

ynusername A visual representation of me trying to soft launch a relationship

view all 278,543 comments

oscarpiastri is this why you have been screaming/wheezing in your drivers room for the last 30 mins

user omg she is just like the rest of us oscarpiastri shes been in tears screaming 'why do i have none without his face!!' ynusername you are out of line Piastri oscarpiastri wow, not the surname

lewishamilton very very accurate

ynusername huh lewishamilton we are going to talk soon ynusername @ anyone HELP ME oscarpiastri nothing can help you now

user okay so who do we think it is

user oscar user oscar user oscar user ah so a universal thought

f1fanupdates

liked by 8,250 users

f1fanupdates It has been five months since this soft launching started! We are almost in Abu Dhabi, and YN is still just teasing her partner. We all think it is Oscar, but it is still unknown. No matter who it is though, they look good together

view all 942 comments

user OSCARRRRR

user Imagine it is not oscar and it is some poor guy and now he's upset

user oh user thats a good point

user OscarYN for life

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, lewishamilton, landonorris, and 1,240,567 others

oscarpiastri Hoping on the soft launching YN's relationship train

view all 82,459 comments

ynusername wow, thats my next post ruined

lewishamilton for the love of all that is good, just post him ynusername booo oscarpiastri no booo its getting boring ynusername you think that, really.. ? oscarpiastri i do yn girl

user this is hilarious

user i thought this was an YN post at first user same! user oscar is getting sick of it lol

mclaren There were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded

user not mclaren quoting princess Diana user wouldn't it be four, mclaren, oscar, yn, yns partner user i think you are delusional user i think they are right user mclaren outing there relationship...

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, lewishamilton, and 2,520,636 others

ynusername my man my man my maaaan

view all 97,577 comments

user its officalllll guys

user im so happy i was right user they look amazing together user hot couple

oscarpiastri finally a hard launch pookie

oscarpiastri was wondering when you would do it ynusername i was teeing it up lewishamilton its been a good 8 months of you two sneaking around the paddock landonorris we all knew maxverstappen i walked in on them making out fully behind the mclaren hospitatility alexalbon we all did that day, it was basically public information

mclaren our evil plan finally worked

ynusername your what... oscarpiastri your what... mclaren nothing, doors sometimes just lock on accident user not mclaren admin confessing to playing cupid mclaren not just me, everyone, Zak once hid YN's car keys so Oscar had to drive her home ynusername WHAT OMG I FEEL BETRAYED

oscarpiastri

liked by mclaren, ynusername, landonorris, and 1,924,250 others

oscarpiastri HR approved of photos 1 and 2 of my girlfriend

view all 45,266 others

user goddamm

ynusername OSCAR

oscarpiastri hey georgus ynusername georgus? oscarpiastri thats you landonorris you guys make me sickkk ynusername love you toooo oscarpiastri hey... ynusername x

mclaren we do not approve of the 3rd

oscarpiastri I do not want another HR meeting ynusername THIS ONE WASN'T MY FAULT! DON'T MAKE ME SIT THROUGH ANOTHER user what happened last time.. mclaren setting work place phyiscal intimacy boundaries ynusername Oscar is not a good influence on me oscarpiastri you aren't a good influence on anyone love

user I love these two so much

user best teammates on the grid

user the next brocedes ynusername we arent having a dramatic public break up lewishamilton oh

[quantum1mmortality]

hihi! I saw your curly stuff, I love how you write him!! If it’s possible, nsfw headcanons for what turns him on? have a great day <3

Have I ever mentioned how much I love writing Curly? No? Well I am now. I love writing him. He's so awesome sauce, so boyfriend. My scrunkle

Tw/cw; lingerie, praise, mentions of masochism, accidentally almost wrote a one shot for the last one whoops lolololol, semi public sex IMPLIED

Not proofread

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1; Lingerie

You guys can't look at me and tell me this man wouldn't go BALLISTIC for a nice set of lingerie. He makes good money at his job, good enough to be able to buy multiple sets of high quality, lacy lingerie for you to wear for him; then make you do a fashion show for him when you get them. Curly definitely comes off as a thigh guy, so he'd pick out all the sets with garter belts, specifically so he can slip his fingers under the seam and let go to see all that thigh movement. It actually drives him wild. Those sets can be pretty expensive, so hopefully he gets a raise soon since he's tearing apart every set he gets you.

2; Praise

I know it's overdone to say a character gets turned on by being praised but idc. This man has a praise kink and I will DIE on that hill. For anyone else, a praise to him wouldn't matter. He hears them constantly in his line of work, so at this point it's just noise. But from you? You like something about him? Oh no, he's hard. You could compliment him on the most mundane of things, say his uniform looks good on him and he's thinking about that the entire time he's at work. By the time he gets home, he's in genuine pain at how turned on he's been ALL DAY and not being able to help himself. He could, but he'd rather you do it. He's quite the masochist.

3; Titles

Imagine this; you're the wife of a well respected captain at Pony Express, and you decide to be a good wife and bring your beloved husband lunch. How sweet! You go to his department and call out to him, "Captain, I've brought lunch for you~" you giggle, drawing out his title. He looks up from.. whatever he was doing only to find you, holding a lunch box with a smile. Okay stop imagining, it's headcanon time.

Obviously the first thing he's going to do is thank you for lunch, he was famished. But after that, it's all blurry. It's like being with you has unlocked a bunch of new experiences for him, he never thought being called his title, the title he earned, would turn him on so much. It's like hearing it come from you was completely different from anyone else saying it. You ended up staying his entire lunch break and talking to him, only for your words to fall on deaf ears. He could barely even focus on what he was eating, let alone what you were telling him. Eventually he just had to excuse himself from the conversation, leaving you alone as he attempted, ATTEMPTED to satisfy himself. After a while he just gave up and went back out to where you were, told you the situation, and asked for your help. He was practically begging you, what were you supposed to do? Leave him there? No, you're a good wife. Of course you'd help him, right?

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A/n; sometimes I forget I'm supposed to be writing hcs and accidentally lock in too much and go on little tangents. I'm suffering from success but it kind of fucks the vibe up ngl

[requiemforthepoets]

hey, are you still there? ⟢ LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: you know yourself that it’s sad that you settled on being a backburner, but you didn’t mind crisping up on lando’s backburner as long as he still think of you.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, unrequited love(?), open ending, insecurities, reader being treated as a backburner, childhood best friends, christmas angst, luisa, typos, and few grammatical errors.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i had always wanted to write this for so long, but i’m not sure how to pen it, but finally, here it is! so far, i’m satisfied. i don’t know much about luisa, but i’m sorry that luisa is kind of villainized in this 🥲 i’m sorry. this is like another christmas one shot, sooo haha i intentionally made it as an open ending bc i want to leave the ending to you, and let me apologize now bc this one shot won’t have a part 2. it just felt right for me to leave it as an open ending and leave the ending up to you. so i hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The glow of the snowy afternoon sun filtered through your apartment windows, casting long, golden shadows across the floor as you sat cross-legged amidst a pile of forgotten keepsakes.

Your plan was simple, really. To declutter, toss out what no longer sparked happiness, and finally reclaim some much-needed space in your small New York apartment. But simplicity soon faded the moment you stumbled upon a memory box that was buried beneath old blankets in the closet. You hadn’t thought about it in years, the worn out wooden edges now slightly faded, but just holding the box again made you feel something deep in your chest.

Sliding the lid of the box open, the faint scent of nostalgia greeted you. There was a mixture of paper and dust that carried you back to another time, another place. Polaroid photographs, ticket stubs, concert tickets, and tiny trinkets spilled out as you began to sift through the box’s contents, fingers brushing against fragments of a life you had once shared with someone who knew you better than anyone. Then you saw it—the camcorder.

It sat nestled at the bottom of the box, its black casing slightly scuffed but still intact, as though it had been waiting for you all these years. The sight of it made your breath catch, fingers hesitant as they wrapped around the familiar shape. A small laugh escaped you, soft and bittersweet, as a wave of memories washed over you.

The camcorder had been a gift from your parents, given to you when you were just a teen. At the time, you had rolled your eyes at the thought of having a camcorder. You were not exactly the type to obsess over gadgets or record everything, but your parents had insisted, saying something along the lines of making memories worth keeping.

You hadn’t even opened the box properly before you had told him about it. Lando had always had a thing for photography, an almost childlike fascination with capturing the world around him. Naturally, he had lit up at the mention of the camcorder. You remembered the way his face had brightened, how he had practically snatched it from your hands when he saw it, excitement radiating from him like it was Christmas morning.

“Trust me,” he said, voice brimming with certainty as he flipped the device open with ease. “This is going to be so much fun, you’ll see.”

And it was.

The camcorder had quickly become his, in everything but name. Lando had used it more than you ever had, his artistic streak shining through in the way he would capture the smallest, most mundane moments and make them feel extraordinary. But what stood out the most was his favorite subject. You.

Every time you hung out, or visited a new place, his focus would inevitably turn to you. At first, you had protested, laughing and batting the camcorder away, but over time, it became a rhythm of sorts. Lando, behind the lens, coaxing your laughter and teasing your smile, and you, rolling your eyes but secretly loving the way he saw you. Through the lens, even the quietest days seemed to feel alive.

You traced a finger along the camcorder’s edges, the faint outline of his fingerprints etched invisibly into its surface. Four years. It had been four years since you had left the UK—four years since you had left him. You told yourself that what you did was for the best, that you needed to grow, chase bigger dreams.

Part of it all was true, but the other part, the one which you didn’t say out loud, was the reason why your chest tightened even now. Was because Lando made you feel too much, and you were not sure you could bear it any longer.

You grabbed your laptop, briefly hesitated over the laptop’s keyboard before finally connecting the camcorder. The familiar chime of recognition echoed through the room as your laptop detected the device, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of nervous anticipation.

It had been years since you last thought about these videos, let alone watched them. As the files began to load, thumbnails filled the screen—tiny, burry windows into the past. You clicked on the first one, and the second is the screen lit up with a younger version of yourself, smiling awkwardly into the lens. Lando’s voice filled the room almost immediately.

“Come on, you can smile better than that!” he teased from behind the camera, chuckling.

Without even realizing it, a small smile tugged at your lips as you watched. The video playing one after another, each one showed a snapshot of your lives back then. There were clips of you on spontaneous trips—forests, city streets, karting, and endless car rides with Lando singing loudly and off-key while you laughed at him.

There were also quieter moments—rainy afternoon when you were sat by your bedroom window, lost in thought, while he filmed you from across the room, calling it aesthetic. Lando captured everything, from the highs to the lows.

The memories felt vivid, almost too vivid, as if you could reach through the screen and relieve those moments. It was the year he had started his Formula 1 career, and the first time you saw him truly chasing his dreams with everything he had, and were beyond proud of him. At the same time, it was also the year you were filling out endless applications to universities in America, unsure of where you wanted to go or what you wanted to do in life. It was like you were both standing on the edge of something new, something big, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.

It was also the year you finally admitted to yourself that what you felt for Lando was no longer just friendship. You had been so close for so long that the shift felt almost imperceptible at first—lingering glance here, flutter in your chest there. But you acknowledged it, there was no going back.

You found yourself looking at him differently, noticing the little things about him that had always been there but suddenly felt so significant. The way how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, his curly hair, aquamarine eyes, the quiet focus he had when working on something he cared about, and most of all, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better.

But you kept it to yourself. You couldn’t tell Lando, not when he had told you so casually, like it was nothing that he liked someone.

“I don’t even know if she feels the same,” he had said, voice laced with uncertainty.

For a brief moment, a hope sparked in you. Maybe after all this time, Lando felt the same way about you. Maybe this was the moment that you had finally been waiting for.

But that hope shattered almost immediately when he pulled out his phone and showed you a photo. The girl’s name was Luisa, and she was stunning. She was everything that you were not—model, successful, gorgeous, has a radiant smile and a presence that seemed magnetic. Luisa was exactly Lando’s type, and you knew it.

The realization hit you harder than you had expected. You felt dumb and foolish, for even thinking one second that Lando could ever see you that way. You were not like Luisa, you were not the kind of girl who turned heads or made people stop in their tracks. You were just…you. Lando’s best friend. The person he could have a joke with, confide in, and lean on, but will never see you anything as more.

So you stayed quiet. Buried your feelings deep, gaslighting yourself that everything was better the way it is. The less you talk, the less you risked losing him. Maybe if you kept on pretending that everything was fine, you could learn to let him go.

A new clip began to play. You were seated on the edge of a bench, face scrunched in frustration as you ran a hand through your hair. The sound of Lando’s laughter crackled through the speakers, light and teasing, as he zoomed in on your expression from behind the camera.

“You’re such a drama queen,” he said, voice laced with amusement.

It was clear that from that clip that he was trying to cheer you up. It had been one of those moments when everything felt overwhelming. Your plans, future, and feelings. Yet, even in your frustration, Lando had managed to make you laugh. He always did. Watching it now, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at how young and naïve you looked.

But the video carried more weight than just a frustration afternoon. That day, you had a front-row seat to another chapter in Lando’s pursuit of Luisa. It was the day he told you that he finally confessed his feeling to her, and you could still remember how his voice sounded. It was a mix of hope and vulnerability as he recounted every detail, but his excitement had quickly dimmed when Lando explained how his confession had met an uncertainty from Luisa, not really sure how she felt about Lando.

You remembered how that hurt him, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado. It was one of the few times you had seen Lando genuinely shaken, his confidence chipped away by a single sentence. Still, it did not stop him, if anything, it only made him more determined to win her over.

This is exactly what Lando is—relentless, persistent, unwilling to let go of something he wanted.

Then there was you, caught in the orbit of it all. A pattern had started to form, one you did not want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore. Whenever Luisa turned her back on him, when his texts went unanswered, or her attention drifted elsewhere, Lando would always find his way to you. His calls would come late at night, voice low and tinged with sadness as he stumbled through excuses to keep you on the line, and you, despite knowing better, would always answer.

Those were the moments you chastised yourself for loving. When Lando was hurt, when he felt small and alone, he always came to you. You were the person he confided in, one he leaned on. It almost felt like you mattered to him in the way you wanted to. Even if you knew, deep down, that it was not that. That it was temporary, a band-aid for his bruised ego—you couldn’t help but savor the attention.

But then, inevitably, Luisa would give him the smallest bit of her time, and you would become invisible to him again. The calls would stop, texts would taper off, and Lando would be lost in the glow of her half-hearted affection. You would feel the ache of being left behind, sting of knowing you were nothing more than a safety net, a placeholder, a convenient fallback plan.

It was a never ending cycle you despised, one that made you look at yourself with pity as you played into it. But whether it was out of hope or some cruel sense of inevitability, you stayed. You let it happen. Time and time again, picking up the pieces when Lando fell apart, only to watch him hand them back to her the moment she glanced his way.

It was always like this. It had always been like this, and somehow, despite everything, you definitely hadn’t learned your lesson.

The video continued to play, the faint static of old footage mixing with Lando’s voice can be heard, his laughter like a distant echo from another life. As you watched yourself on the screen—smiling, frowning, existing in a world where everything felt so much simpler—memories came rushing back, faster and heavier than you had expected. They were not just simple memories of moments, they were reminders of how deeply you felt, how much your life revolved around Lando without you even realizing it.

Your feelings for him had always been the silent undercurrent of your friendship, unspoken but ever-present. You had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that it was just a phase, that you would grow out of it, but you never did.

Instead, those feelings rooted themselves deeper, becoming a part of you. You wondered if the reason you hadn’t moved on was not because you could not, but because you hadn’t really tried at all. Maybe you were afraid, maybe life felt easier when you let it stay messy, undefined—when you clung to the hope that Lando might see you differently someday.

But the reality of it all was far less romantic. You had become his backburner, a place he turned to only when he had nowhere else to go, and the most pathetic part? You didn’t even mind. You let yourself burn quietly on his backburner, knowing full well you would never be the main thing in his life.

No matter how many times you say to yourself that it was okay, that you could handle it, deep down it ate you. There wasn’t anyone else you wanted, there hadn’t been for years. It was always him, it will always be Lando—his laugh, his voice, his stupid smile that made you forget the pain he caused by just being himself. You hated it, and yet you couldn’t even let it go.

Your memory reeled in to that one particular night, a night etched into your memory like a scar. Lando had called you on facetime, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. His eyes were red, voice trembling with raw emotions as he told you what happened with Luisa.

She had hurt him again, made him feel small in a way that he couldn’t quite put into words. Lando looked so broken, so unlike himself, that it made your heart twist in ways that you did not want to admit.

And yet, you couldn’t help but tease him. You told him how he looked ugly when he cried, masking your own hurt with humor. But inside, there was a flicker of something else—something cruel and selfish. You felt happy that he thought of you in that moment, that you were the person he called when everything else in his life fell apart. It was sick and twisted, and you couldn’t have hated yourself more for it, but it was the truth.

At the same time, you felt conflicted, torn between two versions of yourself. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt you by treating you like an afterthought. But the other part of you, the part that still believed in him, in the friendship you had shared since you were kids—wanted to comfort him, to be there for him even if it meant breaking yourself in the process.

You always knew how it would go. In a week or so, Lando would be back on his feet, back in Luisa’s orbit, and you would fade into the background again. He would stop calling, texting, and you would be left alone again, waiting for the next time he needed you. You wished you could stop caring, that you could let him go and just move on, but you couldn’t. You cared too much, loved him too deeply, and it was destroying you.

You stayed. You stayed because even though it hurt, even though it made you feel small and invisible, there was still a part of you that believed in him. In the boy who had once held your camcorder, laughing as he filmed you spinning in circles in the park. In the friend who had always been there, even when it felt like the rest of the world wasn’t. You believed in him, even if it meant you couldn’t believe in yourself.

You checked the timestamp on the video and realized it was nearing the end. The final clips began to play, taking you back to a day you remembered so clearly—the beach trip. The screen filled with bright sunlight and sand, camera jerking slightly as Lando filmed you running along the shoreline, wearing one of his bucket hats and sunglasses, your laughter ringing out over the crashing waves.

You watched yourself as if through someone else’s eyes—carefree, alive, darting back and forth like a puppy with boundless energy. Lando’s voice came from behind the camera, teasing you for your antics, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the memory.

It was one of those days you had hoped would change everything. Lando wasn’t thinking about Luisa then. He was with you, laughing, joking, making you feel like maybe you mattered more to him than you let yourself believe. You had clung to that slight flicker of hope every time he drifted back into your orbit, telling yourself that the moments he spent with you would eventually outweigh the hold Luisa had over him. But you know then, deep down, you knew better. You had always known better.

The last clip began to play. The two of you were in one of his cars, the camera shakily capturing the scene as he handed it to you. Lando had insisted you try driving it, grinning with the kind of reckless confidence that was so quintessentially him. You know that he hated someone driving him, especially that it was his car, but he didn’t even hesitated when it came to you.

The video was cut to him standing outside, filming you through the windshield as you tried to maneuver his car into a parking spot, and it was a disaster. He zoomed in on your face, flushed and irritated, as you waved frantically at him to get back inside of his car and help you. Your lips moved as you shouted something at him, your expression twisted in mock anger, but it only made him laugh.

That sound, the sound of his laughter—echoed through the room as you watched yourself scowling at him, completely oblivious to how the moment would look years later.

When the video finally faded to black, you sat there in silence, staring at the black screen of your laptop. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a sad smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The memories left a bittersweet feeling in their wake, filling your chest with an ache that never really went away.

You always knew the truth. You would always be in Lando’s corner, even when it felt like he had forgotten you existed. You would stay, waiting in the shadows, knowing full well you were his second choice, or maybe not even a choice at all. Yet, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care, you had settled on being Lando’s backburner long ago, content to exist where he had placed you, because even the smallest scraps of his attention felt like more than you deserved. You knew it would never be enough, but it was all you had.

When you left the UK, you had never properly said goodbye to Lando. You couldn’t face him—not after everything. It had been the hardest thing you had ever done, leaving the place where you grew up and leaving the person that mattered to you the most.

The day you were about to board the plane to America was supposed to be the start of something new for you. But it also turned out to be the same day Lando and Luisa had finally gotten together. It didn’t make sense at first, you had been too wrapped up in your own plans to notice anything strange.

You were so focused on your own future, dreams, and adventure that lay ahead. But the moment you realized what had really happened, the gut-wrenching truth hit you all at once. Despite everything, despite all the years of friendship, despite the deep feelings you had kept buried, Lando had never said a word to you.

The first sign came two weeks before your departure, when you noticed he had not contacted you. Not once. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken, and then, one evening, it hit you. While youwere scrolling through instagram, lost in the sea of photos and videos, you saw it.

Lando and Luisa standing together in a sunlit paradise. They were everywhere—clinging to each other, smiling like they had always been this happy. Their arms wrapped around each other, looking like the couple everyone thought they were meant to be, living out the kind of romance you had always imagined for yourself—only, it was not with you.

It stung more that you could have imagined. It felt like a cruel grip and punch to the stomach—seeing them together, seeing him in a way you never thought you would. There they were, living life, having fun in Dubai, while you had been silently fading into the background, unable to say anything, unable to be anything more than just a shadow.

It suddenly made the decision easier for you. Maybe it was petty, or childish. But at that moment, it felt like it was the only way to protect yourself. You didn’t need to say goodbye, or talk to him again. You didn’t think that talking or saying goodbye to him would even change anything. You didn’t want to face the truth anymore—didn’t want to admit how much it hurts to be forgotten, be pushed aside while he moved on.

So, you did what you had to do. You packed up everything, every piece of your life that had been tangled with Lando’s, and left. You left without a word, without any explanation. The silence between you felt so final, so complete, as if you were never even meant to matter.

When you landed in America, you didn’t waste any second. You changed your number, blocked him on social media, deleted every trace of him from your phone, from your mind, from your life. It was easier that way, right? No more reminders of what you could never have. No more wondering if he still thought about you. It was better to start fresh, even if starting over meant leaving everything you knew behind. You never looked back, at least that’s what you told yourself.

You gently closed your laptop, the soft click of the screen snapping shut, and disconnected the camcorder. You wanted to throw it away, erase it from your life entirely, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the hope that one day, you could look at it without all the pain attached to it, or maybe it was the attachment to something that had once meant so much.

With a deep sigh, you placed it back in the memory box, careful not to let it settle to heavily among the other momentos you had packed away. You knew you wouldn’t be able to part with it—not yet at least. Instead, you pushed the box deeper into your storage room, where it would sit quietly for now, out of sight but never far from your mind.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the box as if it might somehow speak to you, but all it did was remain silent, like everything else in your life that you had tried to put behind you. The soft sound of snow falling outside caught your attention, and you moved toward the window, your gaze drawn to the soft flurry of while blanketing the streets below.

Christmas was approaching in just a week, and for a brief moment, you wished you could go home, back to your family, to the familiar comfort of the holiday season. But the thought quickly passed. Home felt too far now, and you had your own life to navigate, a life in New York that, for all its challenges, had become a place you had grown to love.

You turned away from the window and began to change, pulling on warm clothes fit for the snow outside. It wasn’t much, just a quick errand to stock up on groceries before it got too dark. You didn’t mind the task, it gave you a reason to get out, to take in the city and its wintry charm. The air was fresh and crisp as you made your way out of your apartment, locking the door behind you with a soft click.

The world around you was calm as you stepped out into the quiet of the snowy streets, snowflakes falling gently around you, almost like a veil between you and the hustle of city life. New York felt different in the winter, quieter somehow, even as the holiday decorations began to shine brighter. Streetlights casting long shadows across the snow, and you admired the festive cheer that the city wore like a second skin. You had seen the Christmas tree lighting at the New Haven Green just last week, a tradition that always brought a sense of warmth despite the chill in the air.

Walking through the snow, you felt a small sense of contentment, something you had been searching for but hadn’t fully realized was within reach. The lights, crisp air—all of it made you feel like you had carved out a space of your own here. You hoped that it would stay that way, that the peace you had found wouldn’t be disturbed, even as the holiday season and all its chaos loomed on the horizon.

The grocery store was just a few blocks away, but your thoughts drifted to other things—nothing too heavy, just the soft hum of city life. It had been a peaceful walk, but then, you froze.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of something, or rather someone, someone so familiar in the distance. Curly hair that you could picture in your sleep. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, a resemblance that your mind conjured up after hours of rewatching old videos. You quickly dismissed the thought, trying to shake it off. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be here.

But then, as if the universe had conspired to pull the past back into your life. The person looked up, and everything in your world stopped. It was him.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. The air around you seemed to thicken, sounds of the city dimming in the background as you took in the sight of him. Lando. In New York. Of all places he can be in right now, why was he here?

It had taken a long time to convince yourself, year after year, that you were fine, that you had moved on, that everything was better this way. Yet here he was, standing only a few meters away from you, the same familiar figure that had been a part of your life for so long.

You both stood there, frozen in place, just staring at each other as people around passed you by. Neither of you moved, as if the moment held too much weight to let anything else happen. It was like time had bent around you, your mind racing, questions swirling, but none of them found their way to your lips. You couldn’t speak, you weren’t even sure you could breathe.

Lando stood there too, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that everything else feel irrelevant. You knew he hadn’t expected to see you. Not here, not like this. Yet, there he was—right in front of you, a ghost from your past made flesh, making the familiar ache in your chest resurface.

You had thought you were done with him, that you had moved on, but standing here, with him so close and yet so far, you realized that maybe you had not moved on as much as you thought.

The world around you seemed to hold its breath.

[gravegoer]

i need royal blood part 2 pleasssseee UAGUHDUAHD

Royal Blood — 🜲

i personally love this AU and i hope you guys do too.. for some ODD reason i havent gotten many asks about it but here u guys go summary: sevika helps u get ready for your ball, and a little jealousy

masterlist , part 1

It had been around a week since the night Sevika basically cradled you to sleep. Unfortunately, you didn't see her around much, feeling a bit lonelier without her presence to keep you company.

It's possible she felt guilty for having her hands all over the princess, thinking it's not her place. But in reality, she was just trying her best to resist you. She kept herself busy with mundane and useless tasks, but still hovering close enough to keep an eye on you.

And your plans for her didn't make it much easier for her to hold back.

During the week that your parents were absent on a trip, they had reluctantly allowed you to host a ball. Seeing as this was the perfect way to prove to your parents that you were capable of being responsible you had to insure everything went as planned.

You had your butler customize invitations and send them to a select few noble families. Even though you would have much rather invited your average friends, ruckus had to be avoided, and your friends would most likely cause more trouble than they intend.

Now it was the morning of the big day, despite your mind being set on Sevika the whole morning you had managed to pull yourself out of bed, still in your nightgown, and go downstairs.

As always breakfast was waiting for you on the table, you internally thanked the chef as you dug into your meal, savoring the flavors. The large window in front of you showcased the front of your castle, Sevika stood outside, simply watching passerbyers as if suspecting each and every one.

You laughed to yourself at how seriously she took her job, wondering what was on her mind. You set your plate aside and strode to the double doors to take a breath of fresh air (talk to Sevika).

You emerged, and the cold stone of the stairs nipped at your bare feet. She shot you a questioning look before you spoke, “So.. the ball is today”

“I know, i'll be on guard duty.”

You scoffed at her seriousness, “Really? This is my big day, and you aren't even going to show up. You've been cold this week.”

She sighed and her shoulders seemed to slump a bit, “Apologies, is there anything you want?”

“Yes!” You groaned, “Just— can you at least help me get ready tonight?”

She cocked an eyebrow at your question, “Isn’t that what your personal maid is for?”

“Well– I need help picking something to wear, and my maid is supposed to be bias. She will like anything i do, and you’d tell me the truth right?”

Sevika nodded, giving in a bit.

“Great! I admire your honesty, truely. Join me in my quarters tonight at 6:00.”

Before she could protest you were stepping back inside all giddy. It seemed you would finally get some time to yourself with Sevika. I mean she couldn't deny an order, Right?

..

Right.

Sevika showed up to your door at exactly 6:00 PM, punctual as always. You greeted her with a smile, now changed into a different stay-at-home outfit. You had been lounging around your room for most of the day while waiting for Sevika to arrive.

The balcony door in your room was open, and there were books strewn about your bed. She shook her head at your carelessness and walked over to the balcony, pulling the door shut.

“You know anyone could come in through there right?” She stated sternly.

“To my balcony on the second floor?” You laughed, "Whatever you say, I guess you're the boss around here."

She let out a small laugh that could be mistaken for a scoff and turned to your quite large closet, motioning for you to open it. You pulled the doors open to reveal your plethora of dresses and other garments. Sevika sighed at the fullness as you started to push around the dresses, looking for a color you liked.

After some time, you held up two dresses, and Sevika cringed at them, “That one isn’t fit for a ball, and that one is just—” You groaned, interrupting her.

“You said you were looking for honest, not biased.”

Shaking your head you dove back into the clothes, hands emerging with a beautifully embroidered dress, and another that was similar in style with a low V neckline. Sevika looked contemplative for a moment before motioning to the changing divider, “Try them on for me.”

You crossed your arms, “Well, I cant put them on myself, I need help with the corset.”

You said this like it was common sense, but Sevika looked at you incredulously, not expecting you to ask for something like that from her. She grabbed the corset that was on the ground and the second dress from your hand, “Okay, lets get this over with.”

..

"Fuck, Sevika its too tight," you grunted, hands gripping onto the back of a wooden chair.

Sevika had a knee between your legs, roughly pulling at the strings of a white corset. You were just about to be pulled back by her strength if it wasn't for her leg holding you in place.

"Why the fuck would you put yourself through this," she mumbled through gritted teeth.

You yelped in response, and she finally opted to finish tugging and tied it diligently in the back. Breathing a sigh of relief, you slumped forward on the chair, pushing further into Sevikas leg.

Her hands found your waist before she teasingly asked, "Tight enough?"

You nodded, somewhat annoyed with her sarcastic tone, and grabbed the dress that was on the seat of the chair. Sevika backed up and looked away to try and give you even an ounce of privacy as you tugged it over your head.

The dress hugged your curves in the torso and fell around your legs perfectly, with not too much poof and just enough embroidery. It touched the floor and covered your feet, trailing elegantly with you.

Sevika almost gawked at the sight, most definitely eyeing the V neck of the dress. She was glad she picked it.

"You look ready for a ball," she smirked.

"Aww, that's all you have to say?" You giggled, twirling around.

The small twinkle in your eye made her swoon, and she laid a hand on your waist, "You look beautiful, princess."

You smiled at her action, feeling the gentleness from that night return. It's like you broke down her walls in a second, with nothing but a mere look. You all but pried her hand from your waist, flitting over to your vanity.

Grabbing a clip and a comb, you motioned for Sevika to follow you.

"You know I can't do hair, don't push your luck with me. The corset was as far as I'll go," she crossed her arms as if she were putting a foot down.

"No, silly, let me do yours. If you won't dress up for my ball, this is the least you can do," You giggled, pushing her down into your plush vanity stool.

It creaked under her weight, and she sighed but made no further protests. You could see her eyeing you in the mirror, having little faith in your ability. But you just smiled and got to work.

Taking her small bun out, you brushed the small knots and tangles out of her dark hair. It was soft and shiny between your fingers. You admired the deep smell of her shampoo mixed in with her natural scent.

Then, you pulled it up into the same half updo, but instead of tying it with a rubber, you inserted a silver clip in its place. The clip matched her metal arm perfectly, with just the slightest touch of regalness, to show it was yours.

You held a mirror to the back of her head, showing her your work so that she could view it from the mirror in front of her. "It's pretty right?"

Sevika squinted at it in the mirror, bringing a flesh hand up to touch it gently. "Yeah, too pretty for me."

You scoffed and pushed her head gently, "Nonsense, it's just right. As a matter of fact, keep it."

And this would be your first gift to her. The first among many.

She snorted, "I can't deny a gift from the princess"

Looking at the small clock on your vanity, it read: 7:12.

Fuck.

It started in less than 10 minutes. You hurriedly pulled Sevika out of your stool and checked your makeup and hair in the mirror. She smirked at your worriedness and silently held out an arm for you to take.

You turned around to her, eyeing her arm before gently wrapping your hands around it, looking at her to gauge a reaction. But she walked you to your doors, opening them for you with one hand.

You smiled, realizing her intentions, she was going to walk you out in front of all those people. I mean, it was appropriate, right? It's normal for your personal guard to walk you out, only a safety precaution.

..

Well atleast thats what you told yourself as Sevika walked you down the grand staircase right into the party. People gawked at the sight of their princess, admiring the sight of your beautiful dress, others were staring at something— or rather someone else.

Sevika contrasted your appearance greatly. She stood menacingly at your side, glaring at anyone that shot confused glances. Her rough scarred skin opposed the softness of your exposed flesh. Your delicately jeweled fingers were wrapped around her thick arm as she helped you maneuver down the carpeted stairs.

You let her arm go so that you could start greeting your guests. Your servents had put together a grand ball, tables of food and wine were placed intricately, decorated with jars of flowers and other miscellaneous things.

Women complemented your dress while you shook hands with their husbands, offering some wine or water. You were on your best behavior, making sure your guests would report back to your parents talking about how respectful and polite you were.

A tall woman with dark skin approached you, her white dress with gold accessories glimmered in your eyes. She was positively beautiful.

You introduced yourself, "Hello, im glad you could make it tonight. Your dress is striking."

She smiled kindly at your remark, "It's so nice to finally meet you, princess, let me introduce myself," She took your hand and brought it to her supple lips, "I am Mel Medarda."

Your cheeks flushed, "Well, it's a pleasure."

When you finished the pleasantries, you turned to see Sevika glaring at you and Mel from her position in front of the door, taking over for one of the guards. Excusing yourself from the conversation, you made your way to the other side of the room. After swerving through groups of people, avoiding small talk and sending small waves, you finally got to her.

She watched you the whole way over, but decided to look away the second you approached her. Tapping on her arm you cleared your throat, "Ahem, your princess would like a word with you."

She raised her eyebrow, turning her gaze back to you, "Its not appropriate for the princess to be speaking to a worker during an event."

You laughed off her coldness, "Why are you looking at me so intensely then," You started circling her like a predator to its prey, "You wanted my attention?"

She smirked at your playfulness but shook her head, "Just seeing you interact with others is.. odd."

"Jealous?" You teased, knowing she most likely only thought this because she always saw you cooped up at home.

But to your suprise, her stern demeanor fumbled a bit, brows furrowing and eyes widening.

"No. Get back to your duties, we've been speaking for too long, people are staring."

If she wouldn't admit it, you'd make her.

i do plan on making a part 3 ! but im going to be working on some shorter fics + hcs so i have time to release the beauty and the beast fic :)

taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @slut4sevika @kylorey25 @archangeldyke-all

comment or ask to be added <33

[luvleyshif4]

BOUND TO YOU

Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Even after dating for years, you realize just how much you’re still in love with Rafe and how obsessed you are with him.

Warning: fluffiest fluff, lot of physical touch, tooth rotting love, reader is a book gyal, just readers pov (there aren’t really any serious warnings)

Word count: 813 words

Authors note: Soo this is the shortest one-shot I’ve written for Rafe out of the four. It’s just a little fluff I came up with after seeing a TikTok of a girl talking about how she’s still so obsessed with her boyfriend, even after 7 years of dating. Hope you all like it! 😘😘 (also love how this makes me feel so utterly single!!!!!!!!)

EDIT: I’ve already uploaded Rafe’s POV SO GO AND CHECK IT OUT!!

Rafe’s POV

The soft rustle of pages filled the air as you sat curled up on the far end of the couch, a book resting in your lap. It was one of those quiet evenings, where the world outside seemed to slow down, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble. Rafe was on the other end of the couch, his laptop open, his brows slightly furrowed as he typed away.

You had been flipping through the same page for at least five minutes now, but the words weren’t sticking. Your eyes kept wandering, drawn, as they so often were, to him. The way his lips pursed ever so slightly in concentration, the way his hair fell messily across his forehead. Even the small crease that appeared between his brows when he was focused felt endearing.

He was just sitting there, lost in whatever he was working on, but something about the scene made your chest tighten. Maybe it was the warm light of the room casting golden tones over his skin, or the quiet comfort of being together like this. Or maybe it was simply him, the effortless way he existed, the way he carried himself even in the smallest, most mundane moments.

You felt yourself staring, unable to stop. It was almost embarrassing, the way your heart fluttered like you were back at the start of your relationship. But here you were, years later, still completely captivated.

Rafe’s fingers paused on the keyboard, and he glanced up, his blue eyes meeting yours. His lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “What?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with amusement.

You froze, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Nothing,” you murmured quickly, looking down at your book, pretending to read.

But Rafe wasn’t convinced. “Uh-huh,” he said, his tone teasing now. You could feel his gaze on you, lingering, studying. “You’re staring at me, baby.”

“I’m not,” you said, a little too quickly, the warmth in your face growing.

He chuckled under his breath and set his laptop aside. Then, in one fluid motion, he lifted his arm and gestured toward you, silently inviting you to come closer. The look in his eyes was soft, teasing but warm, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

You closed your book, setting it on the coffee table, and moved toward him, sliding into his side. His arm wrapped around you almost instantly, pulling you closer, and you rested your head against his shoulder. His warmth was immediate, comforting, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. He smelled like clean laundry and the faint cologne he always wore, a scent that had become so familiar, so him.

Rafe didn’t say anything at first, just let out a soft exhale, his hand coming up to rest gently on your waist. His thumb brushed against your side absentmindedly, and the simple gesture sent a wave of butterflies through your stomach.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. His face was so close now, his features softened by the dim light. Your eyes lingered on his lips for just a moment too long, and Rafe noticed.

He didn’t tease you. Instead, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was slow, tender, and deliberate. It wasn’t rushed, it was the kind of kiss that felt like coming home, like an unspoken reminder of everything you shared.

His hand slid up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he kissed you deeper. You felt yourself melt into him, your heart pounding in your chest, even though you’d kissed him a thousand times before. There was something about the way he kissed you each time that made the world feel impossibly small, as if nothing else existed but the two of you.

When he finally pulled away, your breath was unsteady, and your cheeks were warm. Rafe didn’t go far, though. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes half-lidded and a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You nodded, but the words you wanted to say caught in your throat. Instead, you leaned into him again, tucking your head against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

It was in that moment, nestled against him with his hand resting protectively on your side, that it hit you.

Even after all this time, after all the years of being together, all the kisses and quiet nights and moments like this, you were still so completely, utterly in love with him. You still felt that same giddy, heart-stopping adoration that you did at the very beginning. He still made your heart race, still left you breathless, still consumed every part of you in a way no one else ever could.

You closed your eyes, letting the realization settle over you. It wasn’t just love, it was obsession, in the best way. He was your anchor, your home, the one person who could make you feel like this without even trying.

Rafe’s fingers traced absent patterns on your arm, his touch soothing. “You’re quiet,” he said softly.

You tilted your head to look up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking,” you replied.

“About what?”

You hesitated, your chest swelling with so much emotion it almost hurt. “You,” you said simply.

Rafe’s lips curved into a soft, genuine smile, and he leaned down to kiss your forehead again. “Good,” he murmured. “’Cause I’m always thinking about you.”

You didn’t say anything else, just tucked yourself closer to him, letting the steady beat of his heart lull you into a state of perfect contentment. Because in his arms, with his lips still lingering on your skin, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You knew you were bound to him the moment you met him. And even after all this time, you couldn’t get enough of him.

Authors note: Rafe’s POV is up now bbssss.😝

[sigh-tofm]

if you’re their sugar baby… (18+)

… price

- absolutely spoils you. adores giving you anything you want. if your gaze lingers in a shop window, he’ll buy you whatever’s in it. you suspect he’s infiltrated your phone somehow, because anything you look at online will show up on your doorstep a few days later. he takes you to private jewellery fittings and sits back with a glass of whisky while the jewellers puts glimmering necklaces and earrings on you.

in return, he likes showing you off. regularly takes you out to restaurants so expensive they don’t even list their prices on the menu. spoon feeds you black caviar and picks out the correct wine, the bottles so old they still have wax seals on them. loves seeing you wearing the dresses he buys for you, revealing the fleshier parts of your body that the rest of society tells you to hide. always wants you to wear diamonds in your ears when you’re his date. nothing is ever too expensive if it’s for you.

takes you to a luxurious hotel after and fucks you good and well in the satin sheets. goes back to base before you wake up the morning after, and leaves a generous cash tip on the nightstand in addition to the monthly four digit payments transferred directly to your bank account.

… kyle

- takes care of you. a sergeant’s pay is low compared to a captain’s, but it’s still a substantial amount and much, much more than you make. enjoys having a pretty lady to spoil. any visit to the hairdresser or nail salon is on him. will occasionally request a specific colour for your nails, and you know it’s to match a dress he’s bought you, waiting for you at home.

takes you dancing, spends the whole night downtown and treats you to high-end street food at three in the morning. you get fancy cocktails and colourful shots and anything else you want to try. if another woman gets close to him on the dance floor, he makes a point out of feeling you up, splaying his hands over you wide hips and soft tummy.

takes you home to his and you both fall right to sleep, waking up past noon the day after. arranges a massage for you to help with your hangover. sits in on the appointment and flips your towel up to eat you out when the massage therapist leaves. reminds you to use the credit card he’s given you in between your orgasms.

… johnny

- whisks you away to scotland when he’s off duty. borrows the family cabin in the highlands and accommodates you both in the master bedroom, spending the cold nights in a grand bed with a heavy pelt covering the duvet. loves the fantasy of having a big, soft secret stowed away in the mountains.

spends the days hiking with you or takes you down to the coast, where you watch the wild waves and enjoy cottage pie in a local pub. asks for the finest whiskey, refusing anything but the best for you. tells you all about the history of the old stone kirk of the town over steaming mugs of spiked cider.

lays the pelt out on the floor before the great fireplace in the living room and grins when you mention the cliché of it all. remarks that clichés exist for a reason and pulls you close. your skin grows goosebumps in the cold air of the cabin, but the fireplace (and the rigorous activity on the pelt rug) warms you both up. lays with you after, smoothing his hand over your side and enjoying how your soft body gives way to the pressure of his fingers. pays for first class on your flight back home and gives you cash enough to cover both rent and supplies for the month. makes out with you messily at the airport before you part ways.

… simon

- takes you along to all his going ons outside of active duty. enjoys having a partner in crime, so to speak. in the military he’s a lone wolf, so when he’s off he just wants to have you for company. price thinks it’s a good idea for him too, to at least pretend he has some normalcy in his life. you oblige. he takes you to all his mundane errands; groceries, changing the tires of his car, walking the old bridle paths in his area.

has you tucked in under his arm when the footie’s on in the evening, trays of hot takeaway on the sofa table. if you can’t decide what you want to order, he has you list everything you’re interested in and orders it all. entertains your questions about football terminology and plays with your hair. pulls a blanket over you when you’re close to falling asleep and turns the volume down.

herds you to bed after a little while and so enjoys having a warm, soft body to put his arm around at night. to you, it’s all so casual and natural that you almost forget it’s an arrangement, but he never forgets to pay for your company according to your agreement and always tips generously.

doesn’t say it out loud, but likes it when you straddle him on the sofa and lets him feel you up and make out with you until he comes in his pants like a schoolboy.

[redvexillum]

Me: Alrighty-ho! Time to work on my grossly late fraugwinska's DBD x HH event and @6esiree's contest!

Me, completely a sub to my desires despite having zero experience writing a lucifer x reader fic: This is gonna be a quick, dirty, SHORT one shot. No problem-o! *nearly 5000 words later* fhuck.

TAGS/WARNINGS: vexi's brain rot, p in v, cunnilingus, wtf did I just write, f!reader, lucifer isn't quite over lilith because ✨drama✨️, low key blaming @sociosin for sending me spicy Lucifer's ask and @the-other-soup for drawing sexy lucifer - I stood no chance guys

When you first matched with DuckLover69 on Cinder, you laughed, thinking it was a typo—surely, he meant to type DickMaster69. That seemed on brand for a hook-up app straight out of Hell. But as you stood there in his room, surrounded by luxurious, crimson-hued furniture and bed sheets of rich satin that would have looked decadent if they weren’t crowded by piles—actual mounds—of rubber ducks, you realized this guy hadn’t mistyped at all.  

This man really, truly, loved ducks. 

Maybe a tad too much.

You wove your way carefully through a veritable army of rubber duckies, each dressed in an outfit more absurd than the last. A little one in a sombrero sat beside a duck knight, complete with a silver helmet and a feather. You squinted. Was that one wielding a miniature sword? It stuck out from its back at a haphazard angle, as if this duck had met some unspeakable end in battle. 

How…avant-garde?

“Sorry for the wait!” A nervous, high-pitched voice broke the silence, followed by an anxious chuckle that echoed through the room. You turned to see Mr. Duck Lover, as he’d introduced himself online, standing stiff as a board, his hand twirling a crimson red apple atop his sleek, obsidian-black staff. 

He was exactly as odd in person as he’d been in your chats: curious to a fault and totally oblivious to social cues. His very first question had been, “So, do you know the King of Hell?” Not exactly small talk. But you had shrugged it off, telling him the truth—that you’d hardly kept up with Hell’s political scene since you arrived. You were too busy dealing with entitled assholes in your new, endless service job, a punishment so mundane it felt like Hell’s personal version of torture. 

You’d expected the conversation to taper off after that, but Mr. Duck Lover had caught you off-guard by taking a U-turn, asking without reserve if you liked sex. The question had been so blunt, so awkwardly dropped into the conversation, that you’d ended up laughing. After a hellish day dealing with rude customers, his lack of tact and straight-up weirdness had been refreshing, if bizarre, and you’d surprised yourself by playing along. 

And now here you were, standing in his duck-filled lair, looking at him in all his nervous, overdressed glory. “You weren’t kidding when you said you liked ducks,” you said with a grin, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible as you waved at a particularly stylish duck with a feathered boa around its neck. 

Mr. Duck Lover's shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darted back and forth. Two bright red circles painted his cheeks, and he looked like a mime who’d been caught halfway through his act. His fingers fidgeted with the apple on his staff as he tried for a casual smile, though it came across more like a grimace. 

“I-is that a dealbreaker?” His voice cracked, and you could practically feel the nerves radiating off him. You chuckled, stepping a little closer, savouring the way his breath caught, and his cheeks flushed a unique shade of gold, the colour spilling across his nose in a way that was like glittering treasure strewn across white sand. 

“Nah, just… observing,” you said, your grin turning wicked. “What’s wrong, Mr. Duck Lover?”  

You reached out, tucking a stray strand of gold that had fallen over his forehead back into place. He froze, his breath hitching, his eyes widening as if he’d been zapped. The blush on his cheeks deepened, and he puffed them out, holding his breath, looking for all the world like he was trying not to combust from embarrassment. 

Odd, yes. But somehow, interesting. You found yourself curious—very curious—about just what went on in that strange, nervous, duck-obsessed mind of his. 

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling at the base of your throat as you took him in. How adorable. Everything about him felt so out of place for a guy on an app specifically for hookups. He stood there, stiff as a board, his eyes darting to your every move, arms glued to his sides as though his own body wasn’t sure what to do with itself. And as you leaned closer, you noticed a large portrait hung in the back corner of his room—a family picture, quaint and well-loved. 

Am I his rebound? you thought, as you slid your fingers along his collar, grazing the crisp fabric before slowly easing it off his shoulders. His vest, a pale pink stripe against white, gave him a soft, almost innocent look—a stark contrast to the nerves dancing in his wide eyes. He didn’t resist, simply let his jacket slip down his arms, his breath coming shallow as you leaned in, feeling the heat rise as your faces neared, breath mingling. 

With a gulp, he stammered, “I gu-guess we’re doing the do, that's fantastic!” He tried to smile, his teeth peeking out in a goofy, uncertain grin as he let the jacket fall to the floor. 

“You mean…” you whispered, your voice low as you pressed against him, feeling his entire body tense beneath your touch. “Fucking?” 

He squeaked—actually squeaked—and tried to clear his throat, summoning a shred of composure. “That’s right, f-ffucking,” he stammered, the word awkward on his lips as he sounded it out like it was a foreign concept. “Because that’s… what we do. Now. Here.” His body shivered slightly, and you could feel the tremble that ran from his chest to yours, betraying his every anxious thought. 

A spark of curiosity bloomed in you as you watched his attempts at bravado crumble with each beat of silence. You felt it all click into place. In Hell, family didn’t exactly… exist. Sinners couldn’t create new life here, so the idea of settling down with a partner wasn’t the norm, let alone the idea of casual intimacy. But here he was, talking about sex with the clumsy innocence of someone barely familiar with the concept. “Hey…” you murmured, a thrill lacing your words. “Are you… a virgin?” 

The question struck him like lightning, his eyes going wide, his fingers clutching at his vest in a mixture of embarrassment and flustered denial. “Wha—first time?” He laughed—a loud, forced laugh that seemed to rattle out of him, like he was trying to chase away the truth. “Oh, no, no, no, not at all! I’ve… I’ve used my penis in… numerous ways.” His voice dropped to a low, desperate tone. “I even shape-shifted a few times for… added spice,” he said, his forked tongue flicking nervously, searching your face as though hoping to see doubt there instead of amusement. 

But you couldn’t help it. The men you usually met were arrogant, self-assured, and too focused on themselves to care. Yet here he was—blushing, hesitant, endearing in his innocence. A wicked grin spread across your face as you let your fingers trail lower, smoothing down his vest, tracing each trembling line of muscle underneath until you reached the waistband of his pants. 

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smirk, and his breath caught. His lips quivered, his cheeks flushed, but he returned your grin—innocent and eager, albeit with a slight, deliciously shaky edge. 

You wondered just what kind of man Mr. Duck Lover truly was as your hands moved along his body, peeling away each layer of his clothing, his meagre defences landing on the floor with gentle thuds joining with yours. For all his usual fidgeting and awkwardness, there was something disarmingly tender in the way he touched you, as if each stroke of his fingertips was sacred, each caress reverent. That boyish, clumsy charm he wore like a mask seemed to slip away, leaving behind a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your pulse race. 

“Been… a while,” he murmured, his hands wandering in tentative exploration, pausing over the soft curve of your breast, then settling firmly at your hips. The admiration in his voice deepened as he sighed, his eyes tracing over you as though you were something divine. “God really did create the perfect being,” he whispered, his lips grazing your shoulder, and as your bare bodies met in a slow, full embrace, it was your turn to hold your breath, struck by the unexpected gentleness of it. 

You almost chuckled, the urge to tease him—“Praising God in Hell? How blasphemous,”—hovering at the tip of your tongue. But as he drew you closer, his face tucked deep into the curve of your neck, words fell away, replaced by a silent warmth that seeped into every nerve, every inch of your skin. His arms wound tighter around you, his body pressing against yours, not out of desire, but a kind of longing that felt… deeper.

Meaningful. 

Your arms wrapped around him on instinct, though your mind buzzed with confusion. Shouldn’t this be a quick, meaningless fuck by now? Yet, here you were, tangled in his arms, savouring the sensation of him, feeling the quiet, almost desperate comfort he sought as he held you. The naked intimacy was strange, yes. Unexpected, yes. But something in you didn’t want to break the moment; it felt like a balm, easing all the stress and tension that had worn you down for far too long as you toiled away in your eternal damnation.  

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the steady warmth of his body, your fingers tracing delicate paths along his spine. Each gentle touch pulled soft, barely audible sounds from his throat, the hint of a moan muffled against your skin as your fingers reached his hair, petting through the soft strands. His hair was even softer than you’d imagined, and you felt him sink into your touch, both of you on the brink of letting go.

Letting go of what? You weren't sure.  

But suddenly, he pulled back, and the spell shattered. His cheeks flushed, his hands awkwardly clutching at your waist as he avoided your gaze, his nervous energy flooding back. “Right, uh, sex. That’s what we’re… here for, isn’t it? So, we should, um…” He forced a grin. “Do the, uh… the sex!” 

That was when you finally absorbed your surroundings, the vast emptiness around you, the solemn quiet of his home. There was a lonely hush here, dark and endless, filling every corner, every shadow. And, of course, the lifeless ducks haphazardly thrown around. 

But there was no one else. 

Not a soul in these halls. 

You slipped your hand into his, guiding him toward the bed with a gentleness that felt at odds with your own intentions. You almost considered tucking him under the covers, wrapping him up and telling him that he didn’t have to prove anything to you, that he could wait until he was ready. But he wasn’t a child, and you weren’t here to be his caretaker. 

He lay down first, an eager anticipation flickering across his face despite the faint tremor in his limbs, his gaze fixed on you as you joined him. His body, still soft with nerves, lay at ease, his cock resting against his thigh. You reached out, taking him in hand, moving slowly as your fingers traced down his length, stroking him with a softness that coaxed him to relax. You felt him tense, then soften beneath your touch. 

“Oh… oh wow,” he breathed, his voice catching as he watched your hand, eyes wide with wonder. “Y-you’re… you’re pretty good at this,” he stammered, awe shimmering in his voice as he struggled to keep his composure, his gaze flicking between your face and your hand, his lips parting in quiet gasps. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but smile—feeling the thrill of his innocence, of his complete surrender. And somewhere in the warmth of his admiration, his trust, you realized you didn’t mind slowing down. 

True to his word, his body responded to your touch with a newfound firmness, his length growing against your hand, his skin silky and heated beneath your fingers. The sensation felt achingly familiar, like a melody you’d danced to before, each note resonating with a purpose neither of you had voiced aloud but understood all too well. 

Loneliness.

That was the reason, unspoken and raw, why you both found yourselves here tonight. You didn’t need his name, didn’t need his history because tonight was about filling that hollow ache. It was a fix—a fleeting, intoxicating drug against the gnawing ache deep in your chest. For one night, the world and its relentless wear could fall away in the ecstatic blur of release. 

You moved to straddle him, your body lowering until your wet, aching centre pressed firmly against the length of his cock, heat melding with heat. His eyes flicked down to where your bodies connected, then back up to meet your gaze, a hungry, almost reverent look filling his face. As you began to grind your hips against him, the friction sent a rush of molten heat through you, a spark igniting as you slid over him, slick and needy. 

He watched, his breaths coming in short, shuddering waves, head falling back against the pillow, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he should reach for you or simply feel. His own pulse matched yours, every breath and heartbeat syncing to a rhythm of shared need, unburdened by names or burdens. 

Slowly, you lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance, pressing yourself down until his thick, warm tip pushed past your folds. Inch by inch, you took him, feeling every delicious stretch, every bit of pressure radiating inside you. A soft, desperate mewl escaped your lips as you sank fully, your bodies meeting in a perfect, seamless join. The raw sensation of him filling you hit deep, igniting pleasure like embers to flame. 

His head tilted back, his eyes fluttering shut, a low hiss slipping past his parted lips. “This is…” he began, voice trembling, his fingers flexing as if fighting to keep control, “oh gosh… really wonderful.” His hands faltered, barely grazing your hips before he let them fall to his sides again, his face flushed with both pleasure and nervous restraint. His hips lifted, seeking you instinctively, meeting each of your downward strokes with soft thrusts that went deeper, each time pushing him further within. 

“Oh, oh jeez, oh—golly…” He groaned, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he struggled to find words, every breath shuddering as he fought to keep up. His words, his earnest surprise, almost made you laugh, a kind of sweetness seeping into his awkward sounds as he gripped the sheets tighter. “Wow…” 

You bit back a smile, letting a small laugh escape between breaths. “What? You’ve never had good sex before?” you taunted, rolling your hips, drawing him fully within before slamming back down again. 

His cheeks flushed a deep gold, his chest expanding as he gasped, his muscles tensing beneath you. “N-No—ah, that’s not…” His voice wavered, breaking off in a moan as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, no… if you keep doing that… I won’t last long.” His voice softened, rich with pleasure and just a hint of pleading, as his eyes met yours, full of shy desire. “Please… I want this to last… just a little longer.” His words trailed into a low, trembling moan, his hands finally reaching, hesitantly finding their place on your waist as he held you, breath heavy with yearning, surrendering entirely to the moment with you. 

You hummed thoughtfully, sliding him out of you, his cock springing free and bouncing against his stomach, throbbing with the loss of warmth. His sudden whimper made you smirk, biting back a laugh as you hovered just out of reach. 

“I'm nowhere close to finishing,” you teased, keeping your wet heat tantalizingly close to him, yet unreachable all the same. 

“I can fix that!” he nearly shouted, grinning like he’d just found a solution to all the world's problems. Sitting up eagerly, he waggled his eyebrows with such intensity that it made you giggle. “After all, I was quite the… generous eater in my day,” he added, flicking his forked tongue out for effect. 

“Oh, is that so?” You chuckled, giving him a playful look. “Show me, oh great, generous eater.”  

He joined in your laughter, but then his eyes drifted over your shoulder. His face faltered, brows knitting together, and you followed his gaze. The same family portrait you had initially noticed back in your view—a tall, curvaceous woman with long blonde hair standing beside him and a child who seemed to carry hints of both their features. 

You moved next to him, and leaned back, trying to keep your tone casual. “If you’re going to bring a one-night stand over, maybe next time use a room without a family portrait.” The words came out sharper than you intended, a twinge of bitterness souring the edge. 

His shoulders tensed as he turned to you, eyes wide with a guilty look. “Oh—no, that’s not…I…” He stammered, his hands fluttering in the air as if trying to reach some explanation. 

You sighed, deciding to throw him a lifeline. You were here for fun, not drama. “Hey, relax. It’s…whatever,” you said with a casual shrug, a grin playing on your lips. But that lingering bitterness in your chest didn’t quite vanish. 

Mr. Duck Lover seemed to seize onto your words, scrambling between your legs, though his excitement from earlier was starting to wane. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, leaning close, fingers hesitating on the curves of your hips, as if battling his own mind. His face hovered near your core, yet he seemed frozen in place, like he was staring into the void rather than your body. 

It was quite a comical sight. 

If you weren't in the picture, that is. 

There he was—his head bowed at your centre, practically on the verge of a self-reflective breakdown. While you laid there, spread out and ready, and he was having an existential crisis. 

You sighed, raising an eyebrow as he muttered to himself, “I can do this,” almost like he was about to leap off a bridge instead of…well, pleasing you. His hands twitched as his hands hovered over your hips, eyes squeezing shut in concentration as if gearing up for some monumental challenge. 

By now, the mood had evaporated, leaving behind only the lingering awkwardness of his whispered self-encouragement. Five seconds later, you realized that, yes, you’d completely lost the heat of the moment, and this was likely going nowhere but more awkwardness. 

You reached out gently, brushing his cheek. “Hey…maybe we should…” you started softly, hoping to ease him off this self-imposed, anxious ride and spare you both whatever spiral he was about to go down. 

His eyes snapped to yours, full of a pleading, vulnerable intensity, his lips parted and his gaze almost desperate. “No, no, I can do it!” His voice trembled, and he bit his lower lip, the slightest twitch in his left eye betraying his nerves. “It’s just been….” 

You softened, trying to help him find the words. “Years?” 

“Centuries,” he murmured, looking away as if confessing a secret. 

Centuries. The realization hits you with a strange thrill. You liked older men, sure, but you wondered how long he had stayed in Hell for. “Oh…” was all you managed, feeling the surreal weight of the moment. 

“May I?” he asked, his voice a tender murmur, fingers twitching, hesitant to touch you. You could only nod, slightly taken aback that he was asking for permission now, especially after where you'd both already been just minutes earlier. 

The moment his fingers touched your skin, he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if relishing the warmth. He pressed a featherlight kiss against the curve of your hip, his touch more gentle than you could have imagined. With each kiss, he drifted lower, his lips tracing delicate patterns along your skin, until he found that sensitive spot just above your core, making you jolt beneath him. 

Your emotions tangled, caught between surprise and pleasure. You’d expected something hasty, careless, but this…this felt almost achingly tender. 

He opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze softening as his lips brushed against you. Then, slowly, his tongue traced between your folds, a warm, pleasant heat that sent a gasp spilling from your lips. His own groan followed, deep and low, a sound of unrestrained need, as he continued to explore you, his lips and tongue working in gentle, insistent rhythms. 

You bit your lip, mirroring the way he’d done earlier, clutching the sheets as your body arched, heels pressing into the bed. Every reaction you gave seemed to stoke something in him, drawing another low, desperate moan from his throat. He rocked his hips against the mattress, as if drinking each of your gasps, as if they were fuelling his own desire. 

“Ah—D-don't stop,” you whimpered, your chest rising as your back arched from the bed. But he didn’t let you escape, his lips chasing every inch of you. His mouth closed around your sensitive nub, sucking gently before he dipped his tongue to explore further, the alternating sensations sending you spiralling. 

Your breath came ragged and broken, each wave of pleasure building faster as he licked and sucked with an almost feverish devotion. His own body responded in turn, his hips grinding against the bed, the friction drawing needy, guttural sounds from him that only fed your own pleasure. 

The rhythm intensified, and just as you thought you might break from the mounting sensation, he pressed deeper, his tongue a soft, insistent force. You clenched around the bliss rising within you, every muscle tensing, as he held you there, relishing every sound, every tremor of pleasure that passed between you both in the heady, dizzying night. 

“Shit,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, fingers tightening as you pulled him closer. His lips pressed even harder against you, and you felt yourself unravelling, teetering on the edge of something wild and raw. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, your legs bending as the fire in your belly coiled tighter. Then, with one last fierce suck and an indulgent lick, he shattered your restraint. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, tearing a ragged cry from your throat as it flooded every inch of your body. 

He moved with you, his own hips shifting as if in sync with the rhythm of your climax, his mouth still sealed to you, eager to take in every tremor and quake of your release. His hand slipped beneath him, the hurried motion of his strokes intensifying, his fingers relentless as he chased his own peak while lingering over every pulse and shudder of yours. 

He moaned against you, his mouth vibrating with his own mounting pleasure, his hips twitching as he hit his release just after yours. His strokes slowed, tapering off as he gasped, his lips finally releasing you as his chest heaved. He knelt there, breathless, lips glistening from the shared passion, drenched by the evidence of his pleasure pooling between you. 

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled up beside you, eyes softened as he reached for you, arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders, guiding you to rest your head against his chest. You stayed there, uncertain yet draped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His heartbeat pounded against your ear, each beat so fierce you couldn’t tell if it was his or your own. 

His hand drifted up to brush your hair back, fingers combing gently as his breathing settled into a steady rhythm with yours. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, then another to the crown of your head, his lips lingering as if they held some unspoken affection, each kiss like a vow. 

“You were wonderful, dear,” he whispered, his voice a low, affectionate murmur, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. He stayed there, his arms cradling you, showering you with gentle kisses, an unexpected tenderness weaving around you both in the aftermath, grounding you in a warmth that felt real, if only for this moment. 

“I'm not sure how to even respond to that” you murmured, your mind still a haze, struggling to piece itself back together in the lingering aftershocks of your release. His fingers brushed tenderly along your cheek, and when you looked up, his eyes were warm, soft, his gaze holding an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. 

“You’re perfect,” he said, tilting your chin up, his voice thick with emotion. His lips pressed gently to yours, lingering as if he wanted to etch this moment into his mind. “You’re everything I want and more.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper, before he pulled you against his chest, his arms tightening around you with a fervency that felt almost desperate, as if he were holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. 

The raw affection in his embrace left you spinning. He held you as if you were his—an intimacy that felt foreign and startling. You’d just met him, after all. Yet here he was, clinging onto you as if you were more than a passing connection, as if you meant something deeper, something that couldn’t be dismissed. It was unnerving, a stark contrast to what you’d expected. 

Your eyes drifted to the shadowed portrait in the corner of the room, catching the faint outline of the woman in it—a powerful figure with curling horns and a smile that was as beautiful as it was unsettling. Whoever she was, she lingered here, like a ghost following his every step, a reminder of a past not fully left behind. 

But then, he murmured into your hair, “I love you. Please… don’t go.” His voice was fragile, almost broken, and his arms wrapped around you even tighter, his head pressing against yours, as if the strength of his embrace alone could keep you with him. 

There were many reasons people used Cinder. Some were looking for a thrill, some for a fleeting escape, some for connection in a moment that might otherwise feel empty. Maybe that was all this was, a bandage to the wound of loneliness he didn’t want to admit to, a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. 

You hesitated, your hands resting limply against his back. This wasn’t what you’d come for; it wasn’t what you’d expected. But then, you could feel his frame trembling beneath your touch, the vulnerability in his grip as if he’d waited lifetimes to feel the comfort of another. Gently, you placed a hand on his back, feeling the way he drew in a shaky breath. 

“I won’t,” you whispered softly, almost to yourself, your voice filling the quiet between you.  “I’m here for you.”  

It was a lie, but a beautiful lie, nonetheless. 

At your words, he shuddered, holding you tighter, his trembling easing as if you’d just unlocked something buried within him.  

You were just a passing soul, but at this moment, maybe that was enough. 

[httpswritings]

the girl with the hazel eyes: full story

alexia putellas x reader - sweet summer teenage love story - 6k words.

The soft rise and fall of her chest was a rhythmic lullaby to her senses. Alexia, a serene masterpiece in the dim predawn light. Her mouth was slightly parted, revealing a hint of vulnerability. A cascade of blonde hair fanned out across the pillow, creating a halo around her tranquil face. Lost in the enchanting symphony of her slumber, you'd spent countless minutes simply watching, mesmerized by the delicate beauty of her sleep. Yet, as dawn approached, you mind began to wander, carried away on a tide of thoughts and emotions.

It was the first day of summer camp. You were bursting with excitement as you began to meet the girls and boys who would be your companions for the next month. Everyone was so friendly, eager to introduce themselves, but then, like a fading dream, the world around you blurred.

Your eyes were drawn to a tall brunette standing alone, observing her surroundings. She looked about your age, sixteen, because she wore the same bracelet as you and the other people from your group. You wanted to approach her, but your feet felt glued to the ground. Your heart raced, and a weakness washed over you.

She glanced at you and offered a soft smile, and suddenly, an electric current shot through your body. You were jolted back to reality by your new friends' voices. When you looked back, she was gone, and a strange emptiness filled you.

To your surprise, you spotted the same girl as you entered your new room for the following month. She was hanging up clothes in the closet when she turned and looked at you. Her smile was even wider this time as she offered a timid, "Hi." Your feet seemed glued to the floor again, and you cursed inwardly.

"Do you need some help?" Her voice was soft.

You finally managed to move towards your bed, still unable to speak to her.

"I'm Alexia, and you?"

With a shaky voice, you told her your name. When you finally mustered the courage to look at her, you noticed her hazel eyes for the first time.

"Wow," you breathed out.

"Wow, what?"

You shook your head, feeling a rush of embarrassment at your own stupidity.

"Your eyes. They're very pretty."

To your surprise, her cheeks flushed as she giggled. "Thank you," she said, turning away to hide her smile.

-

Dinnertime was approaching, but you had no desire to leave your room. Alexia had been an incredible discovery. She’d shared stories about her life, school, and even her love for football, and you’d listened, captivated by her every word. She was undeniably beautiful, but it was her ability to make even the most mundane topic fascinating that truly drew you in.

As you both made your way to the dining hall, you noticed a group of girls pointing and whispering. They claimed to have saved you a seat. You glanced at Alexia, who simply shrugged, assuring you it was fine. But the thought of leaving her side was unbearable. You wanted to be more than just acquaintances; you wanted to be her friend, her best friend. Mustering your courage, you told the girls you’d join them next time, and then, without thinking twice, you took Alexia’s hand and started scanning the room for two empty seats.

A strange warmth spread through Alexia as your fingers brushed against hers.

-

You woke up after Alexia. The sight of her, newly awake, sent a shiver down your spine. You'd never seen anyone as beautiful. "Good morning, Ale," you murmured.

Alexia smiled, her eyes still sleepy. "Ale. I like being called that way."

-

The summer camp was finally in full swing. The first activity was a scavenger hunt. As the monitor instructed everyone to pair up, you instinctively grabbed Alexia’s hand. Without realizing it, you’d caught the eye of a few campers – some with friendly intentions, others something more intense. You could practically see the growing animosity in the eyes of some people directed at Alexia as your popularity seemed to skyrocket.

Alexia was a natural at the game, and your admiration for her grew with every clue she solved. “Ale, you’re a genius! You have to teach me how you do it. I’m going to be your partner forever so I can always win!”

As usual, Alexia blushed at the compliment but seemed to genuinely enjoy your enthusiasm. Trying to play it cool, she feigned offense. “Oh, so you only want to be friends with the winning team?” she dramatically collapsed to the ground.

You burst out laughing as you helped her up. A wave of warmth spread through you as the laughter subsided, leaving behind a pleasant ache in your stomach. It was the best kind of pain you could imagine.

-

Three days had passed, and Alexia's enemy list seemed to grow by the hour. The poor girl was oblivious to the brewing storm around her, focused only on the warmth of your companionship. However, she couldn't ignore the constant attention you were receiving. People flocked to you, completely disregarding her existence, their voices a persistent hum in the background as they tried to engage you in conversation. Your unwavering responses - "I can't, I'm with Ale," "I'm already paired up with Ale," "I'm hanging out with Ale today, maybe tomorrow" - were a clear shield protecting your time together. Alexia loved the exclusivity of your attention, your delicate nature and quirky humor captivating her completely.

-

Elena, a tall brunette with captivating brown eyes, had invited you and Alexia to join a group activity that night. Alexia, ever shy around crowds, had declined, but insisted you to go. Missing her terribly, you decided to join the fun anyway.

Underneath the starry sky, you spotted a shooting star and made a wish: "To always be with Alexia." Your peaceful moment was interrupted by a boy named Mikel. His companion, Xenia, boldly asked you out on his behalf. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you managed to keep your cool. You didn't want to hurt Mikel's feelings, so you gently explained that you were a lesbian. "A very lesbian lesbian," you emphasized, trying to be clear on the word lesbian.

Returning to your room, you found Alexia asleep. Looking at her, you whispered, "Goodnight, Ale."

-

The next morning, you had no chance to tell Alexia what happened; she had already left. A note was slipped under your door: “I’m going for a walk. See you later, nena.” You pocketed it, a physical reminder of her absence.

The entire day passed without her, and the emptiness grew with each passing hour. You missed her laugh, her sharp wit, her ability to make anything interesting. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you realized you were falling for her. Hard. How could you not? She was everything you had ever dreamed of. The princess you had imagined as a child, the queen you had hoped to find—a far cry from the fairy-tale princes your friends had desired.

Bored, you hanged out with some friends and skipped dinner.

-

The next morning, Alexia was nowhere to be found. She’d left without a trace, unlike the previous day. Impatience gnawed at you, and you set out to find her. Spotting her with a group of friends, you admired her from afar, her beauty striking.

But as days turned into nights, that initial admiration soured into something deeper. It felt like Alexia was deliberately avoiding you, and the longing for her company grew stronger. You couldn’t bear it any longer. Finding her alone in your room, you blocked her exit.

"What?" Her voice was flat.

"Did I do something wrong?" You asked, your voice trembling slightly.

"What?" She repeated, confusion etched on her face.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met her gaze. "You’re ignoring me, Ale. And I don’t know if I did something wrong. I miss you..."

Alexia wasn’t angry; she’d simply been trying to create some distance because her feelings for you were growing stronger than she’d anticipated. “No, I’m not. And you didn’t do anything wrong. We just have different friends.”

“But I miss you, Alexia. I’m not asking you to be glued to my side every single minute, but is it too much to ask for some time for ourselves? Just the two of us?”

Alexia’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked into your glistening eyes. Her resolve crumbled. “Okay, just the two of us,” she agreed, her voice barely a whisper.

As you pulled her into a tight embrace, she felt a surge of emotions she hadn’t experienced before. A single tear escaped her eye.

-

You spent the entire afternoon exploring the forest surrounding the camp with Alexia. Though you were allowed to venture in, there was a designated limit. Alexia, however, was determined to go further.

"No, Ale," you protested, "what if we get lost?"

"You're with me," she replied confidently. "I'd never put you in danger."

Her unwavering gaze made it impossible to resist. With a sigh, you agreed.

"It's a surprise," she said, taking your hand.

For ten minutes, you followed her deeper into the woods. A sense of unease crept in, but the warmth of her hand in yours calmed your fears.

"Now, close your eyes," she instructed.

You obeyed, trusting her completely.

"Open them."

Your breath caught in your throat. A breathtaking lake stretched out before you, surrounded by a vibrant tapestry of flowers and birdsong.

"Ale... how did you find this?" you asked, awe in your voice.

"I stumbled upon it while exploring," she explained, a proud smile gracing her lips. "I knew I had to bring you here."

You were utterly enchanted. "Thank you. It's one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen."

"Right? Mine's the second," she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Curiosity sparked within you. "What's the first one?"

"Your eyes," she said softly.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn't expected such a compliment from her. Feelings you'd been trying to suppress surged to the surface.

"As much as I’d love to stay, we should head back. It’s getting late," she said reluctantly.

You pulled her into a quick hug. As you looked into her eyes, Alexia knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life surprising you.

-

A week of camp had passed, and your feelings for Alexia had deepened into something intoxicating. You were hopelessly smitten. Meanwhile, Alexia had caught whispers of a connection between you and Mikel, a rumor she couldn't quite grasp. The thought of your love, pure and sacred in her eyes, belonging to someone else filled her with a strange nausea.

You were lost in a book when Alexia joined you in bed, a habit she'd formed. She loved watching your face transform as you delved into different worlds, your expressions a captivating performance.

"Hi, beautiful," you murmured, gently tracing her eyebrows. You'd noticed how this small gesture always relaxed her.

Her eyes remained closed as she responded, "No... Keep reading. I like spending time with you when you read."

"Why?" you asked, curious.

"Because you become the book itself," she explained. "The comments you make, the sounds, the expressions... It's like reading through you."

Your chest filled with a warmth that felt like coming home. Alexia was your favorite story, complex and captivating, with a bittersweet ending you knew was approaching. After three weeks, you'd both return to your separate lives.

You opened the book reluctantly, but the sight of Alexia watching you with such adoration made the sacrifice worthwhile. As you continued to read, one hand gently caressing her, you lost yourself in the world of the book, a world that felt strangely complete with her by your side.

-

You both fell asleep on your bed, skipping dinner altogether. Hunger gnawed at you at 2 AM, rousing you from slumber. In the darkness, you could feel Alexia's soft breath against your skin, her scent a comforting presence. You drifted into a daydream of a future where you were older, sharing a home with her.

A sharp pain shot through your arm, jolting you awake. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a more comfortable position, but Alexia stirred. "I'm sorry, my girl, I didn't mean to wake you up," you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

«My girl» That nickname seemed to electrify the air. Alexia's eyes fluttered open. "I just want to shift, Ale. You can still sleep here," you explained.

She rubbed her eyes. "Are you comfortable?"

A warmth spread through you. "I've never been more comfortable," you replied honestly.

You woke up in Alexia's arms. Somewhere during the night, you'd switched positions, and now she was the one holding you. You looked up at her, her eyes already open. "Good morning, nena," she whispered, her voice soft and melodic. You smiled, burying your face in her neck, her laughter a gentle rumble against your skin as your hair tickled her. "Good morning, Ale," you mumbled into her skin.

-

Mikel’s name still lingered in Alexia’s mind. Had there been something between you two? You’d mentioned other people asking you out, but never elaborated. Curiosity gnawed at her, and she decided to ask, despite the fear of not liking the answer.

You were spending a lazy afternoon by the lake, lost in the moment. Alexia had prepared a perfect picnic spread and watched you with a soft smile as you closed your eyes, basking in the gentle breeze. She joined you, her presence a comforting warmth. You opened your eyes, your smile widening at the sight of her. Alexia had become your safe haven, a place of security and love.

"Maybe we could invite some people from the camp here?" she suggested, breaking the peaceful silence.

You frowned, turning to face her. "No, this is our place. That's why I always check if someone's following us."

Her heart fluttered at your protective instinct. "Okay, bebita," she replied, using the affectionate nickname that made you beam.

You couldn’t contain your happiness, pulling her into a tight hug. "You're adorable," she said, her voice filled with warmth.

As the hug deepened, Alexia decided it was time. "I never wanted to invite anyone else here. I just wondered if you wanted to invite some of your friends, like Elena, Greta, or Mikel."

The mention of Mikel startled you. "What? Mikel is not my friend."

Alexia's nerves spiked. "What is it then?"

"Nothing," you replied defensively.

"But did something happen between you two?"

"What!? No! Who told you that?"

She took your hands, trying to calm you down. "Just wondering. You'd make a cute couple."

Regret washed over her immediately. Your heart sank at the suggestion. "Ale, I'm a lesbian," you blurted out.

Relief flooded her eyes, but your pain was evident. It was frustrating how often people assumed your sexuality. "I'm a lesbian too, so I understand why you're upset," she said softly.

A connection deepened between you. You both shared the isolation of lesbianism. "But still, some girls have asked you out, and you didn't seem interested. Don't you find anyone here attractive?" she asked cautiously.

You sighed. "I don't think I'm looking for anything right now. Maybe in a few years. I could definitely date a girl right now, but it would have to be slow and steady. I doubt anyone here is looking for the same thing."

A hint of disappointment crossed Alexia's face. If only you knew how willing she was to wait for you. "If she loves you, she'll wait," she replied quietly.

Your heart skipped a beat. "You understand it very well. That's what I'll look for in a girl."

Alexia's heart raced. Was she hearing things, or did your words hold a deeper meaning?

-

The second week of camp was winding down, and the thought of leaving Alexia's side filled you with dread. You clung to her like a lifeline, your hands constantly seeking hers, your arms wrapped around her at every opportunity. The physical closeness was a desperate attempt to hold onto the magic you shared.

Rumors began to circulate, the whispers and glances carrying a heavy weight. You were acutely aware of the scrutiny, but neither you nor Alexia cared. Your secluded spot by the lake remained your sanctuary, a world away from the camp's prying eyes.

Alexia laid on the grass, her body relaxed in the sun. You positioned yourself on her chest, your heart finding solace in the rhythm of her breath. "It's going to take everything in me to leave your side," you confessed, your voice a mere whisper. The fear of losing her was a constant undercurrent, and you needed to know where you stood. "I'm going to miss you too, bebita. Promise me we'll see each other at least once a year."

The thought of only seeing her once a year was a bitter pill to swallow. "You could come visit me and my family over the summer, and I could do the same," she suggested, offering a glimmer of hope. You met her gaze, the intensity of her hazel eyes amplified by the setting sun. "That would be amazing, Ale. We can talk with our parents about that," you continued, then added with a playful grin, "Actually, I don't think that'll be necessary because you're coming home with me."

A playful wrestling match ensued, laughter filling the air. As you ended up on top of her, your bodies close, you couldn't help but feel a surge of love. Her gaze was intoxicating, and you couldn't resist teasing her. "You may be incredible at football, but I'm the best at wrestling," you boasted.

-

The weight of a new week crashes down on you, a cold shower of reality. Another seven days closer to the inevitable goodbye. A pang of despair shoots through you as you realize the luxury of waking up to Alexia’s peaceful slumber beside you will soon be a distant memory. She’s claimed your bed as her own, transforming it into a shared sanctuary.

Your daily pilgrimages to the lake have become a cherished ritual. The sun, a benevolent artist, paints Alexia in hues of gold and bronze, accentuating her ethereal beauty. The gentle caress of the lake breeze offers respite from Barcelona’s relentless heat, carrying with it the promise of tranquility.

Lost in admiration, you gaze at her, unaware of the blush that creeps up her cheeks. A tempest rages within her, a battle between the heart’s yearning to confess and the mind’s fear of rejection. With a delicate touch, she takes your hand, guiding you to your usual spot on the towel. Her eyes, twin pools of uncertainty, search your face for any sign of reciprocated affection. Love for you swells within her chest, but so does a paralyzing dread of your response.

“Ale, what’s wrong?” Your voice, soft and concerned, holds a power that could disarm her in an instant. You know she can confide in you, that you will listen without judgment.

"I don't want you to leave... I want you to stay in Barcelona," the words spilled out of her lips before she could stop them. You smiled at her. You'd noticed how Alexia struggled to express herself, so this vulnerability felt like a precious gift.

"I don't want to either, but I have to. Our lives are on different paths," you replied, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. You were so focused on keeping your emotions in check that you didn't notice the tears welling up in Alexia's eyes. When you did, your heart shattered into a million pieces. You rushed to pull her into a comforting embrace.

"I’m sorry," you murmured softly, rubbing her back, hoping to soothe her. But before you could go on, Alexia spoke up, her voice a quivering whisper. "I can’t stop loving you."

Her words caught you off guard, and you pulled back just enough to look at her. She closed her eyes, as if regretting her confession, as if fearing she’d gone too far. Gently, you lifted her chin and cupped her face in your hands, softly brushing your thumbs across her cheeks until she opened her eyes.

"So? Who said I want you to stop loving me?" you said, a playful smile spreading across your face. Her eyes widened, and a soft laugh escaped her as the tension melted away.

"I love you too, Ale. Every single day, my love for you grows deeper. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do without seeing this beautiful face in front of me." You smiled, and she laughed, blushing and averting her gaze.

Before she could pull away, you tugged her back toward you. "No, come here." You wrapped your arms around her tighter, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against yours.

"The thought of leaving you... it makes me feel sick," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I want to wake up next to you every morning, to hear you, to make you laugh. I want everything with you."

Hearing the sincerity in your words, Alexia looked at you with a newfound tenderness. She reached for your hands, holding them in hers, and pressed soft kisses against your knuckles, making you giggle at the sweet gesture.

"Since the first moment I saw you, I couldn’t get you out of my head. Loving you became second nature, but it’s so much more now. I want to be with you, to build something real together," she confessed, her voice steady but soft. "I know you want to wait, and I’m willing to wait with you. I’ll work hard for our future, to make it as bright as we both dream. And if it’s too much, please… don’t be afraid to tell me."

A lump formed in your throat as you looked into her hazel eyes, which were misty with unshed tears. Your own eyes stung as the emotion welled up, and you pulled her into a tight hug, your head resting against her shoulder as she cradled you gently.

"I do want to wait until we’re both more mature, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to kiss you right now," you murmured with a smile.

Alexia smiled back, her eyes lighting up. "Then we’ll go at your pace," she whispered. "I’d love nothing more than for us to share this together, when we’re both ready."

Feeling reassured, you gently brushed your hand through her hair, letting it trail down to her cheek, then softly resting on her chin. "Can I kiss you?" you asked, just above a whisper.

With a shy nod, she closed her eyes, and you leaned in, pressing your lips against hers in a gentle, lingering kiss. Your hands found their way to hers, guiding them to your waist as your own hands rested on her cheeks. Her lips were soft, warm, and every bit as perfect as you’d imagined. And as you parted for a breath, she whispered between kisses, "I love you."

You smiled, your heart overflowing. "I love you too, Alexia."

As you held each other close, Alexia reached into her pocket, pulling out a small necklace with a polished stone—one you’d admired the other day. "I made this for you," she said quietly, slipping it into your hands. "I wanted you to have something to remember me by."

The thoughtfulness took your breath away. She was the one, you were sure of it.

Later, back in your room, you couldn’t contain your joy any longer. "Ale! You’re my girlfriend!" you exclaimed, practically glowing.

She laughed, her eyes dancing with happiness. "Yeah! And you’re my girlfriend!"

The two of you burst into laughter, so elated that you started jumping up and down, the room filled with the sound of pure, shared happiness.

-

The last week had finally begun, and the weight of it sat heavy on your heart. You stirred awake, nestled in Alexia’s arms, the morning light filtering through the curtains casting a gentle glow across the room. She was still asleep, her face peaceful and serene, and you took a moment to memorize every detail—the way her eyelashes rested against her cheeks, the warmth of her arms around you, her steady breathing.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, you slipped out of her embrace and out of bed. The early morning was quiet; the world felt like it was holding its breath, giving you this stolen moment to make her feel as loved as she had made you feel every single day. You decided to find her a small token of that love.

Barefoot, you wandered down to the garden, the morning air crisp and cool against your skin. A cluster of vibrant flowers caught your eye, their colors bold and beautiful in the dawn light. You carefully picked a small bouquet, the petals soft and fragrant, before returning to the room, each step quiet.

When you returned, Alexia was still asleep, her face half-buried in the pillow, her messy hair fanned around her. Smiling, you knelt beside her and gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, then traced a finger softly along her jawline. She stirred, her lips parting in a soft murmur as her eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning, my beautiful girlfriend,” you whispered, watching her reaction as her gaze focused on you.

The words alone made her smile stretch across her face, sleepy but utterly radiant. But when her eyes moved to the flowers in your hand, she broke into laughter, the sound light and joyful as she leapt out of bed, throwing her arms around you.

You laughed as well, though you staggered slightly under her sudden enthusiasm. “Careful, Ale!” you warned, giggling as you hugged her tightly, feeling her warmth seep into you as she clung to you, her feet barely touching the floor.

“I’m not letting you leave Barcelona,” she said with a playful stubbornness, but her tone held a note of truth that made your heart ache. For a brief second, you let yourself believe it, to imagine that you could somehow stay, that you would never have to say goodbye.

You held her close, feeling the bittersweet ache in your chest, the warmth of her body against yours a comfort and a reminder all at once. Her laughter faded, and when she pulled back slightly, you caught the sparkle in her eyes as she gazed at the flowers, tracing the petals gently with her fingertips.

In that moment, you took in the sight of her—hair tousled from sleep, cheeks rosy, her eyes still a little puffy but bright as she admired the bouquet. You burned the image into your memory, knowing that someday, you would want to remember her just like this: filled with quiet joy, a simple bouquet in her hands, the morning light spilling over her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

-

You had spent the last day of camp with Alexia at the secret lake—a hidden gem nestled deep in the forest, a place only the two of you knew. The air was crisp, the sky a tapestry of soft blues and gentle golds, and everything felt wrapped in a timeless stillness. Watching Alexia bathed in the light of the late afternoon, you thought she looked like something out of a fairytale. With her brunette hair cascading over her shoulders, her hazel eyes bright with wonder, and her olive skin glowing in the warm sunlight, she seemed almost ethereal, like a fairy who belonged to this enchanted place.

As you sat together on the edge of the lake, feet dangling in the cool water, she turned to you with a soft, earnest look in her eyes. "Promise me we’ll come back here someday," she whispered, her voice as soft as the breeze that rustled the leaves overhead. She held out her hand, her pinky extended, waiting for you to make a pinky promise.

You reached out and wrapped your pinky around hers, sealing the promise with a smile. "I promise, Ale. Sooner or later, we’ll come back to this place. Just you and me." The feeling of her pinky hooked with yours felt like a small but profound vow.

A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes as she looked around the secluded spot. "But... what if someone else finds it one day?"

You grinned, leaning in close with a conspiratorial whisper. "Then we’ll haunt them until they leave," you said, feigning a ghostly tone as you playfully poked her side.

She squealed in surprise, her laughter spilling into the open air, a sound so pure and joyful that it echoed around the lake. You couldn’t help but laugh with her, the two of you caught in a moment of perfect happiness, your laughter mingling like a melody that belonged to this place. Her eyes, crinkling with joy, looked so utterly yours in that moment, like they held a promise all their own.

-

The last night together was like trying to hold on to sand slipping through your fingers, a rough, endless struggle against the inevitable. The air felt thick, heavy with unsaid words and the weight of knowing you’d have to say goodbye. Both you and Alexia clung to each other as if the sheer force of your embrace could somehow stop time. She buried her face in your shoulder, her body shaking with quiet sobs, and you held her close, whispering soft words of comfort even as your own heart ached.

You’d never seen Alexia cry like this. She had always been so strong, the one who held things together, the steady presence who never faltered. But now, as the night wore on, that strength seemed to melt away, leaving her feeling small and vulnerable in your arms. Her fingers gripped the fabric of your shirt as if letting go would make you disappear.

“I just…” she began, her voice breaking, a fragile whisper between her soft cries. “I just want to go to sleep every night with you by my side. And wake up with your beautiful face next to mine.” Her voice trailed off, thick with emotion, and her gaze searched your face, as if trying to memorize every detail.

You reached up and brushed away a tear from her cheek before leaning in to kiss her softly, letting your lips linger as both your tears mingled, a bittersweet reminder of everything you were leaving behind. You pressed your forehead to hers, your fingers gently tracing her jawline.

“Someday, Ale,” you whispered, your voice trembling but full of quiet determination. “Someday, this will be our routine. You’ll put me to sleep every night with those soft caresses, and I’ll wake you up with fresh flowers every morning. I promise. This is only goodbye for now.”

Her eyes closed, and she nodded, leaning into your touch as if she could draw strength from the quiet certainty in your words. The room fell silent, the only sounds your quiet breathing and the soft, gentle hum of the world of nature outside.

As the night slipped away, Alexia pulled you closer, her fingers gently stroking your arms, her touch light as if savoring every last moment. She stayed awake, watching over you as you drifted off, memorizing the rise and fall of your chest, the soft, peaceful expression on your face. For her, it was a ritual, a way to hold onto you, to etch this moment into her memory so it would stay with her even when you weren’t there.

In the morning, you slipped out of bed quietly, leaving her to sleep just a few minutes longer. The world outside was bathed in soft, early light, and you took a deep breath, gathering a small bouquet of wildflowers from a nearby patch. When you returned, she was beginning to stir, her eyes opening just in time to see you kneeling beside her with the flowers in hand.

You smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Good morning, my beautiful girlfriend.”

She blinked, her lips curving into a sleepy smile as she saw the flowers. She took them from you with a gentle, grateful look that said more than words ever could. Her eyes shimmered with the same sadness that lingered in the room, but also with a quiet appreciation, as if she wanted to remember every single detail of this morning.

When it was finally time to say goodbye, the last hug felt like it would break you. The camp was filled with people saying their goodbyes, friends, new lovers, even the monitors who’d watched you grow together for a month. But none of them mattered. All you saw was Alexia, standing there with red-rimmed eyes, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You held her close, burying your face in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, trying to make a memory strong enough to carry you through the days apart. “I’m going to call you every day,” you promised, your voice thick with unshed tears, “Every. Single. Day.”

Her arms tightened around you, her face pressed against your neck. “You better,” she murmured, her voice muffled but laced with a bittersweet smile.

In that moment, nothing else existed. Not the people around you, not the ache in your chest, not the inevitability of leaving—just the feeling of her arms around you, grounding you in a way that nothing else ever had. You didn’t care who was watching. You leaned in and kissed her, tears streaming down both your faces as you poured everything you felt into that one, lingering kiss. It was a goodbye, yes, but also a promise, a vow that distance would never erase what you shared.

When you finally pulled back, her hand lingered on your cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. Her eyes met yours, filled with the same determination and longing that had always been there, and for a moment, it was as if she were telling you everything would be okay, that this wasn’t the end, just a new beginning.

As you took a few steps away, you looked back one last time, your heart twisting painfully in your chest. Summoning all the courage you could, you called out, “T’estimo!” letting the words hang in the air, hoping they would reach her as deeply as you meant them.

Her laughter broke through her tears, a beautiful, heart-wrenching sound that filled the air. “Jo t’estimo més!” she shouted back, her voice breaking but full of love. She stood there, smiling through her tears, waving as you walked away, each step heavier than the last.

That was the image you carried with you—the way her eyes sparkled, her smile bright even through the sadness, her voice echoing in the air. As you finally turned away, you knew that this memory, this moment, was something you’d carry with you, a piece of her woven into your heart, a reminder that love like this didn’t simply fade. It stayed, quietly, through every mile, every goodbye, and every day you spent apart.

-

Slipping back to the present, you carefully slid out from under the covers, making sure not to wake Alexia. You tiptoed through the morning quiet to the garden, where you gathered a small bouquet of fresh flowers. When you’d promised Alexia that you’d wake her up every morning with flowers, you hadn’t anticipated just how much of an early riser she was. Each day, you had to get up even earlier just to catch her still asleep.

Secretly, though, you loved it—the calm, the cool air, and the chance to watch her sleepy face light up at the sight of her daily gift.

With flowers in hand, you slipped back into the bedroom. Leaning over her, you whispered, "Good morning, my beautiful girlfriend." Your voice was soft, almost reverent.

A smile spread across her face, already knowing what awaited her. “I love that this has been the first thing you say to me every morning since that summer camp.”

You laughed, gently placing the flowers in her hand before giving her lips a light, affectionate kiss. Pulling the drapes, the room filled with warm sunlight, casting a soft glow over Alexia as she admired her flowers. Her now blonde hair caught the sunlight in a way that made it seem like the sun itself drew its warmth from her.

But as stunning as the light was in her hair, it was her eyes that captivated you. It had always been her eyes. Those made you fall in love with the girl with the hazel eyes all those years ago, only now, they belonged to the woman she’d grown into, becoming the woman with the hazel eyes.

[sideysvault]

˖⁺‧₊The 5 times Deadpool calls you ‘babygirl’₊‧⁺˖

Pairing: Wade Wilson x fem!reader

wc 0.8k

Tags: Minors dni. Foul language, canon typical violence, smut, established relationship.

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1. The apartment was dimly lit. It was a chilly September afternoon. Both of you were parading around, frantically looking for all the flyers and menus that local restaurants have left at your door and car ever since you moved into the neighborhood. You had been arguing about what to order for dinner for approximately forever. And you guys were starving.

“Thai.” 

“Not so quickly, hot stuff. We had that shit last week. Mexican.”

“We have Mexican food all the time. I love it but enough is enough”.

The man let out a theatrical gasp and exclaimed “Enough Mexican food? What’s next?” Taking a deep breath, he began making a poor imitation of your high-pitched voice “Enough of you! Enough of us!

You held in an amused giggle. He had the ability to make mundane endeavors quite entertaining.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll be an awesome boyfriend and cook for you tonight. Sounds good, babygirl?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sound of that word.

“What did you just call me?”

Wade got up from his seat and started to make his way into the kitchen. Just as he is walking behind you, he smacks your ass while giving your temple a soft kiss.

“Stop being difficult”

By the time he arrived at the kitchen counter, you had him trapped with a hug from behind. Leaving soft, sloppy kisses all over his back, neck and shoulders. You really loved it when he cooked.

2. Wade had no plans of introducing his partner to what he considered nothing more than losers in spandex. But now that he was presented with the opportunity, he was quite pleased with himself. A sense of pride filled his chest with a feather-like sensation. He still wasn’t sure of how a woman like you could even date him, but he was glad you did.

“Baby, this is the Russian tin man and his teenage sidekick, Guys, this is my beautiful sexy babygirl”

You immediately feel your face heating up with embarrassment. Luckily, the duo seems to be very accustomed to your boyfriend's antics. They quickly laughed it off with a roll in their eyes.

At the end of the day, he may be the biggest asshole in the world, but they are happy to see Wade in a good, normal relationship. Or at least, as normal as you could get with him.

3. He could feel you wince in pain with every step he took. Your nails were digging into his skin with such force that Wade was pretty sure it was making him bleed. But as long as he got you to the hidden safety offered by the forest near the road, nothing mattered. He tried to put you down as gently as he could. No matter his efforts, as soon as he laid you on the humid duff, you let out something stuck between a gasp and a scream. And as soon as Wade heard it, he felt his heart stop.

It was your very first time getting shot. And it has been his fault.

“It’s okay baby girl, I got you. Just look at me, okay?”

“I know it hurts, baby. We’ll fix it. Brand new. I promise.”

He did not soften the hand which he used to apply pressure on your wound. And he did not let his protective hug soften either.

4. The bedsheets felt humid. You assumed it came from the salty sweat on your body. The woman had been awoken by a nightmare for the third time this week. You panicked for a second, feeling the warm sensation of breath behind your neck. But you soon realized that it was Wade. He had his arms around your waist, and you could hear a light snort coming out of the man. You let out a breath you did not know you were holding.

You two were together, at home. Turning around to face him and hide your face in the crook of his neck, pulling yourself as physically close to your boyfriend as you could. He woke up with a groan. Wade kissed your forehead and sloppily rearranged the messy hair out of your face. You could hear him mumbling sweet nothing as he tightens his grip on you and softly tracing invisible lines on your back.

“Go back to sleep, baby girl. You are safe”.

 5 -The cold sensation of the wall against your nipples was completely intoxicating.

Your head felt dizzy because of the constant stimulation. You were pretty sure you were about to pass out. But Wade’s hand kept your head in place, while he left a thrilling trail of kisses all over your neck and back.

The woman lets out a whine almost every time she feels the thrusts. Her pussy was filled with the overwhelming tingles of a denied orgasm.

“You can do it, babygirl, you are so fucking tight. Keep it up, honey”.

Your hand reached for the back of his head, pulling his head closer as he pounded into you with more strength than before.

His hand covered your mouth as he mumbled into your ear “Bite it. We are not over yet”.

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Notes: Hi pretty! Thank you so much for your follow and your requests! I hope to write them all soon. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy reading this one. Take care! -Sidey xxo

Based on this request.

[allgirlsareprincesses]

Choosing the Beast: Modern Folklore Heroines Embrace the Animal Husband

“I choose the bear.” The refrain rang out across the web, with many a woman nodding in agreement or at least understanding, and certain men huffing with indignant outrage. Just a meme, really, but did it speak to a deeper truth? Is it merely age-old mistrust of patriarchy talking, or a true desire for the beastly, the wild, the untame?

I’m no sociologist, of course, but I have noticed an emerging trend in fem-gaze media that seems to reflect this view. In movies like I Am Dragon (2015) and recent shows like My Lady Jane and The Acolyte, the heroine chooses the beast, loving her animal husband in his wild form rather than requiring him to transform back into a mundane man to earn her affection. This is such a departure from the typical folktale pattern that it’s difficult to even find an historic example where this occurs.

Commonly thought to reveal the desire to tame a dangerous mate in a patriarchal society, most animal husband tales (ATU 425a) feature a hero who ultimately transforms permanently into a human. This is viewed not only as freeing him from the maddening effect of his wild form, but also saving his bride from committing the sin of bestiality. In these tales, the animal mate’s transformation is necessary for the salvation of both.

Is the modern heroine then damned by choosing her husband’s beastly form? Or does she actually free them both from the yoke of patriarchal expectations?

Bathing: Discovering the Wild Masculine

The first motif that stands out in these modern screen examples is bathing. In animal spouse tales, there is often a dynamic of the hunter and the hunted, and thus a moment when the hunter comes upon their would-be lover unawares. Perhaps they find the animal spouse sleeping, or they cast a light on them unexpectedly, see them without their animal skin or disguise, and so on. And of course, they often come upon the lover at their bath.

There is an implied eroticism in this discovery, finding one’s quarry not only undressed, but also in the most private of activities. Water of course symbolizes fertility, but bathing is also purifying, symbolically washing away all that might make a mate undesirable. And this, perhaps, is the reason that historically this motif is used almost exclusively for animal brides, not animal husbands.

For the animal husband, he either actively chooses to reveal himself to the bride (perhaps on their wedding night), or she violently strips away his disguise, often armed with “flame and steel” like Psyche and her many avatars. Animal brides on the other hand are nearly always discovered at a body of water, bathing. The hunter will then capture her either by stealing her animal skin or cloak, or by placing his own clothing on her. What does it mean, then, when it is the husband who is discovered bathing in a body of water, held as an erotic object in the feminine gaze?

In The Acolyte, Osha follows Qimir to a pool where he slowly undresses, in full knowledge that she is watching. On the shore, she steals his lightsaber, just like the hunter who steals the animal skin, symbolically claiming him. When he emerges, Qimir dons new clothes, as if acknowledging that he is a different person than before he entered the water, almost purified in a way. Osha is forced to confront that there is more to the murderer in the mask than she realized.

Similarly, in My Lady Jane, our heroine goes looking for Guildford just before sunrise on their ill-fated wedding night, only to discover him bathing in the stables. The scene is gratuitously filmed from Jane’s (very horny) perspective, flipping the script on the countless scenes in screen history shot with the masculine gaze. Immediately after she discovers and confronts him, Guildford transforms against his will into a horse, and Jane realizes that he is an Ethian, a creature she has been taught is demonic and unnatural.

And in I Am Dragon, Mira makes several discoveries in quick succession: first, she deduces that Arman is actually the dragon. In the next moment, she slips from the island’s peak and falls, saved only when Arman transforms at the last moment and breaks her fall with his dragon form. The water begins to wash over his unconscious body, and at first Mira thinks that she will allow him to drown. But the sight of Arman in his human form after he rescued her, worried over by his animal familiar, stirs her to pity and she wraps him in a sail and drags him to safety. In this way, she clothes him, claiming him as her own.

Each of these heroines discovered a new aspect of her husband at the bath, finding him unexpectedly alluring, and ultimately choosing to begrudgingly claim him. Each animal husband tried to wash away his beastly form, to separate himself from the wild masculine. These men feel a sense of disassociation from a part of themselves, but now that their brides have discovered it, there will be no more hiding. Further, the bride now holds the power in the relationship, evidenced by how her husband needs her: Qimir needs Osha to be his apprentice, Guildford needs Jane to help him “break the curse,” and Arman needs Mira to heal him from his wounds.

Playing House: The Half-Husband

The second feature of these stories is a period of domesticity for the couple. For a brief time after the husband’s beastly nature is revealed, the lovers “play house” like children. While sexual tension is present, they typically do not consummate their union during this time, but instead cook, eat, rest, and care for one another. What’s more, they ignore or even attempt to actively destroy the husband’s animal form. They deny that this is part of him and therefore part of their relationship.

In I Am Dragon, Mira heals Arman, and wakes the next morning to find he has left food for her (dragonfruit, appropriately). Together they begin building a home out of shipwreck debris they find scattered around the island. A cheery montage shows them decorating a living space, choosing clothes, playing music, and dancing. But the specter of Arman’s monstrous form lurks on the edge of their idyllic life. Mira has nightmares, and tells Arman how much she fears “the dragon,” notably not referring to them as the same person. And eventually, it emerges that Mira has been planning to escape, rejecting Arman’s dragon form entirely.

After he sheds the helmet and robes of The Stranger, Qimir turns his attention to caring for Osha: he heals her, lets her sleep in his bed, provides clothes, and cooks for her. In turn, after some lightsaber-wielding, Osha becomes more comfortable in his home and accepts the food he offers, eventually even trying on his helmet. Later, they bicker amiably on their way to Brendok, like an old married couple on a road trip. When not facing down Jedi, Qimir leaves his menacing persona behind and transforms into an empathetic, protective, and alluring partner.

Jane Grey, meanwhile, finds herself using her honeymoon sequestered away in a private cottage to try to cure Guildford of his Ethianism. With her knowledge of medicine, she concocts various potions and magical cures, but none of them succeed. Guildford often checks in on her after these disappointments, making sure she’s getting enough sleep and taking care of herself. It’s also clear that they’ve been regularly dining together when Jane suddenly dashes off to rescue her friend. Guildford follows her and the two protect one another, followed by an almost-tryst. Even when they move into the palace, their day-to-day (or rather night-to-night) life is one of comfortable domesticity, although they continue to deny Guildford’s horse form.

In each of these cases (although less so in The Acolyte without Season 2 to continue the story), playing house can only last for so long while the husband’s animal nature is denied. There is a part of him that is suppressed, rejected, and this leads to him being incomplete, a half-husband. Each hero is unable or unwilling to accept and celebrate his whole self with his bride. Eventually, it is that denial that leads to a rift between the couple, which can only be healed not with the transformation of the husband, but with the embrace of his animal form.

Enforcing Patriarchy: The Rival

Each of these relationships exists in direct opposition to the dominant culture in the story: Arman as the Dragon is the literal enemy of Mira’s people, Qimir as Sith is the enemy of Osha’s Jedi masters, and in My Lady Jane, intermarriage between humans and Ethians is punishable by death. By choosing to stay with their animal husbands, even for a brief time, our heroines are openly defying the patriarchal norms of their societies. But no oppressive society is about to take that transgression lying down. In each story, a rival emerges to enforce the patriarchal order, kill the beastly husband, and retrieve the bride.

In I Am Dragon, Mira’s betrothed and descendent of the dragon-slayer, Igor, journeys to rescue her from the dragon. Over the course of the story, it becomes clear that Igor cares nothing for Mira herself, and merely feels entitled to her as his bride. Dragon-slaying is his heritage, so he must find her, kill the dragon, and take his place as the hero of his people. Even the marriage ceremony illustrates his ownership of her: he takes hold of a rope tied to her boat and reels her in, thus binding her to the patriarchal order. Contrast that to Arman, who offers her the power of flight, a symbol for freedom.

In Osha’s case, Qimir’s rival for her loyalty is clearly Master Sol, who wants to keep his former pupil dependent on him and the Jedi. Sol takes patronizing fatherliness to an extreme, constantly rescuing Osha rather than letting her stand for herself, teaching her to deny her feelings and instincts, and lying to her to “protect” her. The Jedi refuse to allow that there might be any other way to access the Force than their own, thus invading the home of the Brendok witches and ultimately orphaning the twins. Sol continues to press this dominance to the end, challenging Qimir and insisting to Osha that his own lies were justified.

In My Lady Jane, there are two rivals, both women. Lady Frances attempts throughout the show to dominate her daughters and crush their wills, forcing them into unwanted marriages, applying political pressure, and even counseling Jane to abandon Guildford to save herself. The other rival is Mary Tudor, who is determined not only to emulate her father’s violent, oppressive, and misogynistic reign, but to crush anyone she considers “unnatural” or who poses a threat to her rule. These characters stand as clear examples of how women can enforce patriarchy, too.

In each story, there is a moment when the rival briefly recaptures or “rescues” the bride from her beastly husband, bringing her to a moment of decision: will she stay within the bounds of patriarchy like a good little girl? Or will she make an act of defiance to choose her own path?

Marriage: Choosing the Beast

The bride’s choice will ultimately decide not only her fate, but that of her mate as well. As an independent character, the wild masculine is deeply wounded, separated from himself and thus from his bride. He longs to transform not into a greater, more whole person, but into a lesser, half-person. Alone, without the embrace of his anima, he cannot see the value of his beastly form. Instead of healing, he faces annihilation.

As a part of the bride’s psyche, the beastly husband represents her innermost desires, the truth of her heart, and a spirit freed from the expectations of her society. He is her animus, her missing wild masculine. If she transforms him into a man, then she will tame his wild nature, bringing him to heel under the boot of the patriarchy. Choosing the human form and rejecting the beast means rejecting her own psychological needs. It would be just another form of psychic dismemberment.

Fortunately and unusually, each of these modern brides chooses her beastly husband without demanding he transform. When Osha finally agrees to become Qimir’s apprentice, she takes his hand under the willow tree, clasping the newly-bled lightsaber between them. A few scenes later, this wedding imagery is repeated when they hold hands over the saber again, this time looking into a sunrise/set. Notably, at the moment they “marry” under the willow tree, Qimir is wearing his beastly helmet with rows of menacing, wolfish teeth. He has not come to the light side or shed his Dark Side persona, but Osha has embraced him anyway without fear. And while they might not both be healed (yet), they are more whole together than they were apart.

When her efforts to cure Guildford of his Ethianism repeatedly fail, Jane begins to suspect that his “condition” cannot be cured at all. But listening to her Ethian friends Susanna and Archer finally convinces her that the truth is Guildford doesn’t NEED to be healed - being an Ethian is who he is, and it’s nothing to fear. Unfortunately, Guildford still associates his beastly form with his mother’s death, so he is unable to accept it as Jane encourages, and flees. After a near-death experience, he uses his equine speed to return to the castle just as Jane is deposed and captured. As our heroes battle toward the end, Guildford comes to learn that there are many other proud Ethians, and that his family loves and accepts him in any form.

Still, he’s unable to transform at will, and when Mary captures him and sentences both husband and wife to death, it seems their story may end in tragedy. But as Guildford has been struggling to accept himself, Jane too has been battling with her own conscience. Does she renounce Guildford to save herself? Use her wits to kill the guard and escape? Bend to her mother’s manipulation? Jane confronts each temptation, and ultimately chooses to face death rather than betray Guildford or herself. But when her Ethian friends (the wild instinct) appear to disrupt the execution, our heroine seizes the opportunity to rescue Guildford. Unable to free him from the burning pyre, she confesses her love for him, and they kiss amid the flames.

Fire is often a herald of transformation, burning away illusions to reveal the truth. And when Jane and Guildford exchange their vows in this symbolic marriage ceremony, Guildford’s fears and illusions are finally burned away. Now that his bride has accepted his beastly form, he can accept it too, and so he at last transforms at will into a horse so that they can escape. Their story ends with them married and whole before the sunrise.

Among our modern heroines, Mira is the boldest in her embrace of the beastly husband. Offered yet again as a bride to Igor, she realizes that this is not what she wants, and casts off the tether from her boat. She declares “I love the Dragon!” using the name of her husband’s animal form rather than his human name. Then, she sings the song that will call the dragon to her, and he appears to carry her away again.

But their story is not over yet! Earlier in the story, Arman told Mira of how he loses control when in dragon form, and that dragons are compelled to reproduce by burning maidens to death and retrieving their offspring from the ashes. Returning to the island with her a second time, the dragon drops her on the altar and prepares to spew fire, but Mira lunges up and kisses him. This act of love, even when he is a monster, stuns the beastly husband. Again, Mira declares her love and kneels before him, saying she does not wish to be parted. We might expect the animal husband to transform in this moment, but instead he lays his fearsome head in her lap as a lover. Their story ends with a child and a flight in the sky, silhouetted by the sun just like the other couples.

Each bride, when confronted with the option to return to the patriarchal limits of her childhood, chose instead an act of love and acceptance for her wild masculine. This embrace helped the beastly husband to accept his whole self, and he is healed without having to cut off the wild parts of himself.

What Does It Mean?

Again, this story is so rare in world folklore that it’s difficult to even find examples. On fleeting occasions that the woman chooses an untransformed beast, it is presented as a cautionary tale. These women are framed as a danger to the community for their bestial impulses and abandonment of the social order, much like witches who were said to consort with the devil. It was certainly never presented as a happy ending, insofar as we can tell from written accounts.

So what does the emergence of this tale mean for our culture? I would argue that this is just the latest step in our ongoing reckoning with historic gender roles, as well as renegotiating with other forms of systemic oppression. People of all genders are pressured to reject a part of ourselves, cutting us off from our own truth and desires that run counter to the enforced social order. We must not challenge patriarchy, must not embrace different gender expressions, must not blur established hierarchies of power, must not find joy and power in our identities, and so on.

This enforced denial does tremendous damage to everyone caught in the system, and so through story, we dream our way to escape. We dream of embracing the dark, wild parts of ourselves, of flying free on a spaceship or a dragon or enchanted horseback, and of being totally loved for who we are.

It’s clear patriarchy is still fighting back against this emancipation of the wild feminine and wild masculine, given that both The Acolyte and My Lady Jane were canceled not long after their release. In the case of The Acolyte in particular, there was a sustained campaign from its announcement to harass and silence the creators. Demoralizing as this phenomenon may be, it’s important to remember WHO ultimately owns these stories:

“Fanfiction is a way of the culture repairing the damage done in a system where contemporary myths are owned by corporations instead of owned by the folk.

-Henry Jenkins, NYT 1997

Ah, an oldie-but-goodie. But Dr. Jenkins is right. Corporations may greenlight, film, release, and then cancel these stories, but ultimately they belong to the people. We take from these tales what speaks to us, leave what does not, and then retell them ourselves in fanfiction, in art inspired by the stories, and in lessons we pass on to our friends and families. If the embrace of the wild masculine speaks to you, let the story take root in your own life. Do you know someone who needs to be embraced, just as they are? Do you need to accept the parts of yourself that society tells you to hate? Do you want to be free, healed, and whole?

If so, then let these stories show you how, and tell more like them. Embrace the beast, and find your joy.

Sources:

Beauty and the Beast Tales From Around the World by Heidi Anne Heiner

In Search of the Swan Maiden: A Narrative on Folklore and Gender by Barbara Fass Leavy

And a relevant song for you, as a treat:

Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D.

[wysteria-bloom]

↪"you're lucky I...adore you."

Bg3 companions if they've been affected by succubus magic

Bg3 x bard!reader

Warnings : nothing that I can think of.

Genre : fluff, just pure fluff

A/n : still haven't finished this damn game and it's nearly been a year. You don't want to know how many hours I've spent on it I'm genuinely so disappointed in myself 🥲

▢ lae'zel

Gone was her usual stern demeanour, this woman was huffing and puffing to try and hold herself back. Her mouth pulled into a grimace as the words tumbled out of her mouth against her will.

"Tav.... your battle prowess is... most pleasing to witness..." Her eyes were hazy as she leaned down slightly to your level, brows pulled tightly together despite the contrasting words coming from her mouth," Were you a githyanki, I might even consider... taking you as a mate."

You just sort of blink at her, string pulled taught against your finger as you were trying to fix your violin. A slow smile made its way to your lips," ... you're certainly direct." You cooed out, brows raised suggestively as you look her up and down," I'm flattered, really, but perhaps you should save the mating proposals for when you're not under the influence of succubus magic, hm?"

The githyanki huffs, embarrassed but still utterly bewitched, her nostrils flare," usually... a gith would take offense at such a vehement rejection..." Her forehead presses against yours as she frowns deeply," You're lucky I... adore you." She gritted out with much difficulty.

"It was a spell. Nothing more. Forget it happened unless you want to see your innards splattered across the dirt you stand on."

You smirk, pressing your forehead back in response," Lucky, indeed~"

-

"My pretty lips are sealed, milady."

▢ shadowheart

She leans casually against a nearby tree, watching you with that adoring green gaze of hers that she tried to hide underneath her awkwardly mysterious aura.

She listens to the soft tunes you play with your lovely fingers, humming slightly and almost drunkenly," You know.... your music isn't the only thing enchanting about you."

These strangely uncharacteristic words made you pause in your playing, raising a brow up at her in surprise.

She, herself, didn't know what she was saying but she just couldn't stop herself as her lips twitched into a smirk," perhaps we should compose a duet of our own?"

The blatant flirting amused you to no end and a hand shot to your mouth to suppress a laugh," a duet?" You repeated," As memorable of a performance that would be, I think it best for you to sleep off whatever magical nonsense that succubus casted on you."

Shadowheart gave you an incredulous look and tried to play it off, shrugging with a pout," Oh no, this is... all me." She tried, but the words trembled," totally natural."

"... Let's never talk about this again."

"What a ball of charisma you are."

-

"I've already got a tune decided for our duet. No backing out now, little cleric~"

▢ gale

The wizard approaches his dearest bard with his usual theatric flair, but the lines falling from his smart mouth were far more dramatic than usual as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear," your beauty... it's like the stars themselves - unreachable, radiant, and yet somehow, you make even the Weave seem mundane in comparison."

Your hand removes itself from your instrument to pinch the bridge of your nose. Despite your exasperation, you couldn't hide your amusement," Gale... that succubus has broken you. You don't need to keep... weaving poetry to me."

"Ah, but for you, my dear, no spell is required for me to express my-"

You cover his mouth with your hand and you swear you see hearts in his eyes," mhmm, let's talk about something else, okay?"

"Ahem... I maintain that my delivery was impeccable, spell or no."

-

"Didn't make me swoon, however. Maybe you should give it another try."

▢ karlach

You pause in analysing what spells you had when a shadow fell upon you, making you look up slowly to see Karlach's wry grin shining down upon you like the rays of Lathander himself.

Her infernal engine was humming a lot louder than usual, her enthusiasm palpable," look at you, soldier! All studious n' shit." She cooed as she crouched down, but she still towered over you. Her head canted to the side, hair falling wildly along with her," You're hotter than the hellfire burnin' in my chest... and that's saying something."

You burst into laughter, shaking your head with a flush rising to your cheeks. Whether it was because of Karlach's heat or her words? You couldn't tell. You didn't care either.

"That might be the most intense compliment I've ever received... did the spell possessing you come up with a list of pickup lines to read off of? Or is this all just you?"

Karlach's eyes glinted with affection and amusement as she shrugged," all me, babe." She lied before catching herself, looking up at the sky to think,"... or.... uh, the spell." She tapped her chin in thought, brows furrowed," maybe both?"

"Don't hurt yourself, love."

"Tav, you have to admit, the hellfire thing was pretty fuckin' good!"

-

"True... I'd like to hear you say it without slurring your words, this time."

▢ wyll

His confident strides never faltered despite the magic clearly affecting him, his usual charming demeanour was cracked up to tenfold as he leaned forwards to you, a soft little smile spread to his lips.

"You know... your voice could tame a dragon, and your smile could slay a Devil." He took your hand into his, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand," let me be your Knight, forever at your side."

You giggle, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and you had to ignore the flip of your heart when he instantly leaned into your touch," Wyll, that's sweet, but I think you're laying it on a little thick here, sweetheart." The pet name made his head buzz," I'm impressed, honestly... did the spell teach you how to swoon like a bard?"

His hand moved to your one resting on his shoulder and squeezed with purpose, brows furrowed with a lovesick grin curled to his lips," no spells required, my love."

You snort," sure, and my lute plays itself."

"I... apologise for whatever nonsense spewed from my mouth. I was merely playing the part, you understand-"

-

"Hmm... nonsense, was it? And I was so looking forwards to you being my Knight. A shame, really."

▢ astarion

A finger twirled your hair as you strummed your instrument absentmindedly, trying to come up with a catchy bar tune.

Astarion was staring hazily, his usual smirk had actually fallen as his crimson eyes glinted,"... did you know your blood smells sweeter than the finest wine?"

You give him a deadpan look, pausing in your strumming to look up at him which immediately prompted for his hand to move to your chin," Astarion... did the spell make you forget how incredibly creepy that sounds?" You grimace.

He blanched at you, a hand pressing to his heart rather dramatically but his eyes were still infatuated with your every crevice and cranny," creepy?? No, no it's a compliment, I'll have you know!" Then he frowned as he thought of his words and quickly added on a," in a vampiric sort of way..."

You snort and grabbed his wrist, rubbing your thumb up and down it gently," let's revisit this topic when you're not spellbound... or thinking about my blood."

"But it's such lovely blood, darling!" He whined only to be interrupted.

"Nope. We're done here."

"Well, I regret absolutely nothing."

-

"That's because the things you said weren't anything out of the ordinary you freak."

▢ halsin

The uncharacteristic sparkle in his eye is what made you pause as he approached with his usual gentle facial expression. He opened his mouth and you were enraptured with every word-

"I was missing you... and found a lily of the valley," he held out the flower cutely, the size of it compared to him made your heart clench. What a pure man he was," they truly remind me of you... delicate, radiant and captivating."

You reached out and gently took the flower from him, cradlingnit as your cheeks flush warmly," You adorable man." You then moved your hand and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, but before you could pull your hand away, he pressed it to his cheek," Halsin... this is lovely but I'd prefer if you did this whilst not being under the influence of a spell. It's turned you into a poet."

He hums, half-listening to you as he closed his eyes, trying to memorise the temperature and feeling of your hand," poet? Not quite... just a humble druid who's helplessly ensared by your otherworldly beauty."

You sigh and smile, shaking your head as you pinch his cheek, grin widening at the displeased groan that he emitted," helplessly ensared, hmm? Well, let's just hope this spell wears off before you start building me a shrine."

He seemed to lift his head at attention when you said that, moving your hand to his chest and pressing it against his beating heart. The serious look in his eyes sent a flutter through your entire body, his voice a low rumble as he leaned close to your face," would you prefer one of oak or stone?"

You grimace but your face was certainly burning," Oh no, it's definitely time for you to snap out of it."

-

"Tav... forgive me if my words earlier were... overzealous. It was the spell, of course, though they were not entirely untrue."

"Not entirely untrue, huh? I'll keep that in mind the next time you're waxing poetic about flowers and shrines."

▢ minthara

Minthara, usually composed and calculating, strides up to you with an intensity that borders on unsettling. However, her voice takes on an unusual softness that left you weak in the knees.

"I believe now is the chance for me to express this... you are a weapon forged by the gods themselves - sharp, striking and impossible to resist." Her deft fingers ran up and down your arms softly, soothingly, hypnotically," Were I to claim you..." Her eyelashes lowered," none would dare challenge us."

You could only blink with that shit eating grin you always took on when you irritate her," That's flattering, Minthara. But you should save this for when you're not enchanted."

Her voice lowered," I do not make declarations lightly, Tav. You belong at my side. Drenched in the blood of our enemies."

"Whoo... at your side, huh?" You liked the images she created," what, no throne or crown to sweeten the deal?"

God, the smirk that twitched to her lips was utterly mind boggling. You wished you could sew her mouth to permanently stay that way," Oh... there would be both. Gold and blood, in your honour."

You coughed out a reluctant," I'll pass for now, thanks."

-

"Whatever foolishness I said under the spell - forget it. I would not waste words on such sentimentality."

"Of course not, Minthara. The throne and crown offer was purely strategic, I'm sure."

[foldingfittedsheets]

One sunny day when I was in high school I was walking home alone. The sun was shining, gentle wind rustled the treetops. I was just starting to be able to see that beauty again. I had been depressed for a long time, but that mundane walk home felt magical to me.

On the sidewalk I saw something unusual. I was in love with life in that moment and fascinated to know more. I crouched down to observe and saw the most enchanting bug. I’d never seen anything like it. To this day I can’t remember what it looked like, only that it was as beautiful as the sun shining on the green world below.

My attention was rapt on this tiny magical creature living in such a massive and wondrous world, wondering what it was and marveling that I’d never seen anything like it.

I didn’t hear the girls come up behind me on the sidewalk. But suddenly there was a leg beside me. I wasn’t embarrassed to be caught looking at a bug. I was glad someone else might come observe this tiny wonder with me.

Her foot shot up and stomped down abruptly, crushing the object of my interest. I looked up at her.

I didn’t know either of the girls standing above me. They had seen a stranger and decided to punish her for behaving in a way they considered unacceptable. I looked up at the face of the girl who had killed my bug, trying to understand her thoughtless malice.

I think she had expected me to be upset or visibly shaken by her destruction. When I stared unblinkingly up at her she seemed to feel a brief moment of shame, shifting uneasily.

Then she and her friend turned and walked away without a word spoken.

[cxffecoupx]

caramel and cuddles

jeon wonwoo + when it's cold outside so they hold hands together inside someone's coat pocket.  wc: 525 warnings: mentions of food author's notes: with this we officially start winter wonderland!! i've been so excited for this but i really really hope i follow through w it :') hope you guys like it! do show some love~ winter wonderland masterlist

it was a peaceful day.

or so wonwoo thought until you expressed your desire to go to a cafe. to have one of those extra sweet, extra chocolatey, caramel dripping, whipped cream topped, over-expensive drinks, he mocks you, but you hit his chest whining that it was just a 'caramel latte.'

he never found the appeal of those overly sweet drinks, he'd think as he sips his extra strong, double shot, no sugar espresso.

but those drinks always put you in a better mood for the rest of the day, and wonwoo cares more about that than some random drink.

he goes to put on a jacket and returns to find you wearing a tank top (a freaking tank top! in this cold weather!) and jeans and waiting for him.

"don't you think you need a jacket?" he asks, but he already knows the answer to it.

"nope, it'll ruin my outfit," you twirl to show him. "it's not that cold anyways."

he sighs before smiling at your goofiness and presses a kiss to your lips as you head out.

the walk to the cafe was a pleasant one. leaves crumbling under boots, cool breeze touching faces, tip of your nose feeling cold and wonwoo kissing it to warm it. he gets you your caramel latte and him, a hot americano with an apple pie to share. you both sit in the window-side booth, laughing over mundane things and cursing at your jobs, plans for christmas and new years.

you exit the cafe behind wonwoo, and the second he turns towards home, you're hit with the cold wind that freezes you in your spot. wonwoo stops a few steps ahead when he doesn't see you beside him. he turns around to see you still standing in front of the cafe entrance, hugging yourself.

he walks back. "what happened?"

"it's cold..."

wonwoo chuckles before taking your hand and pulling you along with him. slowly though, he falls a step behind you and when you weren't noticing (because you were more focused on reaching home before turning into a popsicle), he takes off his jacket and wraps it around you.

"i knew this would happen. this is why I brought the jacket," he says.

your eyes moisten as you look at him and pull him in for a kiss.

"you take such good care of me, woo. i love you so much."

"yeah yeah, let's not make this a habit though," he mumbles as he rubs his hands for some warmth. you giggle and take his hand, intertwining it with yours, and keep your hands in the coat pocket.

"there, this might make it better."

he looks at you and laughs.

"you're so silly," he says in between laughs and places a kiss to your forehead.

you continue walking, shivering ever so slightly in the cold.

"don't you think it'll start snowing pretty soon?" you ask.

"probably in a day or two's time. not that i'm looking forward to it..."

you stand on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair and say, "don't worry. we can have plenty of cuddling sessions."

"now that's something i can't wait for."

prompt by @novelbear divider by @adornedwithlight