#my ask box is always open for questions about them and the story and the world and GUH

[ccupcakqs]

— quiet isn't weakness ౨ৎ✧˚

warnings: slow emotional tension, confrontation but not violence

pairing: kimi antonelli x protective female reader

a/n: protective reader is my roman empire, request!

kimi’s always drawn attention without trying to.

he doesn’t speak unless he means it. doesn’t smile unless it’s real. doesn’t perform for cameras the way some of the older drivers do. he’s steady. thoughtful. hard to read if you don’t know him — and most people don’t.

but you do.

you know the way he listens carefully before he speaks. how he notices everything in a room before he picks where to stand. how he keeps his hands in his pockets because people stop staring at them when they can’t see them tremble. how he gets a little quieter when he’s overwhelmed, like the world takes up too much space in his chest and the only way to breathe is to shrink.

he doesn’t tell people that. he just handles it. he doesn’t ask for help.

but you’ve never waited to be asked.

and tonight is no different.

you’re already irritated before the man even opens his mouth.

something about the sponsor dinner feels heavier than usual. too many eyes. too many conversations you don’t want to be part of. kimi’s not great at these things, and he’s been tense since the moment you arrived — stiffer in his suit, quieter than normal, eyes darting a little too quickly between faces he doesn’t want to talk to.

you stayed close. like you always do. fingertips brushing his sleeve every few minutes. hand on his back as you leaned into conversations for him when he couldn’t bring himself to say more than a few words.

he’d said thank you once, just under his breath.

you hadn’t answered. you’d just squeezed his hand.

the man shows up at your table about an hour in. someone from motorsport media. you don’t remember his name, but you’ve seen him around. one of those guys who talks too much and listens too little. he looks at kimi like he’s an answer to a question he didn’t ask, and then turns to you like you’re more useful somehow.

you already don’t like the way he stands too close.

but then he says it.

“so, does it ever get tiring?” he asks, like it’s casual. like it’s small talk. “you know, always being the one carrying the energy in this relationship?”

you blink.

he keeps going, amused with himself.

“i mean, he’s great on track, obviously. but he’s not exactly a crowd favorite, is he? not the most charming. i always wonder how a guy like that gets someone like you.”

you stare at him.

kimi stiffens beside you.

you feel it instantly — the way his back straightens, the way he stops breathing for half a second too long. he doesn’t look at the man. he just lowers his gaze to the floor, hands tucked away so tightly in his pockets you worry he’s digging his nails into his palms.

you step forward, slowly.

the man doesn’t notice at first. he’s laughing to himself, clearly proud of his joke.

you wait.

and then you speak.

“do you enjoy talking like that in public,” you say, voice low and clear, “or do you just assume no one’s ever going to call you out?”

the man blinks. “sorry?”

“you should be,” you say. “you’re not being clever. you’re not being insightful. you’re being cruel. and you’re pretending it’s charm.”

his smile falters. “look, i didn’t mean anything by it—”

“you did,” you say, stepping in front of kimi now. “you meant to undermine him. you meant to put him in a box that makes you feel smarter. and you meant to do it with an audience.”

you don’t raise your voice. you don’t need to. the people around you have gone quiet.

kimi still hasn’t said anything.

you glance back at him for a second. he’s looking down, jaw tight. his eyes flick up when you reach for his hand, and he lets you take it.

“kimi doesn’t owe you charisma,” you say, turning back to the man. “he doesn’t owe you banter or charm or media clips you can sell as stories. he shows up. he works harder than anyone in this room. he risks his life every time he gets in that car. and he does it without needing to be loud about it.”

you pause.

then softer, like a truth you’ve carried for a long time,

“he’s not invisible. you’re just not looking properly.”

the man swallows.

you let the silence stretch.

then you nod politely, still holding kimi’s hand, and walk away.

you find the quietest spot on the balcony, away from the crowd, the music, the low buzz of conversations that now feel a little too sharp. kimi doesn’t say anything for the first few minutes. he just stands next to you, watching the city lights flicker below, fingers still laced with yours.

you glance at him sideways.

he looks tired. and not the kind that sleep can fix.

“sorry,” you say softly. “i know you don’t like scenes.”

he shakes his head. “you didn’t make a scene.”

“still,” you say. “i just couldn’t let it go.”

kimi finally turns to look at you. really look.

his eyes are soft. serious.

“no one’s ever done that for me before.”

you let out a breath. “that’s messed up.”

he smiles. small. but real.

“you didn’t have to.”

you shrug. “i didn’t think about it. i just… saw your face. and it pissed me off.”

he nods.

“thank you,” he says again.

“don’t thank me,” you whisper. “i’m always going to stand up for you. even when you don’t.”

his gaze dips. “i wish i could say something back. when people talk like that.”

you tighten your grip on his hand. “you don’t have to. not when i’m around.”

there’s a long pause.

and then, so quiet you almost miss it:

“it made me feel seen.”

your chest aches.

you lean forward and press your forehead to his shoulder.

he wraps his arm around your back, holds you there for a long time. like he’s anchoring himself to you. like maybe, just maybe, your voice can drown out the parts of his mind that still believe the things people say.

and when he finally pulls back, his eyes are clearer.

“you’re dangerous,” he says, not unkindly.

you smile. “only for people who try to hurt you.”

© ccupcakqs. all work written by me. DO NOT PLAGIARISE!

[444eggnog]

4 Seasons of Love

✍︎: this was one of the very first aus i ever wrote. i thought i’d clean up my drafts and share some of my older projects (actually debating if i should just post it all at once lol) before starting newer works, including part 2 of my mamma mia au. this one was inspired by a song that’s always been one of my favorites, 4 seasons of loneliness by boyz ii men. if it isn’t obvious yet, i really do love writing angst hehe. about the pictures below, please forgive me for not finding proper “interview” photos. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy it, even if it might sound a little rough in places. i did try my best to fix it up without changing too much. ♡

masterlist ! ☻

content: angst, heartbreak, breakups, unrequited love, grief, lost love, emotional hurt/comfort.

warnings: death, pregnancy, emotional themes

list of characters: Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Reader as narrator/ interviewer.

wc: 2k

video tape rolling...

“Hi. I’m Y/N, and this is my final project for my Theories of Personality class. We were asked to explore one central question, something human, something that makes us feel. And I chose this:

‘Can you describe the love that left you lost, but still loved?'”

“I didn’t want big headlines or perfect love stories. I wasn’t looking for drama. Just real people willing to share something that hurt them once.”

“I didn’t ask them for the whole timeline. Just... moments. The kind that stay with you even when it’s over.”

“What surprised me is how heartbreak has so many shapes. It fades, it freezes, it grows back in ways you don’t expect.”

“Each of them reminded me of a season. I didn’t tell them that but I saw it, in the way they spoke, in what they left unsaid.”

“So here they are. Four stories. Four seasons. Four people, still carrying the echo of something they once had.”

TAPE 1: Oscar Piastri (Winter)

They met at seventeen, awkward and bright-eyed, sharing cheap ice cream cones under streetlights. He’d walk her home on cold evenings, their gloved hands brushing. She’d tuck her chin into his scarf when the wind bit too hard.

In those first years, they were warmth itself. Movie nights under blankets. Notes left in lockers. Late-night phone calls where neither wanted to hang up.

It felt like they built a bonfire together, crackling, alive, defying the cold around them.

But the thing about fires is they need tending.

He kept feeding it. Every sorry, every compromise, every promise to do better. But the more he tried, the faster the wood burned.

She stopped adding anything at all. She just watched it die out.

She said she couldn’t see herself there forever. That she didn’t feel the warmth anymore.

Christmas Eve.

Oscar stood at the threshold of her friend’s house, the door ajar behind him spilling laughter and light. Outside, the world was white with fresh snow. He held a small black velvet box in both hands, thumbs nervously brushing over the edges.

She was in front of him, cheeks pink from the cold. Her eyes were gentle, but sure.

He knelt down on his knees and opened the box.

The gold band caught the light.

She shook her head.

Words froze in his mouth. His breath ghosted in the air between them.

No one inside noticed. They didn’t see him kneeling beneath the mistletoe taped carelessly to the doorframe, clutching a ring he’d spent months saving for.

They just heard the music, the laughter.

He stayed there for a long time before finally pocketing the box and walking away alone.

TAPE 2: Charles Leclerc (Spring)

They met in a corner café where she had her lyric notebook open, scribbling ideas like spells she had to capture before they vanished. He offered to buy her coffee. They talked until closing.

He went to every gig he could, even the ones in dingy bars where the speakers cracked. He’d stand at the back, eyes bright with pride.

When she couldn’t afford the bus to another city, he sent her money without thinking twice. He’d text her good luck before every show.

Their apartment smelled like new paint and coffee. Their bed was a mess of tangled sheets on lazy mornings. She’d hum unfinished songs while he cooked.

She’d tell him her dreams in whispers at 2 a.m., world tours, albums, a name people would know. He’d kiss her temple and say, “You’ll get there.”

But slowly, she stopped looking at him the same way.

Arguments didn’t explode, they wilted. Conversations dried out. She spent more nights on the road.

One evening, on the balcony with spring rain tapping the railing, it finally became clear.

She wouldn’t look at him the same way. Her eyes were full of apologies she wouldn’t say out loud.

He realized then she was already leaving, her heart somewhere on the road ahead.

She didn’t need to tell him she was outgrowing them. He could see it in the way she held herself apart, like she was protecting new roots that needed more space.

In his head, the words formed anyway. That he’d been good soil. That he’d watered everything in her until she was strong enough to leave.

That now... he was the weed in her way.

He didn’t fight it. He just let her go.

The rain fell steady as he watched her disappear down the street.

TAPE 3: Lewis Hamilton (Summer)

They didn’t mean for it to happen.

She was off-limits. Everyone knew that.

But somewhere between sharing knowing glances at family parties and sneaking cigarettes on the balcony together, the line blurred.

He couldn’t remember the first kiss, only that after it, there was no turning back.

They’d disappear for hours. Claim errands, take wrong turns on purpose.

Beach trips at sunset that turned into firelit make-outs in the sand. Skinny-dipping at 2 a.m., salt on their skin and laughter breaking the hush of the waves.

They never talked about the future. It was always now. Always urgent.

But she started asking for more. For sleepovers that weren’t secret. For plans that didn’t involve lying. For a promise.

He couldn’t give it. Not then. Maybe not ever.

And she didn’t beg. She just stopped waiting.

He watched her fall in love with someone else.

Stood in a pressed suit at the back of the church. Clapped with everyone else. Told them how happy he was.

The whole time he imagined it was him standing at the altar, taking her hands in his.

Regret always comes at the end.

TAPE 4: George Russell (Autumn)

George met her in the back row of their advanced seminar. She had a pen between her teeth and fury in her eyes when he got the question right before she did. Their rivalry was legendary. Professors rolled their eyes when they’d start debating. But competition gave way to respect. Respect became something warmer.

Late nights in the library turned into whispered jokes. Study sessions turned into shared coffees, stolen kisses, laughter muffled behind stacks of textbooks. He loved how she refused to lose. How she made him better, sharper, more himself.

He proposed on the floor of their first apartment, with moving boxes stacked like walls around them. She said yes before he even finished asking. They didn’t have much money, but they had plans. Wedding dates circled in cheap planners. Notes on what color to paint the nursery. A shared dream. A shared life.

When she told him she was pregnant, she was terrified. So was he. But they held each other and laughed and promised to figure it out. It wasn’t supposed to go wrong. She wanted that baby so badly. So did he.

But as her belly grew, so did the worry in her doctor’s eyes. Complications. Infections. Words that didn’t make sense until they were too late to stop. He held her hand in the hospital as machines beeped their awful rhythm. Her skin hot with fever that wouldn’t break. Eyes fluttering, trying to stay awake. Trying to stay for him.

She got to hold their baby. Just once. Smiled through tears, kissed their child’s forehead. Squeezed George’s hand like a promise she couldn’t keep. And then she was gone.

He stood in the cold hospital corridor, their newborn crying somewhere he couldn’t see yet, pressing his fist to his mouth so he wouldn’t scream. He went home with the baby in his arms. Alone.

The walls of the nursery were half-painted. Her handwriting on Post-its saying “Don’t forget to build the crib.” There was no breakup. No goodbye. Just absence.

And autumn came, like it always does, stripping everything bare.

Every year since, he packs up a picnic basket with her favorite foods. Buys the flowers she loved. Picks the spot under the tree at the cemetery. Sits on a blanket and talks to her.

He tells her about the people he’s met. The jobs he’s taken. The way their child is growing. That he’s turning five in a few months. That he’s learned how to ask for things so politely it breaks his heart. That he has her eyes.

He laughs sometimes, just to prove he remembers how. He cries, too.

He leaves the flowers on her grave and walks away with their child’s hand in his, feeling like half of him is still buried there.

And as the last leaf fell that year, so did she. He’s been living in that season ever since.

[morninkim]

Neo Toku OCs repost compilation

In 19XX, the Gemini Crickets rebelled against and defeated their creators, the Evil Organization ODIN. in the aftermath, Hideki Ishino, the former JUMP Striker, would later establish The Gemini Company to help support emerging heroes in this new, ever-changing world. Now, in 20XX, The Gemini Company have debuted the new faces of their mission, the Super Team Ganbarengers! While the Ganbarengers fight a mysterious interdimensional threat, JUMP Soldier, Hayato Ishino, works under the radar to track down and rein in his twin sister and former partner Ruriko, also known JUMP Stinger, who has allied herself with the errant JUMP Strider, Genji Mori. Though, every story has another side to it, not everything is as it seems from a single perspective. Allegiances are tested, bonds dissolve or become newly forged, and long-held beliefs are questioned, as an oncoming storm approaches, and war threatens to break the horizon like a dark sunrise...

top, Modern JUMPers: Hayato Ishino (JUMP Soldier) - Ruriko Ishino (JUMP Stinger)

middle, The Gemini Crickets: Genji Mori (JUMP Strider) - Hideki Ishino (JUMP Striker, formerly)

bottom, Ganbarengers: Seiji Asano (GanbareGreen) - Kiyomi Asano (GanbareYellow) - Akihiko Akahira (GanbaRed) - Bellarose "Belle" Vance (GanbarePink) - Cobalt Mason (GanbareBlue)

[arixella]

Hii! I love your fics so much it’s crazy 😭 Can I request maybe a OP character (anyone, strawhats if possible..👀 like Zoro for example WHO SAID THAT??) where reader is such a yapper, like they never stop talking and one day the character had like a bad day or sum and they got annoyed at reader speaking too much so they tell them to shut up or like something like that, but then reader gets hit by a devil fruit ability and gets mute for some times?? It would be very appreciated thank youu😙

The Silence Between Us

╰┈➤ pairing: Zoro x gn! reader

a/n: hey yall ive been on vacation sorry but im working on everyones request and the request box is closed rn 😭

summary: After Zoro snaps at your constant talking during a bad day, you're struck by a Devil Fruit power that renders you mute — forcing him to confront just how much your voice, and your presence, mean to him.

wc: 2.0k

contains: Hurt/comfort, angst with fluff, emotional vulnerability, soft romance, slow-burn tone,

You always had something to say.

From the moment the sun peeked over the horizon to the late hours of the night, you filled the air with words — stories, questions, dreams, wild thoughts, jokes (some good, some terrible). You talked to Chopper while he worked, to Robin while she read, to Nami while she navigated, and especially to Zoro while he trained.

He pretended not to listen most of the time, grunting or responding with “mm” or “tch,” but you kept talking anyway, never really needing a reply.

You didn’t notice the tension until it broke.

The crew had returned from a rough skirmish on a new island. Everyone was exhausted. Zoro had taken the brunt of it — again — after shielding a village from a collapsing cliff with nothing but his swords and his own body. He hadn’t said much the whole walk back. You followed him onto the Sunny, chattering all the way.

“And then Sanji totally panicked when the lady offered him ten kids in exchange for soup, did you see that? And oh my god, did you catch Usopp trying to bribe the snake guy with candy? Also—”

“Can you just shut up for five seconds?”

You froze mid-sentence.

The words landed like a slap, not loud, but sharp. Zoro didn’t yell. He didn’t even look at you. His brows were furrowed, jaw tight, eyes shadowed by frustration and fatigue.

“I’ve had a shit day,” he muttered, turning away. “I can’t deal with your constant talking right now.”

You stood there, mouth slightly open, hands half-raised in some unfinished gesture. The silence that followed was deafening. For the first time, you didn’t have a comeback. You didn’t even try to laugh it off.

“…Right,” you said quietly, backing away. “Sorry.”

You left him on the deck without another word.

The next day, you were on a scouting mission with Luffy and Brook when it happened.

You were talking — of course — something about the shape of clouds looking like mashed potatoes when a strange-looking woman stepped out from behind a tree, pointed a finger at you, and said:

“Silencio.”

A ripple of air hit your chest. You blinked.

Nothing felt wrong… until you tried to ask Luffy what just happened and—

Nothing.

Your mouth moved. No sound came out.

Panic set in quickly. You clutched your throat. Tried again. Nothing.

Brook gasped. Luffy shouted something incoherent and charged after the enemy Devil Fruit user. You were left there, speechless in the most literal way, voice stolen.

By the time the crew returned and explained what had happened, you had already started writing notes to communicate. Chopper confirmed it: a Silence-Silence Fruit. The mute effect would wear off — eventually — but no one knew exactly when.

Zoro found out later that evening.

He saw you at dinner, sitting quietly at the table. Not talking. Not laughing. Not making a single comment about Sanji’s overly decorative dessert or Franky’s attempt at sea-cucumber cola.

It was Nami who finally said it.

“They got cursed or something by a Devil Fruit user,” she muttered, stabbing her food. “They can’t speak for a while.”

Zoro nearly dropped his plate.

He stood slowly, heart pounding, and stepped out onto the deck.

You were there already, sitting on the edge, knees pulled to your chest, the waves reflecting in your eyes. You heard his footsteps and looked up, giving a small smile, polite and distant.

He hated it.

“I… didn’t know,” he said quietly. “They just told me.”

You nodded.

Zoro stepped closer. “Was it when you went with Luffy? That’s when—”

You nodded again, slower this time.

He stopped beside you and sat down, his jaw clenching.

“You’re not talking,” he muttered. “Feels weird.”

You gave him a small shrug. The silence stretched.

Zoro stared out at the water. “…I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.”

You didn’t look at him.

“I was tired. In pain. I snapped. That’s not an excuse, but…” He ran a hand through his hair. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You hugged your knees tighter.

“You talk a lot,” he said, a little helplessly. “But I like it. I got used to it. It’s just—sometimes my head’s too full. And I took it out on you. That was my screw-up.”

He glanced sideways at you. You were listening, really listening — but your expression was unreadable. He sighed.

“I miss your voice,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

You blinked, surprised.

“I mean it,” he said, meeting your eyes. “This silence? It’s worse than the noise.”

You looked down, then slowly reached into your pocket, pulling out a folded scrap of paper and a pencil stub. You scribbled something and handed it to him.

“It’s okay. I know I talk too much sometimes.”

Zoro stared at the words, then looked back at you.

“No, it’s not okay,” he said firmly. “You talk because it’s part of who you are. It’s how you connect with people. It’s how you make the ship feel… alive. I was just too selfish to see that yesterday.”

You wrote something else.

“Did you mean it, though? When you told me to shut up?”

Zoro flinched. He didn’t answer right away. He looked down at the deck, fists clenched.

“I meant I needed quiet. I didn’t mean to hurt you. If I could take it back…” He exhaled hard. “You’re the last person I’d ever want to silence.”

You were quiet for a beat. Then, slowly, your hand reached over and took his — fingers warm and soft around his calloused ones. You gave it a small squeeze.

Zoro looked at your joined hands, then at you.

“Next time I need space,” he said quietly, “I’ll say it without being a bastard. And when you get your voice back… I hope you’ll talk even more, just to punish me.”

That made you huff — soundless, but clearly a laugh — and you leaned against his side, resting your head on his shoulder. He let you, turning slightly so he could rest his cheek against your hair.

The sea rocked beneath the Sunny. The stars blinked quietly above. And even without words, everything you needed to say was there — in the silence, in the shared warmth, in the way Zoro held your hand just a little tighter.

And when your voice finally came back days later, the first thing you did was say his name.

Zoro turned immediately, eyes wide, and you smiled and whispered, “Still love you, even when you’re a jerk.”

He didn’t answer.

He just pulled you in and kissed you like your words were the only ones that mattered.

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[buckysleftbicep]

letters through time (5) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: modern!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: none, a little angst and a ton of fluff to make up for the heartache in the previous chapters!

summary: you find a letter from 1944 hidden in the old brooklyn apartment you moved signed by one james buchanan barnes. you write back, he did too, and somehow, across decades, you both fall in love.

word count: 1.8k

author's note: hi my loves, we have finally made it to the last chapter!! i can’t even begin to express how grateful i am for all the love this series has received. your kind words and sweet comments means the world to me, especially because, truthfully, i never planned on sharing my fics on here! writing was something i turned to when i needed to cope, and to know that people do enjoy what i write means so much more to me than i can explain. i love you guys so much and stay safe out there!

series masterlist

He tasted like rain and everything you’d been aching for.

His hands cradled your face as he kissed you, slowly and gently, like he was rediscovering something he thought he’d lost. And maybe he was. Maybe you both were.

You clung to the lapels of his coat, grounding yourself in the feeling of him—solid, real and warm. Your lips moved in sync with his, tentative at first, then deepening into something filled with quiet desperation and promise.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, the silence between you didn’t stretch awkwardly. It settled, full and alive, charged with all the things you hadn’t been able to say but had always hoped.

He smiled. And your knees nearly gave out. “Hi.”

You huffed a soft, tearful laugh. “Hi.”

Bucky’s eyes, those familiar cerulean eyes that once lived only in your imagination, behind layers of ink and yellowed paper—were softer now. Maybe because they weren’t just gazing out from a photograph. They were looking at you. Seeing you.

“You said you remembered everything,” you whispered, just to hear it again. Just to be sure. “All of it?”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t at first,” he said. “They wiped so much. I felt like I was swimming through fog. But something about your letters… they stuck with me. Even when everything else slipped away.”

His voice faltered, rough with emotion. Your heart ached just hearing it.

“I think it’s because you were the one thing they didn’t account for,” he said. “You weren’t part of my past. You were my future.”

Tears rose again, unbidden and overwhelming.

You took a small step back, just enough to really look at him. The lines on his face. The tiredness in his shoulders. The wear carved into him by time and war and loss. He wasn’t the young man in the photograph anymore—but that didn’t matter. He was still him.

Still Bucky. Still James.

“Can I come in?” he asked gently, his voice nearly a whisper, like he didn’t know if he had the right to ask.

You nodded and stepped aside.

He entered slowly, his eyes scanning the apartment like he was trying to memorize it. When his gaze landed on the cabinet—the one that had given you his first letter—his steps faltered. He reached out, brushing the wood with his fingertips.

Then he turned to you, something tender and aching in his expression.

“You kept them, didn’t you?” You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

Silently, you led him to your bedroom. You knelt and pulled out the box from beside the bed sealed all those months ago like a secret too sacred to discard.

You placed it between you on the edge of the mattress. Bucky reached for it as if it were a relic.

He opened the box carefully, gently. Inside lay the neat stack of letters. The faded daisies he had once given you you had once pressed between pages. The polaroids. The familiar curl of your handwriting wrapped around stories, questions, hopes.

And his.

He picked up one of the earliest notes, reading the words aloud with a disbelieving laugh:

“You sure you’re not pulling my leg, sweetheart? Phones that do everything?”

You smiled as he chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. “God, I really thought you were messing with me.”

He flipped through a few more, his fingertips lingering on each one. Then his hands stilled, eyes landing on the letter you’d written after your visit to the Smithsonian, the one with no explanations, no logic. Just hope.

Please come back to me, James.

He inhaled sharply. Closed his eyes. Swallowed hard.

When he looked at you again, tears shimmered in his lashes.

“I’m sorry it took so long.”

You shook your head, your throat too tight to speak at first. “You came back Bucky. That’s all that matters to me.”

He reached out and took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

The silence between you was heavy, thick with all the things that had been lost and everything that had managed to survive. But it wasn’t painful. It was full. Alive.

Eventually, you migrated to the couch. The storm had dwindled to a whisper outside, you curled into each other like magnets long kept apart, finally drawn back into place. His arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, your legs tucked beside his.

“So,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest, “what happens now?”

Bucky tilted his head, glancing down at you with the same boyish softness you had once only known through paper.

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly. “But I’d like to find out. With you.”

You smiled. “You mean you don’t have a Stark Industries time machine stashed in your back pocket?”

He snorted. “Nope. Just trauma and charm, doll.”

You burst into laughter, burying your face in his shoulder. He smiled wider, and tightened his arm around you.

And for the first time, in what felt like a hundred lifetimes, it finally felt like home.

The next few weeks were gentle. Bucky didn’t leave.

He stayed in Brooklyn, in the apartment that had once seemed like a strange anomaly in the timeline of your life, but had somehow become the bridge between past and present. Between you and him. Day by day, you came to know the version of James Buchanan Barnes who existed not in ink or memory, but in flesh and blood.

You learned that he was quiet in the mornings, that he liked his coffee strong, nearly burnt, and that he always read the newspaper from front to back like it was a ritual. You teased him for it, joking that he had officially become a grandpa, and he would roll his eyes but smile every time.

He still called you “sweetheart.” But now, he said it softly against your skin, with the warmth of someone who could reach across the bed and kiss your forehead after saying it. And every time, it made something settle in your chest. Something that had been waiting a very long time to rest.

He told you stories.

Some were light—childhood pranks with Steve, the time he tried to sneak out of camp only to be caught by a very unimpressed drill sergeant, his fascination with how different Brooklyn looked now.

Others were dark. Much darker. He told you about waking up in cold HYDRA cells with no idea who he was. About the way his memories had been stolen and stitched back wrong. About the fragments that survived the breaking—faces, smells, sounds. Your name.

“Every time they woke me up,” he said once, voice low and rough like gravel, “even when I didn’t know who I was… I remembered this apartment, that drawer. I didn’t know why. Didn’t know what it meant."

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The ache in your heart was too big for words, too swollen with everything he’d lost and everything you’d both somehow found again.

So you leaned in and kissed him.

Not because it made the pain go away, but because it was the only thing that ever made sense through the ache. Because he was here. Because he remembered.

Because against every odd, you had both survived long enough to find your way back.

And in the quiet that followed, when he rested his forehead against yours and breathed you in like a prayer, you knew that this soft, tentative beginning was worth every letter, every silence, every tear.

You were finally writing the rest of the story together.

Some days, you visited the Smithsonian together.

You stood beside him at the wall that once made you cry. This time, your fingers were laced with his. You watched as he stared at his own photograph, eyes tracing the younger version of himself frozen behind glass. There was a tender stillness in the way he looked at it, like he was seeing a ghost he had finally made peace with.

Then, just above a whisper, he said, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

You turned to him, eyes stinging, and squeezed his hand tighter.

Later that evening, over the soft creak of floorboards and the smell of dinner lingering in the air, you asked him quietly if he ever wanted to get rid of the letters—if maybe it was too painful to keep them.

He shook his head almost instantly.

“No,” he said, voice steady. “They’re not just letters. They’re the only part of me HYDRA couldn’t take.”

You didn’t press him. Instead, you took the box out together that night. Laid the letters across the table, smoothing them out with careful hands. Then, slowly, page by page, you tucked them into a leather-bound album—a home worthy of their weight.

Every page was a piece of a love story that should have never existed. A story folded in time, hidden between floorboards, sealed in ink and hope.

Every word proof that somehow, impossibly, you and Bucky had found each other again.

And this time, you weren’t letting go.

One evening, months later, you found another letter in the drawer.

This time, it wasn’t old.

It was new. Fresh. The envelope was crisp, the ink still slightly smudged, like it hadn’t been folded for long. You blinked in surprise, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached for it, heart already thudding.

You opened it slowly, cautiously, like it might disappear if you moved too fast. Your brow furrowed in confusion at first—until you recognised the handwriting. That familiar scrawl, equal parts elegant and hurried. The same ink that had once kept you company across time.

Your lips parted in a quiet gasp, and a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you began to read:

Dear (y/n), I never thought I’d get the chance to say this in person. Never thought the girl on the other side of my letters would be real. But here you are. You once said you didn’t know what you meant to me. That maybe it was just a moment frozen in time. But I need you to know that you’re everything to me. The letters brought me to you. But your heart kept me here. And I plan on staying. Forever yours, James

You laughed through your tears, pressing the page to your chest as you turned toward the doorway. And there he was.

Bucky stood leaning against the frame, arms crossed, that same half-smile dancing on his lips, the same one you’d first seen in an old photograph, the one that had lit up your heart before you’d even known what it meant to see him smile for real.

“You’re such a sap,” you whispered, wiping at your cheeks even as your laughter cracked through the tears.

“You love it,” he said, not even bothering to hide the warmth in his voice.

You crossed the room in three steps and threw your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He held you close, solid and warm and real, like he’d never left. Like time had finally settled into something soft enough to hold.

You kissed him then, slow and sure, and you were right.

You did love it. You loved him.

And maybe, somewhere deep down you always had.

a/n: this series will always hold a really special place in my heart, thank you for reading!

taglist: @ndanddnd @darling-eos @alikkatz @creepybake @maryssong23 @mgchaser @hiraethmae @coffeecigsandcommentary @iyskgd @silverdoragon @lori19 @counterstr1ke @cyberxlust @throwmethroughawindow @keira-kaz2y5 @herejustforbuckybarnes @tpwkyarely

[ghostlycamil4]

Hiiiii I hope you’re doing well‼️ I was wondering if you’d be open to doing a bakugo x story with like a bratty or high maintenance reader? I just think it would be cute for him to like adore his partner even though she or they are high maintenance and can cop an attitude! I don’t know if any of this is making sense, but I hope you have a good day💞🫶

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑡. 𝐼’𝑚 𝑜𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑.

heyo! bakugo being lowkey obsessed with his high maintenance partner?? yeah. had to do it hope u enjoy it as much as i did writing it <3 thank u for the sweet message btw, hope ur day’s been kind to u too!!

1. He always answers the phone. Always.

Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of the night, if he’s training, cooking, or in the middle of a meeting. If you call, he picks up.

"Now what?"

"Why does something have to be wrong? Can’t I just miss you without being questioned, Katsuki?"

"... "

"Also, were you really gonna go to bed without saying goodnight?"

"Tch. No. I was waiting for you to annoy me first."

And the worst (or best) part: the call sometimes turns into hours of lost sleep.

2. He knows exactly what you want. Even before you ask.

When a limited-edition pair of those ridiculous shoes comes out—only available in Paris and sold out in thirty minutes—you don’t say a word. He shows up at home with the box.

"How did you get them?"

"Don’t need to tell you everything, woman."

"Katsuki!"

"You gonna keep whining or try them on already?"

Spoiler: you cry and try them on.

3. When you’re sick… he doesn’t take risks.

Because you with a fever is a full-blown drama show.

"I think I’m dying. Don’t ignore me, Katsuki."

"You’ve got a 99.3, princess."

"That’s still above normal!"

"No virus could survive this much drama."

"Are you calling me dramatic?!"

"Yeah. And I’m still here with your soup, meds, and six velvet blankets. Happy now?"

Spoiler 2: yes, you are happy.

4. "I’m tired. Carry me."

One look. A pout. Arms extended. Bakugo sighs. You smile.

"You’ve got no shame."

"I’ve got no energy. That’s different."

"...Get on. But don’t ask for a massage later."

Spoiler 3: you do ask for a massage.

5. "I want ramen. But not just any ramen… yours."

You could’ve ordered delivery. You could’ve gone to your favorite place. But no, you want his ramen, because “it tastes better when you make it with love.”

"I’m not making it with love. I’m making it ’cause you won’t shut up."

6. "Don’t kiss me, I’ve got gloss on. You’ll smudge me."

You got all dolled up, lips glossy with vanilla shine. He leans in. You stop him with a hand on his chest.

"No. Don’t even think about it. You’ll ruin everything."

"Right. I live to look ridiculous with greasy lips."

"Exactly. You’ll look ridiculous."

He growls… and kisses your cheek. Then your forehead. Then lowers his voice:

"You better kiss me triple when that gloss’s gone."

7. "Take pictures of me. Good ones. Not like last time."

You hand him your phone, fix your hair, pose like you’re on the cover of a magazine.

"Not head-on. Use an angle. And don’t cut my feet off, Katsuki."

"I’m not a damn pro photographer."

"If you suck, I’ll hire a replacement."

8. "Why don’t you say sweet things to me? Call me baby or something."

It’s a constant thing. You love teasing him.

"Baby. Babe. Sexy. Something."

"How about ‘my spoiled dumbass’?"

"That’s not cute."

"It’s accurate."

"Katsuki."

"Love you, you whiny little princess. That better?"

Yes. That’s better.

You ask him this one night. You’re lying across his chest, skin still warm from a bath and your feet tucked under the blankets like always.

"Don’t you ever get tired of spoiling me?"

He doesn’t answer right away. He has you in his arms, your lips still shiny—gloss he already stole mid-makeout—and your body draped over his like you belong there.

The truth is: he knows. And so do you.

Because every time you call at 3 a.m., it’s not out of boredom… it’s because you miss his voice.

Because while he’s losing his mind trying to get you that crap that’s not even available in the country… you’re out buying matching pieces, so you always walk out looking ridiculously couple-coded.

Because when he’s sick, you turn into a dramatic, controlling nurse… but only because it scares you when he’s not 100%.

Because when you ask him to carry you, it’s not because you’re lazy. It’s because you want to wrap your arms around him and feel his heartbeat.

Because you ask for his food even when you could order the same thing, just because “his tastes better when it’s made with love.”

Because you say, “Don’t kiss me, I’ve got gloss on…” but you love it when he ignores you, grabs your face, and kisses you anyway.

Because you ask him to take pictures of you, but you always end up posting the one where he’s in the frame with you.

Because you ask him to call you sweet names, and even though he grumbles… you love how it sounds coming from him.

Because yeah, you’re dramatic. Demanding. Gloss-obsessed. A total headache with long lashes.

But you’re also the one who loves him back with the same fire. And he knows it.

"I like you just like this," he mutters, voice low and rough against your neck. "All of it."

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 5/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 5 :

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMMENT AND REPOST TO MAKE THIS STORIE LIVE :)

Max’s apartment was glowing with the warmth of soft light and low music. The table was crowded with half-open pizza boxes and Pietra’s expertly-arranged charcuterie board. Someone was already arguing about whether to rewatch The Grand Budapest Hotel for the fourth time. Lando was pacing. 

When the buzzer rang, Pietra swirled her wine and sauntered to the intercom.  

She opened the door and blinked. “Oh my god.” 

Ariana stood in the hallway, the December air still clinging to her cheeks, which were tinged pink with cold. Her long chestnut hair had been swept half-up, tied with a bold red ribbon that fell in elegant tails down her back. She wore a slouchy grey knit sweater that slipped just slightly off one shoulder, paired with a white pleated mini skirt. Tall, deep red leather boots climbed her legs with polished confidence. 

“You again,” Pietra said, smiling wide. 

“Me again,” Ariana echoed, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. 

The two of them laughed, the awkwardness melting before it even formed. 

“You look…” Pietra gestured vaguely. “Like you walked out of a winter-themed fashion editorial.” 

“I wasn’t sure how casual really meant,” Ariana said, stepping inside. 

“It means you win,” Pietra said, already linking arms with her. “God, you know how to dress.” 

Ariana felt a flush of surprise and something else—a sense of ease. She liked Pietra, she realized. The loud, confident girl had a calmness underneath, the kind that drew people in without overwhelming them. 

Then, across the room—he saw her. 

Lando had been leaning against the kitchen counter, half a beer in his hand, when his eyes lifted—and everything else seemed to vanish. 

He looked like someone who’d forgotten how to speak. 

He set the bottle down, a little too fast, and walked over. 

“Ariana,” he said, voice low, a little husky. “Wow.” 

She tilted her head. “Hi.” 

“You look…” His gaze traveled from her ribbon to her boots and back to her eyes. “Very good.” 

She laughed—genuinely. He smiled wider. 

“You clean up well too,” she added, her voice soft. 

He offered her his hand without thinking. “Come meet everyone.” 

Introductions blurred into conversation. She met Max, who had the kind of dry sarcasm that made her laugh within ten seconds. The rest of the crew was warm and welcoming, filling the room with a comfort that was noisy but kind. 

And the questions came quickly. 

About ballet. About her life. About how long she could stand on her toes without crying. 

Ariana fielded them all gracefully. 

“Six days a week, usually,” she said when someone asked about training. “Some days we rehearse until our feet go numb.” 

“Wait, but isn’t that… bad?” Max asked. 

“We’re trained to work through pain. It’s not ideal, but it’s part of the life. You just learn to listen to your body better. I’ve dislocated a toe mid-performance and kept going.” 

The room fell silent for a beat. 

“Okay, that’s badass,” someone said.  

Ariana laughed. 

Lando hadn’t stopped watching her. He hovered nearby, offering her a fresh drink before she could even ask, nudging a pillow closer when she tucked her legs beneath her. His compliments came in casual brushstrokes. 

It wasn’t just flirtation. It was attention. And Ariana noticed. 

She’d never had someone make her feel seen without being put on a pedestal. Not until now. 

When the food was brought out—an unapologetic lineup of pizza boxes stacked in glory—Ariana picked a slice with mozzarella and roasted tomatoes, settling comfortably on the couch again. 

And then came the question. 

“Wait,” one of the guys said, brow raised, “do ballerinas even eat pizza?” 

Ariana blinked, confused. She glanced at Lando. 

“I mean… of course I do,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Another voice chimed in: “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, on a super strict diet? I always heard ballet girls don’t eat carbs.” 

She blinked. Then laughed. Really laughed. 

“Maybe in the nineties,” she said. “But not anymore.” 

Everyone leaned in, suddenly fascinated. 

“Being a ballerina is being an athlete. A professional one. We train nonstop, and we burn thousands of calories. If we didn’t eat, we’d collapse.” 

“Wait, thousands?” someone asked. 

“Yes,” she said with a grin. “And no, I don’t live off lettuce and lemon water. I love food. I need food. I try to eat healthy, yes, because I care about my body—but salad three times a day is not healthy. I eat protein. Good carbs. Chocolate when I want it.” 

Lando, beside her, smiled. Proud. 

“There are dancers who still have toxic relationships with food,” she added, quieter now. “Because the pressure’s real. The ‘stay small’ stigma still exists. But it’s changing. We’re stronger now. We’re allowed to be strong.” 

Then everyone toasted. 

Ariana caught Lando’s eye. He raised his glass softly in her direction, that signature grin melting into something gentler. 

And she couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. 

Later, as the lights dimmed and the movie flickered across the TV, Ariana curled deeper into the couch cushions. Lando was next to her now, their shoulders just barely touching. 

Ariana had always been good at reading rooms. 

The longer she stayed in one, the more she could feel it—when it pulsed with too much laughter, or when it begged for a lull. She loved people. Loved stories. But there came a point where the noise curled in around her too tightly, and she needed to step back, to breathe again in her own rhythm. 

Tonight, in Max’s flat, that moment came just after the movie ended. 

The screen faded to black. Someone turned the lights back up. Jokes were traded over dessert and drinks, louder again now, but Ariana’s smile had softened into something quieter. Her energy was fading gently. Not in a bad way—just in the way things always faded with her: delicately, without complaint. 

Lando noticed it right away. 

She’d tucked herself further into the armrest, her hand holding the edge of her empty glass, legs crossed neatly beneath her. Her eyes still followed the conversation, but less actively now, like someone sitting at the edge of a waltz, watching instead of dancing. 

She looked at him, and there was a subtle flick of her eyes toward the hallway. 

He understood instantly. 

The balcony was cold. 

But the kind of cold that sharpened the air and quieted the noise. 

It stretched just outside the kitchen window, wrapped in a string of forgotten fairy lights from someone’s old birthday. Two metal chairs. A weathered table. A view of the neighboring rooftops, lit by the city’s amber glow. Not glamorous—but honest. A pocket of peace above the world. 

Ariana stepped outside first; arms folded lightly over herself. Lando followed behind, closing the door with the softest click. 

He didn’t say anything. 

He just stood beside her, close but not touching, leaning his forearms on the rail. She was in profile beside him, face turned to the sky, breath blooming faintly in the cold air. Her red ribbon fluttered once in the breeze, delicate against the oversized grey knit that swallowed her shoulders. 

They stood in silence. 

It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t empty. 

It was gentle. 

Like two people breathing in the same rhythm without needing to prove they were there. 

After a long stretch of quiet, she finally spoke. 

“You’re very good at that.” 

“At what?” 

“Letting silence be what it is.” 

He smiled. “Not scared of quiet?” 

“I prefer it,” she said. “Sometimes, I think silence says the things I don’t know how to say.” 

He nodded. “Same.” 

They were quiet again after that. 

He looked at her when she wasn’t looking—admired her, really. Not just her face, which caught the soft city light like something out of a dream, but the calm she carried. The restraint. The kind of poise he’d never had in his life, and yet… he felt safe around it. 

Like maybe he didn’t have to fill every space with jokes or movement. 

He could just be. 

“You always sneak away like this?” he asked eventually, voice low. 

A small smile touched her lips. “When I can.” 

“Because of people?” 

“Because of noise. Expectations. I love people, I do… but after a while, it gets heavy.” 

He nodded. “I get that.” 

“Do you?” she asked softly, almost like a challenge. 

He looked down at the streetlights below. “My life’s never quiet. Track days. Interviews. Fans. Press. Team meetings. Flights. Even when I’m alone, I’m on. It’s like the noise keeps following me around.” 

“And yet here you are,” she said, turning toward him now, her face close. “With me. Quiet.” 

“I like it better like this.” 

She smiled again, slower this time. More real. 

Their eyes met—and stayed. 

The moment stretched. 

She was looking at him with that wide, curious gaze again, like she was figuring something out she hadn’t expected to discover. The wind picked up slightly, brushing her hair into her face, and Lando, without thinking, reached up and gently tucked it behind her ear. 

Her breath caught—just enough for him to hear it. 

His hand lingered. Not on her skin. Just near. 

The tension changed. 

It wasn’t quiet anymore. Not really. It buzzed. It ached. 

Ariana’s eyes flicked to his mouth. 

Just once. 

Then back to his eyes. 

Neither of them moved. 

But the space between them seemed to close without help. His hand dropped slowly to her jaw, hesitant, like a prayer in motion. Their foreheads were close now. Too close. Her lips parted just slightly. 

Then— 

“Oi! Anyone seen the wine opener?” 

The balcony door creaked open with a clatter. 

Ariana stepped back so fast she nearly bumped into the chair behind her. Lando turned toward the voice, blinking like someone pulled out of a dream. 

It was Max. 

In socks and holding a corkscrew. 

“Ah. Found it. Never mind,” he said, oblivious, disappearing back inside. 

The door closed. 

Silence fell again—but it was different now. 

Charged. Unfinished. 

Ariana was looking down, one hand nervously adjusting the sleeve of her sweater. 

Lando cleared his throat, voice rough. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” she said quickly. Too quickly. 

They stood there for a second longer, the almost-moment still hanging between them, breathless and fragile. 

Then she looked up at him and whispered, “Next time, maybe.” 

His eyes met hers. 

Soft. Certain. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Next time.” 

@landonorris

Quiet nights with loud friends🍕✨

Liked by @arianariverria, @maxfewtrell and @pietra

@maxfewtrell

I wonder what you were doing on that balcony...

@pietra

you’re welcome for the candlelight and the entire concept of ambiance

@carlossainz55

I can’t believe you didn’t burn the pizza this time. proud.

@softlapclub

this is such a vibe, what even is this new aesthetic era??

@filmfoodandformula

slide 4 is the most intentional accidental aesthetic I’ve ever seen

@gridandgrace

Ariana liked… interesting 👀 just sayin

@pietra Pizza night supremacy

Liked by @maxfewtrell and @arianariverria

@filmfeedgirls

Any party that includes a movie and pizza is a success

@f1andchill

petition for Pietra to host every hangout from now on

@maxfewtrell

not even a picture of me. terrifying.

@dancecorecollective

Who is that girl with the red rubbon ??

@curatedchaosx

Ariana liking this post, are they friends now ?

Instagram Story – @arianariverria

@vibesinballet

Ariana liking Lando’s and Pietra’s posts? 👀 hmm. Interesting.

@gridsofts

Her story feels like it’s from the same night as Pietra’s post… cozy crossover content???

@justalittleslowburn

no one’s saying anything but the vibes are vibing…

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @esw1012, @lilyofthevalley-09

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[jaydove-writes]

Moving intro to pinned post so bio is less cluttered

~ he/him, cis, biromantic asexual, engaged to @starlightprincess98, (Planning to get married February 14th 2026) born July 12th 1997 (listed the year so I don't have to update my age every year) ****

Platonic soulmates: @aflairforthemelodramaticc and @translesbianfoxgirl

**** Formerly known as **** @princesssparkle42 **** @jaydovesworld **** Other blogs include **** @ask-skybluecmc, if you want to do some MLP OC RP **** @phoenix-of-grandeur, if you want to talk about your favorite games or mine (Though I also do that on main) **** @phiction-of-grandeur, if you want to talk about your stories or mine (Again I do that on main) **** @ask-the-felicity-crew, if you want to RP between your OCs and mine or ask me questions that I will answer as mine. The characters may or may not know they are fictional depending on when in the timeline you ask them.

****

@ask-simon-devlyn, same as the Felicity Crew, but centered around the captain, Simon Devlyn. On this blog Simon knows he's fictional.

**** I love talking to people and making new friends! I'm also creating my own story series called Starbourne. Wanna be friends in the gaming multiverse? Here are my Friend Codes:

****

Steam: 111892045

****

Nintendo Switch: SW-5163-5533-6136 ****

Musical Fandoms:

****

Chrono Trigger

****

Undertale

****

EPIC

**** Show Fandoms: **** MLP **** Steven Universe **** The Owl House **** Amphibia

**** The Ghost and Molly McGee **** Sailor Moon **** Cardcaptor Sakura

****

Infinity Train

****

Spongebob Squarepants ****

More later

**** Game Fandoms: **** Any RPG that features Mario (Such as Super Mario RPG, the Paper Mario series, or the Mario and Luigi RPG series) **** Any indie game inspired by Paper Mario (Such as Bug Fables or Born of Bread) ****

Undertale and Deltarune ****

In Stars and Time

****

Kirby

****

Hollow Knight and Silksong **** Zelda (mainly just watching other people play them) **** Pokemon (see Zelda) **** Might add more later **** Book Fandoms: **** Percy Jackson et al **** Amari **** Serafina **** Might add more later ****

Webcomic Fandoms

****

Homestuck

****

Down to Earth

***** Donation Links

****

Kofi

****

Patreon

****

PayPal

****

Book 1 of my series, Starbourne, is FREE!! For the other books please donate $6 per book to one of the aforementioned links. I'm planning on making this a series of 9, but currently working on book 2.

Doing one of those note things for motivation (or notivation because notes lol)

25 notes - I do the dishes and clean out the litter box (done, for now... But these are Sisyphean tasks)

50 notes - I clean up around the house (I did a little cleanup, might do more later)

100 notes - I do a little work on my book (it still needs editing before I can publish it and write the sequel, but I'll do some work on that when my PC stops crashing)

250 notes - I start working on book 2 (or work harder on editing book 1 if it still needs it)

500 notes - I participate in artfight (in the first July after it reaches this threshold. I doubt it'll get there by this month.)

1k notes - I start working on a video game in the Starbourne multiverse. A small one, like Undertale is to Deltarune. I'm calling it Saturn Robe which is an anagram for Starbourne, like Undertale is for Deltarune.

2.5k notes - I start working on my dream game, Starbourne. The one that's the reason I started writing in the first place. (If the small game isn't finished I work harder on that)

5k notes - I dedicate my time to taking care of myself/my partner/my family, and working on my dream game.

10k notes - I become a god in the Tumblrverse (this will not happen)

If you want to know more about Starbourne, check out my other blog @phiction-of-grandeur and my community for more details. My askbox is always open if you want to ask me something.

Here's the first book now:

And here's a newer version of the first book, with (hopefully) better writing. It's gonna be longer than the draft above.

Here's the book on AO3 as well ^^

ANOTHER DRAFT OF THE BOOK ^^^^ (This one is the newest one)

And here's my artfight link. It's new so there's nothing there yet. ^^^

Here's a game I made in Scratch back in 2012... I occasionally update it when I think of a new idea for an update. Feel free to ask me about Epic Kitty Hunt updates!

[softjeekies]

Waiting After The Rain

↳ chapter 7

previous chapter // next chapter

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: vomit, violence, mean words are said to our omega in this chapter(not by the pack), a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory

A/N: remember my ask box is always open for questions about this story and as always, please enjoy this chapter :)

One of the harder parts of staying with the pack was times like this, during the day when members are out at work or living life. Of course, you were never alone, the omegas don’t have jobs though they do go out as they please, and the rest of the pack has purposely arranged their schedules so that at least one pack member above an omega is home with you guys at any given time. It’s a nice setup, you'll admit, but you feel useless. To be fair you never went out much when you lived with your old alpha but you were always cooking and cleaning to please him, you were never not busy. So that’s how you got here. Trying so hard to be useful you decided to clean up a bit instead you just made a bigger mess. You were moving on from putting the dishes in the dishwasher to cleaning the countertops when you got a whiff of the cleaning solution smell and immediately you felt the familiar sickness feeling, If you were a cartoon character you would physically be green right now. Now that you’re out of the first trimester the morning sickness should have subsided, and to be fair it wasn’t as bad as it was in the beginning but it was definitely still making itself comfortable in your life. At your last appointment, you asked the doctor about it and she said this was probably something to do with your already above-average sense of smell for an omega. At the same time, you could still get sick randomly due to your changing body, and smells would be your biggest enemy. But it was normal and that’s all that mattered to you anyway, though right now you kind of wish it wasn’t. The strong smell of vinegar and lemon is the perfect combination to kick your sickness into overdrive. Before you could even gag or process the situation you’d already thrown up all over yourself. With closed eyes you could feel your body begin to tremble, a familiar vibrating feeling that could only be accompanied by a panic attack. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sob, too afraid to make yourself any more noticeable, your body lets out soft whimpers from your quivering lip instead. Before you can even think of how to make your escape to the bathroom to clean yourself up you have to clean up the mess you made on the floor first. It's not a lot but it would be easier to clean up if the cleaning solution wasn’t making you gag even more. You don’t hear Changbin come down the stairs and enter the kitchen through the ringing in your ears.

“Y/N? I heard your whimpering and ran down here. What happ-“ Changbin cuts himself off at the sight of you all on the floor covered in your own vomit.

“It’s fine! I’m almost done cleaning it up, don't worry, I’m sorry I was just trying to help. fuck! Why can’t I help?” Your rambling is halted by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay bunny. Just breathe.” As you look into his eyes you feel a sense of peace, like a gentle reminder that yes you can breathe, it’s okay.

“Good, now let me.” With one fell swoop, he picks you up bridal style and begins to walk away from the kitchen.

“Changbin, what the hell are you doing? I said I could handle it.”

“I know you could, but as your alpha, I can’t let you. Like I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, let’s get you cleaned up!”

Changbin carries you all the way to the upstairs bathroom and places you down on the toilet seat and turns around to head out of the bathroom.

“I’ll get you some clothes and then you can shower!” Changbin leaves but not before giving you one of his signature cutesy smiles that almost makes you sick from how sweet it is. The alphas here confused you, hell the whole pack confused you, but Changbin especially makes your head spin. His personality was very cute and sweet which is an insane juxtaposition to his buff frame. He easily has the biggest muscles you’d ever seen, it was kind of comforting when it wasn’t scary. Changbin returns and places the clothes on the counter.

“I grabbed you some comfy warmer clothes, thought maybe it’d help soothe you.” Changbin seems unsure, you’d think this was his first time caring for an omega.

“Thank you.” and with a nod the alpha leaves you to take your shower. The water feels like it does more than just wash away your sickness but it feels like your emotions are physically leaking from your body. You watch the water run down your small bump, placing a gentle hand there as unease settles deep in your bones. If you can’t do something as simple as clean up what’s the point? How can you take care of a whole life?

You step out of the shower with a shiver, trying to get dried off and dressed as quickly as possible. As you put on the clothes Changbin picked out for you, the last item stops you in your tracks. A hoodie, but not just any hoodie, it’s his. The smell of firewood penetrates your nose and your pupils dilate. Without a word, you put on his hoodie to allow the smell to engulf you, just like it’s supposed to. Leaving the bathroom you’re greeted by the muscular alpha who now has a shocked expression. He waited for you. And god is he glad he did. The sight of you in his hoodie, covered in his scent makes him dizzy. So he waits no time to pull you back into the bathroom with him, standing behind you as you both stand in front of the mirror. Wordlessly he picks up the hairbrush and begins brushing your hair, It feels domestic, but you don’t run.

“This is your hoodie.” You speak, not really knowing if it’s a question or a statement.

“Felix told us about how alpha scents really help with your nausea, you didn’t have to wear it, I just wanted to help.” He smiles almost as softly as he brushes through your hair. You don’t miss how he brushes his nose across the top of your head, taking in your milky cherry scent.

Changbin’s heart swells with pride as his alpha howls in his head at the display in front of him. A pupped omega wearing his scented hoodie allowing him to groom you, His pupped omega, he internally corrects himself. He leads you down to the living room and he stops you from going into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, I got it all cleaned up. Let’s relax now.” The alpha takes your hand leading you to the large couch letting you pick your spot before he sits next to you.

“Do you want to talk about what’s wrong, why you were cleaning up even though it was making you sick?” Your eyebrows furrow, and embarrassment floods your body once again.

“I feel useless and lazy. I don’t do anything, I don’t clean, I don’t cook, I don’t work, even though these are all things I can do with no issue. I don’t even go outside now, I’m becoming a slob.” Changbin’s heart breaks at your words, but understanding you just want some independence, some of your normal back.

“We can go out today. Could be like a more casual courting date or not, whatever you’d like.”

“I appreciate your offer but I don’t need your pity.” The alpha scoffs and your assumption of him.

“I don’t pity you, I care about you. And I want to hang out with you. Hyunjin can stay here with Han and Felix while we go out, it’ll be fun. No pressure.” Changbin gives you a hopeful smile, if he looks closely he feels like he can see a small crack forming in your wall.

“Okay, where would we go?” You don’t look at the alpha, afraid maybe he’d change his mind.

“We can go do some grocery shopping, you can help me!” Changbin emphasized the word help, as to soothe your worries.

“Really? I could help you pick out food for the pack?” You look up at Changbin with wide hopeful eyes, and his heart almost explodes.

“Yeah, we can go right now! Get your shoes on and I’ll go let the guys know we’re leaving.” He smiles before he retreats to the pack den where the pack members reside. You sit with your thoughts for a moment before releasing a contented sigh. Maybe things were looking up.

At the grocery store, Changbin pushed the cart with one hand and had the pack’s grocery list pulled up on his phone in the other. The list was split into sections, one for each pack member’s personal requests and a section for stuff for the whole house. You had a nice rhythm going on, where he guides you both through the store and tells you what to put in the cart. Though he can’t help but notice you don’t seem to be interested in grabbing anything for yourself, and they haven’t had a chance to add a you section to the grocery list quite yet. As you two made your way down a snack aisle he took notice of how you stopped in front of the milk drinks.

“I think I saw something about some sort of juice on Han’s list. What was it?” In all honesty, you don’t remember if anyone mentioned juice, you can’t think at all your mouth is watering at the sight of the banana milk. You recently started developing cravings, which weren’t weird, yet. Your mind was so used to not wanting things, you didn’t find yourself craving anything until you saw it. Sort of like love at first sight but with various cookies, rice cakes… and banana milk, as your brain had so kindly decided now. This wasn’t odd for you, you’d always liked banana milk but this was different. You didn’t want it, you needed it. This grocery trip was for them, you wouldn’t dare make this about yourself. And that’s where a gentle alpha’s encouragement comes in.

“Oh I love banana milk, should we get some?” You both share a knowing glance, though Changbin’s has an encouraging undertone.

“Maybe, maybe two packs would be good. Since there are so many of us.” The alpha is satisfied with your response, nodding at you to throw two packs into the cart. Though Changbin wouldn’t dare let the pack take your cravings from you, he’d be sure to let them know not to touch them later.

“Is there anything else the puppy wants?” Changbin takes your peaceful sigh as an invitation to be just a little more direct, trying to get you comfortable with his care.

“Seaweed chips sound really yummy… and those matcha cookies Hyunjin likes.” You blush, not used to giving in to your own desires. Changbin doesn’t care though, he wastes no time finding the snacks you want. As you continue your shopping trip the alpha does a lot more of that, encouraging you to get stuff for yourself too, showing you that you deserve treats just like the pack does if not more since you’re carrying a pup as well.

The walk to the car feels bright, and internally you acknowledge the progress you made in the store, it feels nice. Changbin insists he be the one to load the bags in the car but you don’t get in the car, you wait patiently in case he changes his mind.

The smell hits you first, like a bullet train traveling faster than sound itself. You grab onto Changbin’s arm, your scent is rancid like spoiled milk, full of panic.

“What’s wrong?” Now Changbin’s scent is burnt, afraid that somehow you got hurt on his watch. Before you can tell Changbin how urgently you need to leave the voice hits your ears and you’re shocked you don’t pass out in pure fear, you remain frozen, which somehow feels worse.

“Would you look at this, surprised I found you slut?” The slurred voice from the alpha a mere five feet away from him and his babies causes Changbin to let out a growl.

“Who the hell are you?” You want to scream at Changbin to not say anything to just get you both in the car and run but you can’t, you scream but nothing comes out. Once again trapped in your own mind prison.

“I should be asking you the same, you’re playing around with my sloppy seconds.” It clicks immediately for Changbin, this is the man who hurt you, who kicked you out on the streets pregnant and alone. The next growl he lets out is nastier, more venomous.

“Come on Y/N, you think you can run away and wear another’s alpha’s clothes and expect me not to find you? You’re carrying my seed, not his. I always knew you were a whore, but you were my whore.” If your blood wasn’t cold before, it definitely was now. Everything in you screamed to run but you remained still. Your mind feels like a slurry of nasty thoughts, like you were right back in his grip, like you’d never be safe from him.

“I suggest you leave before I rip your throat out with my teeth.” Changbin keeps one arm behind him, within each of you, keeping you both safe from this monster. The way his hand is inches away from your stomach makes you hyper aware of the pup growing inside it.

Alphas hurt pups. Our pup is in danger. Do something.

Your omega screams in your head but you don’t move, useless as always.

“Pfft her hole’s not even that good. She’s used goods pal.” The arrogant alpha slurs and it lights a fire within Changbin, nobody speaks about the people he loves like that. He lunges at the alpha determined to make those words his last, he punches him so hard that you can hear a loud crack. The alpha falls to the ground, unconscious. Changbin immediately ushers you into the car and drives away from the scene. You don’t speak, you don’t cry, you’ve completely disassociated. Staring in front of you out the windshield you think about how you got here. A lot of your first week with this pack was spent scared he would find you, but things were getting better, you had almost forgotten this was even possible. Changbin tries to comfort you the entire ride home but it’s like you’ve left your own body. His alpha cries for him to do something, to help his omega but nothing works.

When he pulls into the garage at home you immediately bolt out of the car and head straight to your room. At the sound of the door slamming and locking, everyone knew this was going to be a hurdle. But they were all willing to fight for you… literally in some cases.

[kitkatkitzune]

FLAVORS

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Fem!reader

Summary: Kol learns about modern day beauty products, his favorite being flavored lip balm.

Warnings: Kol being Kol, Kol being a softie, Klaus being sassy, Best friend Rebekah, Brief mention of blood, Mention of Rebekah previously trying to eat reader (we all make mistakes), Kol being very very curious about modern stuff, inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (my bad.)

Notes: This was originally a very short fluffy idea that I had… and then it kind of just turned into way more? whoops? I feel like we never really talk about the little things that would be way different to all the originals, we always focus on the big things like technology and laws but never something as simple as flavored lip balm…

I’d like to take this opportunity to shout out my red crab makeup headband.

Word Count: 2.4k

MASTER POST , TVDU MASTERLIST

———————

“And what do we have here?” Kol’s teasing voice cuts into the conversation you and Rebekah were currently having in her room.

The blonde girl rolls her eyes, “Go away, Kol.”

You turn and look at the boy, you hadn’t officially met him yet as you spend most of your time with Rebekah but you had heard stories about him. Kol smirks at you and then looks at all of the items laid out on Rebekah’s bed.

He walks over and tilts his head, obviously curious, he picks up an eyeshadow palette, “Is this makeup?” he looks at you when he asks, addressing the question to you.

You hum and he nods, continuing, “See, right before I was put into a little box, makeup was still a bit of a taboo for common women…” he opens the palette and stares at all the vibrant shades, “now you all wear these bright colors.”

You watch in horror as he digs his finger into the pot of a glittery purple shade causing the pressed pigment to crack and break. You’re on your feet immediately and grab the palette from him, letting out a sigh when you see the damage.

Kol doesn’t seem to notice your expression, “What do you do with this?” he holds up his pointer finger that is coated in sparkly purple.

Rebekah takes the palette from you and glares at her brother, “You do realize you’ve ruined the purple right?”

Kol ignores Rebekah and looks at you, expectantly, you sigh, “It goes on your eyelids, it’s eyeshadow.”

Kol hums and in a quick move, puts his finger on your eyelid, spreading the pigment onto your face, effectively ruining your makeup look you and Rebekah had just finished. He smirks, proud of his work.

“Kol!” Rebekah gasps, standing up to forcibly shove her brother out of her room. She slams the door shut and locks it even though he could get back in if he really wanted to.

With her back still to the door Rebekah looks at you with an exasperated look, “I am so sorry! My brother is a bloody fool.”

You shrug, grabbing the makeup remover to clean your face, “It’s fine, Bekah. It’s not your fault he hasn’t seen an eyeshadow palette yet…” you pause a moment, tilting your head in thought, “though, I guess it’s not really his fault either?” a small smile appears on your face, one Rebekah recognizes as your ‘he’s cute’ smile.

“Don’t tell me you think he’s—” Rebekah starts and you cut her off, very aware of the fact that you’re in a house full of vampires with super hearing.

“Besides, I hardly used the purple anyway.”

Rebekah narrows her eyes at you and crosses her arms, walking closer to you. You roll your eyes and bring your fingers up in a pinching motion, mouthing, ‘Only a bit.’

You giggle as Rebekah’s nose scrunches up in disgust at your admission of finding her brother a bit cute.

-★-

You were currently lounging on the Mikaelson family’s couch, reading to pass the time while you waited for your face mask to finish. You didn’t care about anyone seeing you in such a thing, the Mikaelsons always came home covered in blood or worse. Seeing you in a little bit of clay wouldn’t kill any of them.

It would certainly confuse Kol, though. He was a bit alarmed when he entered the living room to find you with a green face.

“What on earth is that?” he asks, he seems mildly concerned but also intrigued.

You look up at him, closing your book, “It’s a face mask. It helps your skin become clearer and healthier.”

He nods, still a bit weirded out by it and an idea pops into your head.

“Would you like to try?”

“What?”

“The face mask! Oh come on, it'll be fun!” you say, jumping off of the couch to grab his hand and drag him up to your honorary room you had in their house.

Kol attempted to glance around the room but didn’t really get a chance as you drug him straight into the bathroom, you held up two fluffy headbands in front of him. One was red and had eyes on it, accompanied by little claws to look like a crab and the other was brown with little bear ears.

The one you were currently wearing was red with little devil horns, he would have preferred that one. Still, he chooses the crab one so you two would have matching colors.

You let out a little squeal and stretch the headband over his head while he sits there like a doll, doing nothing to help you. You grab the face mask tube and set it on the counter and that’s when you notice you left your drink downstairs and grumble, you needed your caffeine.

“I’ll be right back!” you chirp and practically skip out of the room to get your drink.

Kol bounces his leg, a bit nervous before he picks up the tube and begins to read the ingredients. He decides to open it up and squeeze a bit into his hand, just to get a feel for the texture. However, even as a thousand year old vampire he sometimes underestimates his strength which results in him squeezing over half of the tube out and onto the floor.

Kol’s eyes widen in panic just as you come back into the bathroom and see the mess on the ground.

“I didn’t mean to!” Kol quickly tries to defend himself.

You sigh, setting your drink down and reaching for a towel to wipe the mask off the ground, “How much is left in the tube?”

“A third…” Kol waits for you to rip the crab headband off his head and shove him out of the room just as Rebekah had done the other day but you don’t.

You look up at him and smile, “That’s still enough to do yours!”

Standing up, you toss the towel near the hamper and grab the tube from Kol. You squeeze a generous amount onto the scoop, gently grabbing Kol’s chin to tilt his head up.

“It’s going to be a bit cold since it’s a refrigerated mask, just a warning.”

Kol nods but still flinches when it first touches his skin. He sits quietly, just watching you as you focus on spreading the clay evenly on his face.

After a moment you finally speak up, “Klaus bought me this mask when he was dragging me and Stefan all around that summer trying to find werewolves… I practically begged him.”

“My brother kidnapped you as well?”

You shake your head, “No, no, I essentially forced him to take me when he took Stefan.”

“I do believe your exact words were ‘I’m not letting Stefan run around with a filthy mutt all summer by himself.’” Klaus announces while walking past your room, stopping for only a brief moment.

You roll your eyes and shout back, “But now we’re the best of friends!”

“You just like my credit card!”

You laugh a bit and set down the scoop you used to spread the mask around with into the sink.

“And now we wait.”

Kol nods, then asks, “So you were there when Rebekah was undaggered the first time?”

You nod, “Mhm! I was the one who taught her about todays makeup and some fashion trends! She actually tried to eat me when we first met but Klaus stopped her and now we’re thick as thieves!”

You smile fondly at the memory of helping Rebekah understand modern makeup and fashion, you explained everything to her and even did her makeup for her.

“Is it supposed to feel like my face is being frozen in place?” Kol asks, interrupting your trip down memory lane.

“Yup!”

-★-

Kol tilts his head to the side as he watches you apply something to your lips, it wasn’t the action that was confusing him, it was that there was no color.

“What is that?”

“This?” you hold up the small cylinder and he nods, “It’s called lip balm… it’s kind of like lipstick.”

“Why is there no color if it’s like lipstick?”

You shake your head, “No, no, it’s for healing your lips, it’s meant to be clear. It’s more like a medicine. It makes your lips all soft and prevents cracking and bleeding.”

Kol nods, “So it’s like… moisturizer?”

“You can think of it like that!”

After a moment you gesture for Kol to take the lip balm, “Wanna try? These ones are even flavored! This one tastes like cherry!”

Kol’s brows shoot up, “flavored?”

“Mhm! They have all different kinds! Coconut, strawberry, cotton candy—“ you cut yourself off, “oh my gosh! You’ve never had cotton candy before, have you? Oh you’ve got to try it! That’s the next thing on the list! Right after lip balm!”

Kol chuckles at your eagerness and takes the lip balm from you, cranking the bottom of it til over half of the actual lip balm was sticking out of the container. He sniffs it, as though he thinks you’re playing a trick on him when you say it's flavored.

Then very carefully he brings it up to his lips and… takes a bite out of it?

“Kol—“ you try but it’s too late.

The Mikaelson boy grimaces at the artificial waxy taste, he swallows it and glares at you, he isn’t actually mad at you and you can tell.

He gets a drink of water to wash away the taste, “You said it was flavored! That tastes God awful!”

You laugh, “Because you’re not meant to actually eat it!”

“But you said—“

You shake your head, taking back the lip balm to try and smooth out the bite marks, “C’mere.” you becken him over to invade your space.

You tilt his head down, holding his cheek as you apply the lip balm onto him. Kol stands a bit awkwardly with his hands out for about five seconds before resting them on your hips. He’s relieved when you don’t jump away from his touch. To his surprise, when you’re finished applying the lip balm, you don’t pull completely out of his hold.

“Lick your lips.” you say, smiling up at him.

Kol’s brow furrows but he follows the order nonetheless, his eyes light up when he tastes the faint cherry flavor.

“Better?” you ask.

“Much.”

“And now your lips will be super soft! Perfect for kissing!”

There’s silence for a moment and reluctantly you step out of his hold, “I’m sorry I just made that super awkward…”

“No, no, you didn’t.”

You clear your throat and hand him the lip balm, “You keep this… after all, you did take a bite out of it.”

“That I did, darling.”

-★-

It had been awhile since you had seen Kol and you hoped you had not ruined whatever little friendship you had going on with your kissing comment. It may have also been a while since you had seen him since you were avoiding the Mikaelson house to, well, avoid him. It was weird for everyone since you were always there. Rebekah had heard about what happened from both you and Kol and she was about to go crazy with the two of you dancing around each other. She demanded that Kol go talk to you since she knew you’d never get the courage to do so.

You were washing dishes in the kitchen when there was a knock on the door. You dry off your hands and go to look through the peephole, there’s Kol Mikaelson, standing on your doorstep holding a large shopping bag.

You open the door and raise a brow, “What are you doing here?”

He holds up the bag to emphasize its presence, “May I come in?”

You nibble your lip, you knew if you invited him in there would be no take backs on it. You shook the thought from your head, all of the other originals (besides Finn) had access to your home. The Mikaelsons were practically family to you and Kol had been good to you.

You step aside, “Come on in.”

Kol looks around as he enters, taking in your home.

“I know it’s not nearly as fancy as your mansion but not all of us can come from billion dollar original vampire families.”

He chuckles at your comment, “It’s a nice home.”

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, just staring at each other before you cough awkwardly, unable to handle his intense gaze any longer, “What do you need Kol?”

“Oh, right, I almost forgot.” he gestures the bag towards you, urging you to take it.

You raise a brow but comply, opening the bag you find a new eyeshadow palette, the same one that he had ruined the purple in, a bottle of the fancy clay mask you use, and a number of different flavored chapsticks (including the cherry flavored one he’d taken a bite out of).

“Kol… you didn’t have to…”

“I figured I should since I practically trashed your old stuff.” he walks farther into your home, until he reaches the living room where you have reruns of your favorite television show playing.

He turns around, facing you as you rummage through all the different chapstick flavors.

A small smile appears on his face, “Maybe we could try them all?”

Your eyes widen, “You want to open all of them?”

“Well, maybe not all but a few… I have an idea, what if you put them on and I’ll guess the flavor…”

Your brows furrow as you open one of the lip balms and begin applying it, “That doesn’t even make sense, they’d be on my lips not yours!”

Kol lets out a chuckle at your statement and you just become even more confused.

“Bloody hell, you’re oblivious.”

“Wha—“

Kol cuts you off by connecting your lips in a short but very sweet kiss. He pulls away, looking at your expression to make sure Rebekah hadn’t been lying to him about you having a crush on him. His worries disappear when you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in again. His hands find your hips, pulling you flush to him as he begins to nibble on your lip. He pulls away again, resting his forehead against yours, allowing you both to catch your breath.

“Coconut.” he says suddenly.

“What?”

“The flavor,” he clarifies, “It’s coconut.”

You remove your arms from his neck and look at the lip balm in your hands, “Oh you so totally cheated!”

“I did no such thing!”

“The coconut one doesn’t even taste like coconut!”

“Okay… maybe I peeked just a little.”

“Kol Mikaelson!”

You both begin to laugh before Kol smirks cheekily at you, pulling you impossibly close, “Next lip balm? I promise I won't peek this time.”

[covenofagatha]

The Psychology of Love (Part 3)

The Delay of Gratification

Your first date with Morgan and a lesson in defense mechanisms and the delay of gratification

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: none yet, slowburn

Morgan and you go out to dinner the next day. You had seriously been considering just never texting her and making more of an effort to avoid her, but Wanda and Nat pestered you continuously during breakfast until you had given in. 

Turns out, you were both free that night. 

You had a class in the evening, so you meet her at the pizza place off-campus after. She’s wearing a light blue dress that brings out the color in her eyes and her Black Opium perfume makes you wish there was someone different sitting in front of you. 

“Did you have a good day?” she asks while you’re waiting for your pizzas to be done cooking. The awkwardness of a first date is hanging over you, coupled with the fact that her fingers were inside you on Monday. You’re still a little shocked that happened. 

But you nod and smile. Morgan is nice, and she’s trying. The least you could do is try as well. “Yeah, I had two classes. They’re both pretty easy. My hardest are definitely Physiological Psych and Personality Psych.” 

Even the mention of the latter makes your stomach clench. Agatha has wormed her way into your brain and you don’t know how to get her out. The perfume you ordered should be here tomorrow and you regret buying it. 

Realistically, what are you going to do with it? You can’t wear it—both Morgan and Agatha will pick up on it. It’d be absolutely pathetic to spray your pillow with it and imagine it’s Agatha next to you, plus Wanda would surely wonder about that. 

Which means you spent one-hundred dollars on a bottle of perfume that’s going to sit on your desk and serve as a reminder that you’re delusional. 

A waitress brings over your personal pizzas and sets them down in front of you, steam billowing off. 

Morgan’s looking at you, a little expectantly, and you clear your throat. “How was your day?” you ask, realizing that you never returned the question.

“Pretty good, thanks. I had an International Relations class. We already have a quiz next Tuesday, which is crazy considering this was our second day of meeting.” You learned that she’s a Political Science major while you were waiting in line for pizza. 

She doesn’t say anything else, so you chew on your lip and try to think of ways to get the conversation going. “So…how did you get into political science?” At least her face brightens at that. 

“My dad works in local government and I’ve always been really interested in it. I’ve interned at his office since I was probably sixteen? I’ll be able to get a job with him once I graduate and then hopefully I can be elected for something,” she says before launching into a few stories about town halls that she’s been a part of. She’s from a small town in Indiana and the people there are apparently a little unhinged.

Morgan’s just telling you about a petition one man started to make his birthday a town holiday when the door to the restaurant opens and a familiar face walks in. 

It’s Agatha’s standoffish TA. Morgan is still talking but your eyes follow Rio as she walks up to the counter and shows them her phone. The lady nods and picks up a boxed pizza that’s sitting next to her and hands it to Rio. 

As she’s walking to the exit, she tilts her head over to you like she feels you staring. You quickly look away but in your periphery, you can see her coming closer until you have no choice but to crane your neck up at her. 

“You’re in Professor Harkness’s class, aren’t you?” Rio asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question. She obviously remembers you from Agatha’s office yesterday. 

You nod and she chuckles amusedly, tongue bulging in her cheek. Her complete one-eighty of a personality change is throwing you off. 

Rio glances at Morgan and then back to you, a gleam in her eyes. “Good luck.” Before you can ask what she means—is she talking about Agatha’s class? talking about Morgan?—she shifts the pizza in her arms and strolls out the door without looking back. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “That was weird.” 

You choose to not say anything and take a bite of your pizza, instantly wincing when it burns your mouth. “Did the man get his petition approved?” you refer to what she had been talking about before Rio, and Morgan dives back into that memory. 

She talks for most of dinner, only really taking a break while she’s eating, and then you walk her to her car. Thankfully, neither of you wants to hang out in the resultant once you’re both done with your food. She’s parked right in front whereas you had to find a spot in the garage behind the row of restaurants. 

“Do you want me to give you a ride to your car?” Morgan offers and you pretend to think about it before shaking your head. 

“No, that’s okay. It’s not very far.” There’s a minute of silent shuffling while you both try to figure out how to end the date. “Um, well I had a great time with you tonight. Let’s do this again soon?” 

She smiles warmly. “I’d love that.” And then Morgan leans in to press a quick kiss to your cheek before getting in her car. Her perfume drifts into your nostrils and lingers and you hear Agatha’s voice telling you that you did very good. Heat flashes through you but you tamp it down. 

You wait until Morgan drives off before turning to head to the parking garage, but you see another person that you know in the shadows. 

Professor Harkness. 

Your heart lurches as she pushes off the building wall she was leaning against and steps into the light. She’s wearing blue pants and a matching blazer over a black turtleneck. The gold from her necklace catches the streetlamp glow. Her long, loose hair frames her face and you can see her blue eyes glinting even in the dark.

Swallowing roughly, you irrationally worry that she’s going to be mad about you and Morgan. A part of you wants her to be mad. 

But she just smirks instead. “Dinner with a friend?” 

“Something like that,” you mutter, shrugging inconspicuously. “What are you doing here?” It seems like she’s waiting for someone—a date? Not that it matters, of course. You just want insight into your mysterious teacher. 

She moves closer to you, close enough so you can smell her perfume. It’s getting really fucking confusing with both Agatha and Morgan wearing the same scent. “I’m just picking up dinner,” she hums. “Nothing as exciting as you.” 

Your cheeks burn. “That wasn’t anything, just a first date. We met at a party a few days ago.” When I let her fuck me because she reminded me of you.

Agatha nods like she knows something you don’t. “Do you remember learning about defense mechanisms?” 

“What?” 

“In a general psych class, did you ever learn about defense mechanisms? Freudian methodology, of course, that believes our ego unconsciously wants to protect the superego from the id when we do something that would otherwise cause us anxiety, guilt, and shame.” 

“I mean, yeah?” You’ve heard of them, but why is she bringing them up? 

She waves a hand at your apparent confusion. “We’ll get more into them later in the semester. I just think it’s neat, you know? How we can be doing something and not even be aware that we’re doing it. Denial, rationalization,” she fixes you with a pointed look, “transference. The mind does really work in interesting ways.” 

You nod and bite your nails, not sure what to say. It feels like you’re missing something by a mile.

But Agatha just smiles. “See you tomorrow in class, hon.” She winks before leaving you outside and you slowly trudge back to your car, completely dumbfounded. 

Once you get back to your dorm, the conversation with Agatha still fresh in your mind, you halfheartedly return Wanda’s greeting and take out your computer and type “transference” into Google. 

Transference is the psychological phenomenon where someone redirects feelings from one person onto another. It occurs when someone unconsciously projects feelings or desires onto someone else. 

“Holy shit,” you say out loud, your blood running cold. Wanda’s head turns toward you but it’s like you have tunnel vision. 

Was Agatha implying that you going out with Morgan is you redirecting your feelings toward your professor onto someone who looks like her? 

Your heart is thumping so loud you can hear it. Are you being that obvious to Agatha? Can she tell that you have a crush on her? 

As if to make matters worse, you get an email notification saying that a package has been delivered—the perfume. A whole day early, like the universe wants to prove its point. 

You let it sit in the delivery room all night because you don’t trust yourself not to go crazy if you smell it right now. 

But you barely get any sleep at all just thinking about it. 

The next morning, Wanda and Nat interrogate you at breakfast. You had told Wanda the general basics of how the date had gone last night, but now they’re pressing you for the details, which you reluctantly give. 

“It was good, she spent a lot of time talking about interning for her town’s government. She’s a Poli-Sci major—” Nat scoffs and rolls her eyes and Wanda laughs, “—and apparently her dad is like the mayor or a council member? I don’t know, I mean, she’s nice and all…” 

“Oh, come on,” Wanda says, fond exasperation staining her voice. “You always do this. You meet a great girl and then you decide that she’s boring or that you don’t really like her or you make one tiny thing of their personality into a big problem. Why can’t you just let yourself have something?” 

It stings how well she knows you. “I just…I don’t know…I’m just not sure we’d work that well together. And it doesn’t really make sense to get into a relationship now, does it? We’re graduating in the spring so why start something new if we’re going to end up in different places? She wants to go back to Indiana and I’ll probably stay here or go back home, so it just doesn’t seem like there’s much of a point.” 

Nat looks unimpressed. “Really? That’s your excuse for why you’re going to self-sabotage? If only long-distance was a thing, god.” 

Wanda pats her girlfriend’s hand and stifles a smirk at the sarcasm. “Just because it’s not going to end in marriage doesn’t mean it’s not worth it,” she says gently. “Why not go on a few more dates, just to see what happens? And who knows? She could be worth it.” 

It won’t work because she’s not at least twice my age. Except you can’t exactly tell your friends that. So instead you say, “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Even if it’s not a relationship, it could be a friends-with-benefits situation,” Natasha adds and Wanda snorts. “You’ve already had sex with her so you already know what you’d be getting into.” 

“Okay, okay,” you grimace at her crassness and push your chair back. “I have to get to class.” 

You have about twenty minutes before it starts, so you’re not in a rush, but you need the walk to clear your head and mentally prepare for seeing Agatha. The quip about transference has you still reeling and it’s only the third day of this class but it’s already the second time you’ve been nervous to look at her. You’re not sure you can get in trouble for having a crush on a teacher but you certainly don’t want Agatha being uncomfortable around you.

So you’ll keep your distance. You’ll go to class and take notes and answer questions, but you’ll leave right after. You won’t let her praise affect you and you will definitely not get close enough to smell her perfume that makes your cunt pulse. 

Practically everything you were just thinking goes out the window when you walk into class and see her standing at the front of the room. 

Agatha’s wearing another turtleneck, white this time, under a tan blazer and matching pants. You wonder if she’s been wearing them to hide hickeys on her neck—but then you remind yourself that you don’t care, despite the growing feeling of jealousy in your stomach from your absolutely baseless speculations. 

She smiles at you, something dark hidden behind her pink lips, and you shiver as you sit down. Does she know what she does to you? The praises, the projection tests from Wednesday, the way she looks at you? 

She seems to like you more than the other students in the class—is that just because you answer questions? Does she encourage you for that because she needs someone to? You’ve had classes where absolutely no one would talk and it was awful. Her praising you for that could just be her way of making sure there’s not an awkward silence. 

But it feels direct, pointed even. Like she wants it to be you.

Or is that just you hoping? 

Agatha isn’t the first teacher you’ve had a crush on, not by a long shot. There was the English teacher when you were in eighth grade. She wasn’t even your teacher, but you still found excuses to talk to her. There was your ninth grade Biology teacher, and then you took her Environmental Science class senior year just to have her again. Your Developmental Psychology professor from the spring semester of your first year in college. You’re sure there’s more. Each time, though, you were certain that you were special. 

Each time, you were sorely disappointed, but not surprised. 

You want to say that it feels different with Agatha, but you need to get a grip on yourself. 

She’s in her late forties, at least. She might have a partner. You glance at her hands as she’s typing something on the computer. No ring. That doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself. 

But she could get in serious trouble for sleeping with a student. If everything else worked out, if all the other stars aligned and by some way, she did want you, she’d never risk her job over that. She has two doctorates and has published multiple articles about her research, which you’ve been meaning to read, and has won several awards for her work. She’s devoted her whole life to psychology and you are not going to change that. 

Agatha may tease, but at the end of the day, you feel confident that she will never be anything but professional, which means that you really need to get over this. 

“Okay, getting back into Trait Theory,” Agatha starts and you scramble for your notebook. She clicks present on the slideshow and you begin scribbling down everything typed on the first slide. “Theorists who approach personality through the Trait approach want to know what exactly traits are and what they do. Do they describe how we behave? Are they a sum of all we’ve learned? Do they reflect underlying personality? Are they the building blocks of our personality?” 

You chew on the tip of your pen and Agatha’s eyes flick to you with a glint in them. Her lips twitch up and you freeze. 

“The problem with traits is that people are inconsistent. We act one way when we’re by ourselves and a different way when we’re with friends versus family versus professors versus romantic partners. So do situations predict behavior more than personality traits?” 

Agatha surveys the classroom expectantly so you hesitantly raise your hand, wheels turning in your head trying to think of a sophisticated response. She smirks and nods at you. “I mean, I think situations obviously have some part in how we act, but it’s not like we’re completely different people based on who we’re interacting with. It could be kind of like, what traits do we use more of when we’re with some people and what traits do we use less of?” 

Her brows furrow and you can see her mulling it over. “So you’re saying that we have a bank of traits, of consistent traits, but which ones we tap into depends on who we’re with?” 

“Yes?” Your voice wavers but you hold eye contact with her. 

Agatha hums thoughtfully. “Very good. I like that.” Your cheeks flush and you duck your head, the eye contact becoming too intense. “And it brings us to an interesting thought. I want everyone to write down how you consider yourself personality-wise. And then write down some traits you’d use to describe your best friends.” 

You write some general words down for you and then for Wanda and Nat. It’s hard to sum someone’s personality up like that. Glancing around the room, you see everyone’s still working so you pick at your nails and pretend that you don’t feel Agatha staring at you. 

The compulsion grows too great in you, though, so you look at her. She doesn’t seem abashed that you caught her—if anything, she looks excited. You swallow roughly to get some moisture into your suddenly-dry mouth and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Her eyelashes flutter, maybe just enough to be considered a wink, but then someone coughs and the moment is broken. 

Agatha clears her throat. “Take a look at what words you wrote for yourself and then compare them to the words you wrote for your friends. Chances are, there’s a good amount of overlap. Opposites attract sometimes, but it’s more often than not that we choose to surround ourselves with people that have similar personalities to us. If we do that, then our traits might be influencing the situations that we’re in, which influences our behavior. It’s a lot to think about.”

She clicks to the next slide. 

“Psychologists have found that both situations and traits influence behavior about equally after conducting some experiments that we’ll look at another time. Now,” she turns off the projection and the screen at the front of the room goes dark. Everyone looks at her. “I want to talk to you about an opportunity for next week.” 

Someone out of the corner of your eye perks up. “Extra credit?”

Agatha shoots him down with a glare. “It’s the third class of the semester, first of all. Second of all, there will be no extra credit in this course.” 

He slumps down, defeated. You think he might be the same person from the first day who was upset about only having five grades. 

“We will have a speaker on campus next Tuesday evening at six pm giving a presentation on fallacies from famous psychological experiments. I’ll be sending out more information about it, but I think it will be very interesting, especially for this class. It’s optional, but I do heavily recommend attending.” 

You raise your hand and she smiles. “What studies are they going to look at?” 

“Excellent question. The presentation will look at the Rosenthal study on expectancy effects, the Stanford Prison Experiment, among a few others, and one of my personal favorites: the study on delay of gratification.” 

“Is that the one—” a girl begins to say before Agatha interrupts her like she didn’t even hear the student. 

“Mischel and Ebbesen would call kids into a room one-by-one and tell them that they could either have a small candy bar right away, or wait some unknown amount of time for a larger candy bar. The researchers would leave the room and see what the kids would do.” Her blue eyes pierce into you and her face morphs into something almost predatory. “Is it better to get instant relief for something small, or to wait and let the anticipation build up for a better reward?” 

She prompts you with a tilt of her head and you wonder if she can see the slight sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead. “If it’s going to be worth it to wait,” you rasp. 

Agatha licks her lips before nodding slowly and then settles back into her casual demeanor. “I mean, who doesn’t want a bigger candy bar?” she jokes and there’s a titter throughout the room. She gives you a smug smile and you face forward, cheeks burning. 

She continues talking but you’ve completely zoned out. You feel like a kid in the experiment—have something with Morgan, real but fleeting, or wait for even the possibility of Agatha? Once you’re not her student anymore, there shouldn’t be a problem. And you graduate in the spring anyway. 

But that’s if Agatha would even like you back then. 

What happens if the researcher never comes back with the big candy bar after the kid waits forever? 

She finally wraps up class, saying that she needs to rush off to a meeting and you slowly pack up your bag just in case she lingers. She may be in a hurry, but it’s nothing compared to the other students and it’s only a minute before you and her are the only ones left in the room. 

The air feels thick with electricity and tension and it’s like you’re rooted to your seat when she starts to slowly walk toward you. You can feel your heartbeat increase and your breathing quickens—your body wants to run but it can’t. 

“Great job today,” she mumbles and drums her fingertips atop your desk surface, her perfume rolling over you like a wave, and you don’t even realize that she’s gone until you hear the door shut behind you. 

You shakily stand up and swing your bag onto your shoulders and go to the library, desperately trying to ignore the heat between your legs.

After dinner, you pick up the package containing the perfume on your way back to your dorm. You’re almost afraid to open and smell it because you know your body will betray your mind. Your cunt has become conditioned to the scent—conditioned to Agatha—and you really need to figure out how to stop it. You’d throw out the bottle entirely if you hadn’t spent so much money on it. You’ll find some use for it, maybe for a party or something. 

Just as you get into your room, your phone buzzes with an email. Your heart starts to race when you see Agatha Harkness at the top of it and you quickly click on it. 

To your dismay, it’s just a course email. 

Hello Personality Psych, 

Here is the link for information concerning the speaker presentation next Tuesday evening that I mentioned in class. As a reminder, you will not receive any extra credit for attending, but it is an opportunity to learn more about flaws in renowned psychological experiments. Please email me if you are interested so I can get your name on the list. 

Best, 

Professor Harkness

You chew on your lip. It’s not something that you necessarily want to go to, and for no extra credit, it might be a waste of time. 

But you do seriously doubt that anyone else in your class is going to go, which would make you stand out to Agatha. 

You imagine walking into a room full of people you don’t know, anxiously scanning the crowd, to find her smiling at you and beckoning for you to go sit next to her. She’d lean in to whisper some remarks about the speaker into your ear and her hair would tickle your skin. Maybe you’d be bouncing your leg because of your trouble sitting still and she’d put a hand on your thigh to help you focus. 

Fuck. Your cheeks are burning now and the temptation to open the perfume so it feels like she’s there is gnawing strongly inside you. 

Instead, you compose a new email. 

Hi Professor Harkness, 

I would love to attend the presentation.

Thanks! 

You sign it off with your name and hit send before you can rethink it and then throw your phone to the end of the bed. 

The moment you press your hands to your face because you can’t believe how bad this is getting, your phone vibrates. You know what it’s going to be before you even look at it, and yet you’re still surprised to find that Agatha responded almost immediately. 

I’m very glad to hear that and I look forward to seeing you there. 

Professor Harkness. 

Only this time, instead of the regular email signature under her name, and every other professor’s name in their emails, that shows her position, the university name, and her email address, there’s something else as well. 

Ten digits. Your breath catches in her throat. 

She added her phone number. 

Part Four

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @filmedbyharkness @autbot @claramelooo @dandelions4us @agathaallalongg @jujuu23 @21cannibal @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @jeridandridge

[yungbludz]

Sports Car — BS

AUTHOR: a surprise for my baby @brennendeerinnerungen

SUMMARY: […] you could do it on your own while you’re looking at me […]

WARNINGS: smut, + 18

“Y/N! Are you watching your friend, Coco Gauff?” One of the several interviewers stops you on the way to the entrance. You decide it is polite to approach and answer some questions, after all your new single is coming out in three days.

“Yes, of course. I had to come and support my girl,” you reply showing them your customized shirt with Coco’s face on it. The interviewer chuckles amused by your passionate support.

“There has been a lot of talk about your friendship with her. As a Spaniard is it hard for you to cheer on her even against other spanish players?” She asks and you giggle.

“I mean, Coco is family but yeah, it depends really. Billie Jean Cup is a different story, she knows I’m her number one fan but when it comes to my country it’s another story,” you explain. Coco’s match at the Australian Open is about to start and you can see her parents waving at you as you answer a few more questions.

“What Spanish players do you support then?” Tricky question.

“Uhm I like Paula, I like that she is coming back stronger after that injury. And of course Carlitos, how can you not like him? He is the man of the moment,” you answer. No matter your nationality, you cannot not love Carlos. He is a great guy on and off court and you got the chance to meet him thanks to Coco and Francis during the US Open.

“May we expect to see more of you at his matches? Perhaps in his box?” Oh. You giggle embarrassed because you got yourself in a bad spot with this.

“Nono, I mean of course it’d be a pleasure to watch him play but nothing is going on, guys,” you reply trying to keep it clean. The interviewer reads the last question to wrap it up since the match is about to start.

“Last question: three words to describe your next single?”

“Mmh… Dynamic, sexy and energetic,” you thank the interviewer and her cameraman before walking towards the court. Before you can even reach your seat you hear your phone buzz in your back pocket.

«you in alcaraz’s box? If he has a death wish…»

It’s Ben. You look up to spot the sender somewhere. Ain’t no way that was live and he was watching it. He must be here somewhere, lurking around. Your phone buzzes again.

«your coco shirt was cute. You were cuter this morning with nothing on though,»

He is such a little shit. You can picture his childish smile as he types this. He think he is so slick with it. You giggle and head towards Coco’s parents that are already seated.

«focus on the match and win it, yeah? Or I might have to go watch Carlitos for real,»

You tease him back. Ben has never been a very jealous person in your relationship, perhaps because you never really gave him reason to suspect your loyalty. But you can see him roll his eyes at your teasing response to which he replies with angry emojis.

You lock your phone and sit behind the Gauff family, channeling all your energies on your best friend’s match. It is a quick win for Coco who finishes winning 6-3, 6-3. You raise to your feet with your fist up every time she wins a game and by the end of the match you are tired as if you had been playing the game. Coco turns to her box before shaking the opponent’s hand and she smiles at you. That’s my girl.

You head to the cooldown room and wait for her to finish cooling down on her bike alongside her family. A few people who walk by stop you to ask for a picture that you gladly take.

“You were amazing! And that forehand? Damn…” you are always very energetic and excited after a win of hers which she always appreciates. Especially you and her dad team up to recreate together some rallies she won and make the whole family laugh.

“Hey congrats, champ,” you can feel everyone’s eyes on you as a third voice approaches you all. You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. But you do it regardless. Ben is wearing a black hoodie and his headphones are over the hood, pulled over his head. He pats Coco on the shoulder and greets her family before letting his eyes fall on you. He has a match in ten minutes.

“There’re cameras,” you stop him before he can lean in and he sighs, looking around to find a blind spot. He walks towards the end of the hallway and you wait a couple of seconds before following him.

“I’ll be right back,” you say before disappearing after your boyfriend. Ben is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, there are only two doors and they are both for workers only. Once he sees you his hands immediately grab your waistband and pull you closer.

“My lucky charm,” he mumbles before kissing you as if he was going off to war for years. You have been dating Ben for a whole year but no one outside your friends and family know about it. At first it started as a precaution, not knowing exactly where all of that was going to lead you two. Plus, being two public figures also means that you don’t really have the freedom of doing whatever you would like. As time progressed and you realized that things were getting serious, you still didn’t feel comfortable outing your relationship to the world.

“How are we feeling? Going to take this one home? Or will I have to put up with your pouty face for a week?” You tease once he pulls away. Ben rolls his eyes at your joke and shakes his head.

“I’m winning this one,” he says confidently. You grin and nod at his statement. He is always hot when he speaks confidently.

“You better. I’ll be watching you,” you threaten him with a finger pointed at his face which he readily bites jokingly.

“I wish you could watch it from my box,” he admits in a whisper. You sigh. You know one day this hide and seek game will have to come to an end because neither of you wants to keep up this farce but for now it makes you feel good to know you can have this little bundle of joy all to yourselves.

“Can’t, gotta go to Alcaraz,” you crack a joke and try to lighten up the mood but he simply snorts and shakes his head.

“Always teasing me… You are asking for it,” he rubs his nose against yours before leaving a couple pecks that are simply not enough and leave you yearning for more.

“Go win, champ. Or I will have to go to Carlitos and—“ Ben delivers a harsh slap to your ass. You look at his shameless smile in bewilderment. There is no way the rest of Gauff family hasn’t heard it and there is also no way they don’t know what that was. Ben chuckles, proud of himself.

“Behave or you’ll get more tonight,” he whispers before kissing you again. You pull his headphones down around his neck to tug at his beautiful curls as he grabs your ass with no shame, as if you weren’t in the middle of the tournament building and anyone could walk in on you two. You both shamelessly make out for longer than necessary, his hands kneading the soft skin of your backside while your fingers pull on his curls.

“We gotta stop. I can’t go out there with a hard on,” Ben chuckles embarrassed as he pulls away. You peck his nose and rest your chin against his chest.

“Fine. I’ll wait for you. Make it quick, gotta finish what you started,” you send him a wink before taking a step back and leaving. As you make your way back to Coco and her family, everyone is already snickering and you can feel it is because of that little stunt you two pulled.

“Everything good?” Coco asks you as she gets off the bike. You playfully roll your eyes at her and nod. You catch a glimpse of walking past you, head low and his headphones in. Your eyes never leave his figure until he is out of sight.

“Your lipstick is a little smudged, honey,” Coco’s mom points out in a whisper that only you can hear. Oh. You smile embarrassed and immediately pull out your phone camera to fix it. That’s embarrassing.

“Oh I remember when I was your age. I was much worse with Coco’s dad,” she tries to lighten up the mood.

“Mom!” Coco groans as she walks to the locker room to take a shower and she can hear your laughter as she closes the door behind herself.

By the time Ben’s match is over, you are patiently awaiting for him by his car. The parking lot for the players and their teams are quite reserved so you draw no attention from curious eyes, seeking for a scandalously good news. Ben emerges from the building with his bags on his shoulders and behind him you can spot his dad and mom, so you get off his car and start walking to them to greet them. But once you get to Ben he stops you with his body.

“My car. Now,” he mumbles with an odd tone. You furrow your brows and look behind him to at least wave at them. Ben’s parents wave back and noticing the situation they head to their own car.

“What was that about?” You ask confused as he unlocks his car. Ben doesn’t give you any answer as he throws his bags in the back and hops in the car. You are completely turned to look at him in the face and attempt to understand what his problem is. He won, right? So why does he act like something is wrong?

Once he is seated he looks at you and his face relaxes.

“Just need to smooch my girl in peace,” he leans in to kiss you and you almost slap him.

“Idiot. I thought something bad had happened,” you say before he connects your lips, his hand cupping your cheek and pulling you closer despite the car not being the most comfortable to be kissing and making out. His kisses are slow and needy. His tongue gently dancing with yours and his hand sliding from your cheek to your neck to softly apply some pressure.

“You don’t know how bad I wanted to fuck you out there. Almost costed me the match,” he grunts in between kisses. Is he for real? He was too horny to play? You inevitably burst into laughter and pull away. Ben looks at you annoyed and puzzled.

“I’m sorry. I just— Jesus, you need to get your hormones in check,” you say giggling and he rolls his eyes at your abrupt reaction.

“I hate you so much,” he says pouting and getting his seatbelt on. You grin amused and lean in to kiss him better but he turns his head so that your lips land on his cheek.

“Oh c’mon. It was a joke!” You try to make him reason but he simply shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. He is wearing a different hoodie from before, this time it is a brown one from Loewe. His silver necklaces resting on the soft material. Now that you look at him properly you can notice his curls are still a little damp and his cheeks are a little rosy.

“Can I make it up to you by letting you hear my song before anyone else?” You ask teasing him. Ben’s eyes widen and his grin widens. You usually don’t let him listen to it before the rest of the world because you like the little pout on his face when he is told no. But it is a silly rule and you don’t mind breaking it for once.

“Maybe…” he tries to remain vague but you know he is dying to give it a listen. In his defense you have been teasing him about it for weeks. He even tried to text your producer to ask him to send it to him but you told all your crew to not give in to Ben. You giggle and give him a peck before pulling out your phone.

“Start driving though,” you tell him and he does as requested, starting the car. You go through your files and once you find the song, you connect your phone to his car.

“Are you ready?” You glance up at him. He nods quickly as he merges into traffic. It is a ten minute drive to the hotel so you have plenty of time to give it a proper listen. Without further ado you click on play and focus on his reaction.

Hey, cute jeans

Take mine off me

Oh, golly gee

I can't take no more

I'm goin' weak in my knees

Where'd you put those keys?

We can share one seat

We can share one seat

Ben taps his fingers on beat on the steering wheel and you catch the little smirk on his face as he realizes where it is going.

In the alley, in the back

In the center of this room

With the windows rolled down

Boy, don't make me choose

In the alley, in the back

In the center of this room

With the windows rolled down

Boy, don't make me choose

You try to hide your smirk but Ben shakes his head in disbelief. He knows you are talking about him and it does not come as a surprise either since you have been writing about him since you two started dating. But this song seems to be more… explicit than usual.

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna uh

No, you ain't got no Mrs

Oh, but you got a sports car

We can uh-uh in it

While you drive it real far

Yeah, you know what this is

Yeah, you know what this is

You press your lips together as the chorus plays. Ben cusses under his breath, his smile widening as you grow bolder with the word play. You turn slightly towards him and rest your hand on the back of his neck, playing with his hair. He knows exactly what you are doing yet he doesn’t say anything but simply enjoys your soft touches and your new single.

Pretty blue streetlights

And my hazel eyes

And if it feels right

We could go again like three, four times

So my type

Got butterflies

So good it hurts

Thinkin' 'bout what we did before this verse

The American can’t help but reminisce on all the times you were in the car and all the times he could have had you without even needing to ask because you would have been down for it. The mere thought of fucking you in his beloved sports car has his cock swelling in his jeans.

You move your hand from his neck to his side, caressing his jaw and playing with his necklaces.

On the corner of my bed

Oh, and maybe on the beach

You could do it on your own

While you're lookin' at me

Oh. Ben gulps visibly and you can’t suppress your amused grin as he does so. The curly haired man glances at you briefly, cocking an eyebrow and sighing. He doesn’t say anything but his face says it all. He takes his right hand off the steering wheel to adjust his pants.

Your hand twists one of the silver necklaces around your finger and tug on it. You are being a tease on purpose.

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna uh

No, you ain't got no Mrs

Oh, but you got a sports car

We can uh-uh in it

While you drive it real far

Yeah, you know what this is

Yeah, you know what this is

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna uh

No, you ain't got no Mrs

Oh, but you got a sports car

We can uh-uh in it

While you drive it real far

Yeah, you know what this is

Yeah, you know what this is

You don’t take your eyes off him for one second, clearly paying no attention to the road ahead of you so you don’t notice when he gets off the highway. Your hand now sliding down from his neck to his arm and then ending up on his thigh. He predicted this move the second you had laid your hand on him but still he can’t help but grow more impatient.

Oh my guy

You don't wanna waste my time

Let's go ride

Let's go ride

Oh my guy

You don't wanna waste my time

Let's go ride

Let's go ride

I think you wanna, wanna

But you got a sports car

While you drive it real far

Yeah, you know what this is

The song slowly comes to an end and you wait for him to comment on it. Ben stays quiet for a moment, probably registering all your words and verses. It is when he kills the engine suddenly that you realize you have not arrived at the hotel yet. Matter of fact this looks like a random parking lot in the middle of Melbourne.

“So? What do you think of it?” You ask coyly, retracting your hand from his thigh. Ben rakes a hand through his damp curls and sighs.

“First of all this is the hottest thing I have ever listened to. Second of all: get in the backseat,” he unfastens his seatbelt and you burst into laughter. Ben doesn’t seem to be joking though as he gets off the car to hop back in in the backseat, he sits down in the middle and pats his lap before resting his arms at the back of the headrests.

“Your wish is my command, baby,” he cheekily says. You giggle as you mimic his motions and crawl to the backseats, resting one leg on each side of his thighs.

“Did you really like it?” You ask putting on your wettest doe eyes to make him stroke your ego. Ben caresses your thighs and follows an imaginary trail from your legs to your back and then to your ass, pulling you closer. You can’t help but feel a sudden but familiar presence between your bodies that makes a small smirk creep up on your face.

“Do you feel it? That’s what your little song did to me, baby. I fucking loved it,” he mumbles looking at you straight in the eyes. Your grin widens at the praise and you kiss him. One kiss leads to another and before you realize it you are embarrassingly and shamelessly making out in his car. The windows are tinted but still not a very appropriate behavior for two very public figures. When you are around Ben it is hard to behave or even have control over your own self. Despite having dated for a long time, you still feel like it is the first months sometimes.

“Put it back on,” Ben whispers in between kisses and you frown confused.

“The song. Put it back on,” he clarifies. You pull away and chuckle at his request. Yet you stand up— as much as it is possible in his car— and lean forward to take ahold of your phone and put the song on repeat. As you do so, you can feel his fingers trying to take your skirt off. You giggle and wiggle your ass to tease him and in all response he simply gives it a soft slap.

“Nono, stay put,” Ben stops you when you try to sit back in his lap. You stay bent over the armrests, between the driver and the passenger’s seat with your ass in the air covered only by your underwear.

“What are you—“ you begin to ask confused but stop when you feel him pull down your panties.

“Wait a second,” he murmurs. You stay put but it is hard when you are dying to know what he is up to. The American pulls both seats down so that you are not squished between them anymore.

“Rest your legs here,” he taps both seats and you unsurely agree to follow his instructions. The new position makes you even more tilted forward and you hold onto whatever you find to not fall and hurt yourself. Ben comes to your rescue, wrapping both of his arms around your thighs and keeping you close to him.

“Comfortable?” He asks with a teasing tone. You are not properly uncomfortable but the position is odd and you are scared you may fall over sooner or later.

“Not really. I think— Oh,” you are caught off guarda when Ben leaves a soft kiss to your core. The American chuckles when you suddenly shut up.

“Gotta prep my girl,” he says spreading your folds even more apart. Not being able to see his next move adds another level of tension and sexiness to the situation. Ben starts off slowly: giving your core a couple of kisses, purposely ignoring your clit to increase the tension.

“Ben,” you moan when he finally dives in. His tongue swirling around your clit and sucking on it. You rest your head against the stereo system, your mouth dropped open and your ears ready to pick on every sound that leaves Ben’s mouth. They are nasty. The wet sounds of his spit mixing with your juices.

“Taste so good, baby,” he groans while pulling you impossibly closer, his face completely shoved in your core. In the meantime your song repeats over and over and over again in the background.

“Oh my,” you whine when he sucks on your bundle of nerves harder. Your legs were already struggling but now they are shaking next to his head as he feasts on you.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” He asks teasing you while you can feel one of his fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Yeah,” you manage to respond without choking on your own words.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” he teases. The little prick is taking advantage of your fucked out state to make fun of you. In all response you push your hips back, his tongue meeting your core again, this time accompanied by his fingers that draw little eighths on your clit.

“Fuck,” you curse.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re gonna cum now,” he says and you can almost picture the shit eating grin on his face. Your juices wet Ben’s nose and chin as he gives it a few more licks, just to tease you and not send you over the edge on purpose. He has eaten you out several times but this position excites him more than usual.

“Ben, please,” you beg when he continues to tease you, his teeth sinking in the soft flesh of your inner thighs followed by slaps and kisses. He is just being mean now.

“This is for teasing me about Carlos,” he reminds you of your little jokes that are now costing you more than you had previously estimated. Ben grins when you push your hips back for the umpteenth time and chant his name like a prayer. At some point he decides he has had enough and puts his tongue to work.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you curse as he laps at your juices. You can feel his finger rubbing your clit and making your sight blurry while your legs tremble. Ben grunts when you start to teeter over your orgasm, he can tell by the way you moan higher and more frequently. His lips alternate from sucking on your bundle of nerves and leaving wet kisses on your core.

“I’m—“ you whimper when he finally pushes you over the edge overstimulating your clit and making you cum hard. You think you are about to collapse by the way he continues to press his face into your pussy, his tongue never stopping its movements until he can feel your juices dropping from his chin.

“Yeah, let go,” he murmurs and you are thankful he wraps his arms around your thighs to hold you back. From that moment onwards your vision is blurry and your mind is somewhere else. Your body moves following Ben who pulls you back in his lap carefully. The American grabs one of the spare towels he has in his car to clean you up.

“Are you good to go?” He asks, nuzzling his nose against yours. You furrow your brows and look at him with the most confused expression you can put on.

“Thought you wanted to—“

“It’s okay, maybe another day,” he says trying to brush it off. He doesn’t think you could take it? You slowly come back to your senses and shake your head. You position yourself on top of him, the only item on your body is your top. So you eagerly tug at his hoodie to motion him to take it off.

“Thought you wanted to fuck me,” you quote him. Ben chuckles and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, scanning your face to see every trace of uncertainty.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to,” he insists, not wanting to test your limits. You don’t even answer, simply reach your hands out to pull down his shorts. The American gets the memo and helps you out by essentially kicking his shorts off. Ben sits there in his white boxers that leave little to nothing to the imagination. In the meantime your unreleased song continues playing over and over again in the background.

“Are you going to be able to take it?” He teases you as he catches you staring at it. You roll your eyes at his teasing jokes and with firm hands you pull it out. Ben sighs loudly as you touch him, his arms hooked around the headrests as he watches you do all the work. There is something about you taking charge and watching you do as you please.

“Fuck,” he grunts when you spit on it and jerk him off. Not that he needs to fully harden, he is hard as a rock and ready to be inside you but you know he likes it this way. Ben is entranced by the way your hips raise and your hand aligns him with your entrance. You look up at him and lock eyes as you sink down. Both of you sigh in contentment as he bottoms out.

“I fucked you countless times yet you still feel so fucking good,” he groans as you adjust to him, your walls squeezing around him. You let out a breathy chuckle and try to move. There is not much room left for you to move freely. But it will have to work. You rest your hands on Ben’s shoulders as you raise your hips and lower them slowly. It takes no time for the windows to get foggy and for the both of you to get sweaty.

“Shit. Yeah, just like that,” he praises you, your forehead pressed against his as his cock fills you up to the brim. He starts to move in sync, meeting your movements with his slow thrusts.

“Touch me, Ben,” you beg him and he doesn’t need you to repeat yourself twice. One of his hands comes to your clit and starts to run it just the way you like it. Having already come makes your next orgasm build up faster.

“Look at me,” he tells you as you close your eyelids. Despite the struggle, you open your eyes. Ben stares back at you with his lips parted, his hips doing fifty percent of the work in fucking into you.

“That’s what you wanted uh? What you sing about? Me fucking you stupid? What are your little fans going to say about their favorite singer when they find out she begs for me to fuck her in my car? When they find out she takes it so fucking good for me?” He teases you. You are only able to whine in response, your nails digging into his shoulders. He raises your hips and keeps them still as he starts to fuck into you harder and faster. The skin to skin contact makes the hairs on your body stand.

“Tell me, baby. Are you mine?” he demands. Your mouth now next to his ear, he is able to hear every little moan of yours even better now. It only makes his cock swell in your folds as you continue to whimper and whine and moan.

“I’m yours, Ben, fuck,” you struggle to form a coherent thought. The American sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he feels himself teetering over the edge as well, both of his hands having grabbed a fistful of your ass to keep your steady and fuck you harder.

“Look at me when you cum,” he mumbles and you do. Looking down at him with your mouth dropped open as your second orgasm washes over you even harder than the first one. Ben can feel your walls squeezing his cock to death, almost trapping him inside you as you milk him out. He cums just as hard, you can feel his seed spilling down your thighs and it only makes you moan harder.

“ ‘m sorry, I didn’t pull out,” he apologizes out of breath but you shake your head. Your nails now fully leaving scratches on his shoulders but he seems to be paying it no mind as he tries to gently put you down back in his lap. You both collapse afterwards, your sweaty bodies melting into one as you catch your breath.

The only audible thing outside your unsteady breathing is your song streaming. Ben gently rubs the small of your back as neither of you seems to be interested in moving an inch. Matter of fact he stays inside of you for at least another ten minutes. You see the half-moon marks on his shoulders and caress them softly. Hopefully you didn’t hurt him.

“I think your fans will go insane over this one,” he comments and you smile proudly.

“I know I did,” he adds chuckling. You look up at him and grin, leaning in to kiss him. He holds you close to his body as if there was any chance you could ever willingly escape from his embrace.

“Y/N, quite a scandalous song. Can you tell us more about it? Or about him?” The interviewer asks with a knowing smirk. It is a quick interview before your exhibition so you don’t have much time left. You chuckle embarrassed, clearly expecting such a question. The camera is pointed at you, catching every change in your facial expression. You know Ben is somewhere watching this live and giggling.

“I like sports car and I like guys who drive them,” you remain vague but your grin says what your words don’t. Your song released yesterday and you have had the chance to read some of the comments. Everyone is going insane over it and over the mysterious man.

“Guys? Or a guy?” The interviewer insists and you laugh again.

“Maybe,” you don’t give her any information but everyone knows by now that there is definitely someone. You don’t plan on keeping him a secret for much longer but you like the idea of people going insane over this.

“Okay, we got it. Well, Y/N, is there someone you’d like to say hi to before we wrap this one up?” It is a common ending for the show you have been invited to. You nod and look straight into the cameras, your lips threatening to form a smirk.

“See you back at home, Ben,”

[exorcxqsm]

The price of desire.

ᯓWord Count: 4,4k

ᯓ tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, alterations to the main story, toxic relationship, dr/y humping, t/easing, (lowkey) o/rgasm control, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, breath play, sensory play, spanking, mention of breeding!kink (toxic if you squint really hard), creampies, dom!sylus, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie), violence, mentions of blood and injuries.

ᯓnotes: This is my first published work here, it took me some time to write but I believe I’m content with how it came out. At first, the idea was to keep it a part one which is connected to an event of the series. Ending this part, I can think of some ways this can go, but I’d still want your opinion:) If you want to see more of this, please go ahead and ask. Any reblogs and likes will be appreciated. 

You were a dangerous woman, a fact well-known throughout the N109 Zone. As the assistant to one of the most feared men in the underworld, your reputation was built on the edge of a knife. 

But today, the real danger sat directly across from you at the table—your boss's most formidable and deadly rival: Sylus.

His silver-white hair fell messily over his forehead, creating a disheveled yet intentional look that only added to his unsettling charisma. A smirk played on his lips, while his crimson eyes held an unreadable intensity,  as he sat on the table with his henchmen on each side of him. Luke and Kieran.

You had done your research, uncovering every scrap of information about the three men before you. It was a challenge, of course; the leader of the most notorious illegal organization in the N109 Zone wasn’t one to divulge valuable intel easily. Yet you had pieced together enough to know the depths of Sylus's ruthlessness.

You were certain of one thing: Sylus would not hesitate to sacrifice anyone—including his own men—if it suited his purpose. The black-red tendrils of his mist would mercilessly end the person and he wouldn’t blink an eye while his lethal capability, capable of extinguishing a life in an instant, would take over. 

The only individuals he seemed to protect were Luke and Kieran, his unwavering henchmen, whose loyalty was both a strength and a potential weakness in this deadly game.

Everyone claimed that the twins were somewhat adopted by him—a complex relationship in which he protected and provided for them in exchange for their loyalty and services.

If you were being honest with yourself, you found yourself drawn to the twins. They exuded a carefree spirit that brought an element of fun, even in the context of business. You often wished you could shed your own uptight demeanor and embrace life as they did.

Your thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the present when one of Sylus’s men dropped two large armory boxes onto the table that separated your group from his. As the man opened the boxes, a collection of modified and illegal firearms was revealed, each piece looking as lethal as the man who had crafted them.

Dante, your boss, rose from his chair beside you to inspect the guns. After all, that was the purpose of this meeting—a trade, a business transaction between two men who despised each other's very existence, yet could not deny that, in times of crisis, their respective resources could prove invaluable to one another.

Dante provided the protocores, and Sylus expertly modified them. When Dante requested his part of the deal, the modified protocores were returned to him in the form of firearms capable of ending a life in less than the blink of an eye.

“Resourceful as always, Mr. Sylus,” your boss mused, but Sylus’s gaze was locked onto yours, seemingly ignoring Dante entirely.

“Oh, Dante,” he said, the man’s name dripping with disdain, “my little black heart is shattered into pieces. One would think you’d have learned by now not to question my methods or my work.”

You rolled your eyes at the silver-haired menace, your heels clicking against the carpet in a rhythm of impatience. You were growing weary of this standoff. Dante needed to state the agreed price and move on already.

“Set the price.”

Sylus’s smirk widened at Dante’s request, his eyes now fully focused on him. He seemed to stall deliberately, taking slow, measured steps around the room. His imposing aura filled the space, the coat draped over his broad shoulders swaying slightly with each movement. Finally, he came to a halt by the table, gripping its edge with both hands and leaning forward.

“Such a pretty kitten you have with you, hm?” he taunted.

Your gaze turned icy as Dante’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are you referring to Miss Y/N?”

Sylus tilted his head to the side, his crimson eyes locking onto you once more, studying you with an intensity that made you uneasy. “You’re a foolish man, Dante.”

“What the hell did you just say?” 

You exhaled through your nose, frustrated by your boss’s inability to keep his pride in check when it came to Sylus. This man ran an entire organization yet seemed unable to handle a little provocation.

“I said…” Sylus drawled, relishing the moment, “you’re a foolish man. Only someone with the brain capacity of a goldfish would keep a pretty kitten like her uncollared.”

You shot up from your seat faster than lightning, leaning dangerously close to Sylus, your hand itching to grab one of the weapons from the boxes in front of you.

“You should watch your mouth when speaking to a lady, Mr. Sylus,” you seethed, your voice low but fierce. “Only a man with the brain capacity of a goldfish would disrespect a woman for no apparent reason.”

Sylus chuckled at your retort, a wide grin spreading across his sharp features, revealing his teeth.

“Feisty,” he mouthed, a smirk playing on his lips, meant only for you to see.

Just then, Dante stepped up behind you, and you almost forgot he was there until his hand landed firmly on your behind, giving it a squeeze. Your hand was so close to the gun that it took all your willpower not to reach for it.

Sylus's expression shifted, the amusement fading as his brows furrowed, re-centering on his forehead.

“Set. Your. Price,” Dante reiterated, his body uncomfortably close to yours.

You had served as his assistant for far too many years, becoming accustomed to his unpredictable behavior. Yet, deep down, he knew you wouldn’t dare act against him with all his guards surrounding him.

You were a capable assassin, more than capable of matching his malevolence, but you were just one woman up against his entire army. He was well aware of your skills, which is precisely why he always kept a close contingent of guards present during your meetings in his office. You were his most valuable asset, yet he was frightened of what you could do if pushed too far.

Despite this knowledge, he often seemed to forget the extent of your capabilities, choosing instead to provoke Sylus.

“Her.”

“No.” Your response was immediate, your tone firm. He couldn’t be serious.

Dante’s chest shook with laughter beside you, his golden teeth glinting in the light.

“She’s off the table, I’m afraid,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Very well, then.” Sylus retracted from the table and rose to his full height, a shadow looming over both you and your boss. “So is the deal. Have a good one, Mr. Dante.”

Your shoulders relaxed for only a brief moment, but before you could even blink, you found yourself lifted off your feet and thrown over the table like a ragdoll.

Fucking bastard.

Of course, the deal was too important for him to let it slip away. Sylus knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled this stunt.

“Don’t even think about it,” you spat, your voice harsh and defiant. “I am your right hand; your business will crumble without me!”

Sylus seemed to revel in the chaos, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. As his black-red mist began to swirl around the room, it coalesced around your body, lifting you off the table and bringing you effortlessly to his side.

Your struggles were utterly futile. No power could match his evol.

“Bastard!” you yelled, directing your fury at your boss.

Dante let out a deep sigh, visibly irritated but choosing to remain silent. His organization was already on the brink of collapse, a fact known only to you—and apparently Sylus too. That was the reason he had recently struck a deal with Onychinus; only their resources could possibly uplift him now—if anyone could, that is.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Dante.”

The plush sofa of his dimly lit living room felt uncomfortably rough against your bare thighs as you took in your surroundings. Your revealing dress had ridden up significantly due to the twins’ rough handling as they placed you there, while their boss prowled around the sofa like a predator circling its prey.

The record player in the corner emitted a classical melody that only heightened the unnerving atmosphere, each note echoing with an eerie elegance.

“So uptight,” Sylus whispered in your ear, causing you to jump as his breath brushed against your skin. You hadn’t even noticed when he had gotten so close. “My, my… and so jumpy, aren’t we, kitten? Just try not to scratch my ceiling.”

You turned to glare at him, and if looks could kill, he would have been slain by the fire in your eyes. Nevertheless, you managed to keep your voice steady. “Why am I here?”

He didn’t bother to meet your gaze as he sank into his enormous cushioned chair across from you. A black-and-red mist began to swirl around your body once more, and before you could react, it lifted you off the couch and positioned you right on his lap, straddling him.

“What the hell?”

His hand shot up, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Shh, just keep your claws sheathed for a moment.”

You could feel your patience wearing thin. “Why. am I. here?”

Sylus's jaw tightened slightly, and if you weren’t intently observing his every expression, you might have missed it. “Because, kitten, Dante and I had a transaction.”

“Isn’t your typical price protocores when dealing with my boss?”

“Typically…” Sylus’s gaze was fixed on your face as an eerie silence enveloped the room.

Before you could process his words, his hand snaked around your throat, pulling you closer. His eyes locked onto your lips, a predatory glint flickering within them.

“What are you doing…” you whispered, your body tensing in instinctive response.

“Show me, kitten.”

“What?”

Sylus chuckled softly, a mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. “I know you’re a smart kitten; don’t play dumb with me. It won’t help you.”

Of course, you understood what he was implying, but how did he know?

“I have no idea what you want,” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

His hand tightened around your throat, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. Then you noticed it—the red glow of his eye—and you realized what he was doing. “Show me.”

Ironically, he was now in control of your actions, even though he sought the opposite.

You slowly removed your glove, compelled by the white-haired man in front of you. Your bare hand pressed firmly against his chest, and in an instant, his heartbeat ceased.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

You stared at his face, dumbfounded, as the glow in his eye faded and his complexion turned an ashen pale. Before you could comprehend what was happening, a low chuckle echoed through the dimly lit room.

Sylus’s chuckle. He was alive. Wait, what the hell?

His laughter grew more vibrant with each passing second as he took in your horrified expression. You shot your hand out again, daring to touch him, but he caught your wrist, tossing it aside with ease.

“Ravishing…” he breathed, his eyes darkening to a richer shade.

You watched him for a moment, trying to make sense of everything that had unfolded in the past few hours, until suddenly, everything clicked into place.

You gasped.

“You fucking bastard!” you shouted, fury igniting in your voice. “Is this why you didn’t take the protocores? Is this why you asked for me?”

Sylus’s arrogant smirk returned, dominating his features. “He wasn’t aware of the precious possession he had in his own house, sweetie. But I am.”

“You are… sick.” The expression on his face darkened, and something twisted in your gut, though you wished it was anything but excitement at his subtle praise. “You will not control me. I belong to no one.”

“Oh, kitten, I’m not trying to control you. This is just… a deal.” His eyebrows shot up, his face tilting slightly to the side as if he found your defiance amusing. “Isn’t business what you excel at? Or do you want me to believe it was Dante who called the shots?”

Your own expression faltered, but your body began to relax atop his, a fact he noted with a small, apprehensive smile that curled at his lips. “Are you trying to extract intel from me?”

He rolled his eyes at your tactics, a playful smirk on his face. “You are so gullible, kitten.”

He leaned in impossibly close, your breath catching in your throat and a shiver coursing through you as your body responded to his proximity. This was all so wrong.

“He didn’t value you nearly enough, sweetie,” Sylus whispered against your pulse, his warm breath sending a jolt through you. “But I can.” His teeth grazed your throat, and as your mouth opened, no sound dared to escape your lips.

“I…” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I have no idea what—”

In one swift movement, you found yourself perched on the edge of the chair, Sylus looming over you like a consuming inferno. Your chests were nearly touching, and his eyes held a dangerous allure as he stared directly into your own. “I believe you do.”

His hand drifted from beside your head, descending to your collarbone as his fingertips caressed the delicate skin with a featherlight touch. “You can end someone with just a touch…” he whispered against your neck, and you had to fight against the electric shivers coursing through your body. “I am the only person you can’t kill, even if you tried, kitten.”

Your mind was slowly turning to mush as his hand roamed over the sensitive swell of your breasts, his lips planting tender kisses against your throat. “Don’t you see where I’m going with this? We’re meant for each other. Kindred spirits.”

“You’re insane,” you wanted to accuse him, but your voice came out breathless, betraying your mounting desire. A soft grunt escaped his lips, a sound that only fueled the tension between you.

“If I’m insane, what does that say about you, sweetie?” He began kissing his way down from your neck to your collarbone, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I can smell your arousal from up here.”

You gasped at his bold accusation, your body jerking in response, but it only heightened the sensation as your clothed core pressed against his torso. You tensed, and his lips curled into a dangerous smirk. “So insatiable…”

“This is so wrong…”

“I’ve never been a righteous man.”

You leaned back instinctively, your hands reaching out as if to find comfort around his neck, but he halted your movement just before contact.

In your hazy state, you noticed him licking his lips, his gaze searching the floor for something—your glove.

“As much as I can’t think of another way to go, I’d prefer to be fully conscious when your pretty cunt is all over my mouth.”

“You’re… outrageous,” your voice faltered, betraying the rush of emotions coursing through you. Your body reacted in ways that contradicted your words.

“Do you prefer gentle, kitten?” Sylus asked, his fingers teasingly tugging at the neckline of your dress, unveiling your flushed skin. His tongue flicked over your right nipple, while his other hand caressed the neglected one. “Would you rather I whisper sweet nothings and cherish you gently?”

His tone dripped with playful mockery, and you arched your back, responding instinctively to his touch and taunting words.

“Would you like me to take it slow? To tell you how beautiful you are?” he teased, his laughter rumbling softly in the air.

Your resolve crumbled as he nipped at your sensitive bud, his hand expertly working the other. “No!” you moaned, your gloved fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, caught in the intoxicating desire in the air.

He growled against your chest, his body pressing forcefully against your legs as they parted to accommodate him. He felt a thrill of compliance wash over you, nearly tempting him to follow through on his suggestion to take it easy.

“More,” you demanded, your fingers tugging insistently at his head, guiding him downward to where your dress had pooled around your waist, leaving your red lace panties tantalizingly exposed.

Sylus grinned at your eagerness, his gaze lingering on your clothed cunt. “God, kitten…” he grunted, pressing his nose against the damp spot on your panties, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as a thrill of shame coursed through you. “Did you wear my favorite color on purpose?”

His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Or did you wear it for him?”

You could only whimper in response, arching your body desperately to bring his face where you craved it most. Instead, a sharp sting greeted your cunt, your eyes widening as a gasp of surprise escaped your lips.

He slapped your pussy again, his expression darkening into a scowl. “Answer me, kitten. Did you get all dolled up for him?”

You clenched around nothing, the possessiveness in his tone igniting a deeper need within you. “No,” you whimpered softly. ���It wasn’t for him.”

In an instant, he tore your panties away, his mouth descending on your cunt, his tongue skillfully lapping at your folds. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Your fingers clawed at his shoulder, sounds of pleasure escaping you uncontrollably as he toyed with your sensitive clit. “Such a sweet pussy,” he grunted against your core, sending shivers through your body. You slid down the chair, his face pressed firmly against you, your lower body lifted almost into the air. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, hoisting your legs over his shoulders as he devoured you.

“Say my name, kitten.”

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, already giving him too much. “N-no.”

His teeth grazed your clit, sending waves of pleasure and frustration coursing through you as he slid one finger against your entrance, teasingly. “No?”

“No.” Your voice trembled, betraying the mix of emotions swelling within you as you neared your release with each stroke of his tongue, yet your stubbornness held firm.

“Very well, then.” In an instant, his mouth was gone, leaving you feeling cold and exposed as he stood to his full height.

“What…?”

Sylus leaned over you again, delivering a sharp slap to the side of your breasts that made you squirm and gasp. “This is my zone. My side of the board. Here, you either play by my rules and win, or you go against me and lose.” His voice was low and commanding as his hand reached down again, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them to find your sweet spot. “What will it be, kitten?”

By this point, your entire body felt like it belonged to someone else. “Please…” Your voice was laced with desperation, the plea spilling from your lips, unrecognizable even to you.

“Please what? Just say it, sweetie,” he urged, a teasing glint in his eyes.

His fingers quickened their pace, and your legs trembled under the mounting pleasure, each mewl that escaped your lips a symphony to his ears. “So—Oh my god… S-so close.”

The moment he sensed your walls beginning to clench around his fingers, a satisfied smile crept across his face, and you returned it through a haze of bliss—until you felt him start to withdraw.

Your hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist with a desperate grip, pulling him back toward you. “Sylus!” you cried, your stomach twisting in knots as sweet release threatened to crash over you.

“Sylus, yes, oh my god, yes…” You were barely coherent, the words tumbling from your mouth, but Sylus grunted, his pants taut against his rock-hard cock.

“That’s it… That’s it, sweetie, I know. Drench my fingers; they’re all yours.” He moved with an urgency that took your breath away, thrusting deeply inside you, sending shivers through your entire body as you rode the wave of your climax.

You panted, your chest rising and falling heavily. As the haze began to lift, your mouth fell open in awe, watching Sylus suckle on his fingers, his eyes glowing with satisfaction as he savored your essence.

A fresh wave of slickness coated your folds, and Sylus cursed under his breath as he stood, taking you with him. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your bare, wet cunt smearing against the fabric of his pants, leaving a tantalizing mess.

The coarse material of his attire heightened your senses, making your body arch in his arms as you ground your hips down, chasing that blissful friction.

“So eager…” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin before he nipped at your earlobe. “And so fucking wet.” He strode toward his desk just a few feet away, easing you onto your feet. “I’m going to devour you.”

In one swift motion, your belly pressed against the polished surface of his mahogany desk, your body bent over, your ass perfectly positioned for him. He didn’t allow you a moment to breathe before two sharp slaps landed on your cheeks, your body jolting forward in response.

Your moans filled the air, driving him wild, and the way your back arched instinctively shattered any semblance of his control.

You heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper, and a thrill raced through you as his cock was freed from its confines, teasingly brushing against your entrance.

Turning your head over your shoulder, your eyes fell on him, and a rush of desire coursed through you. He was enormous, his veins prominent and pulsing, the tip glistening with precum that trickled down, landing directly on your cunt.

“Sylus…” You brought his attention back to you, and the look on your face made his brows knot slightly in concern.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” he asked, his voice thick with lust yet surprisingly calm. “Do you want me to stop?”

You placed your hand lightly against his abdomen, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, and shook your head. “No, it’s just…” Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, almost mirroring the color of his eyes. “It’s not going to fit.”

Sylus paused, momentarily dumbfounded, before releasing the breath he had been holding along with a low chuckle. “We’re going to make it fit, kitten.”

Skepticism flickered in your eyes, and he noticed.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.” You answered honestly. He had been your rival until now, and you couldn’t fully grasp how your dynamic had shifted to this moment, you bent over his desk, spread  and exposed.

He grinned, shaking his head in amusement. “You shouldn’t.”

In one powerful thrust, he was inside you, and your eyes rolled back in your head as pleasure surged through your body, overwhelming your senses.

“Fuck!” you cried out, but there was no pain—he seemed to know exactly how to plunge into you.

“Shit… You’re so tight,” Sylus growled, his hips slapping against yours as he took you roughly, driving deep against the surface of his desk. “It would’ve hurt more if I’d taken it slow, sweetie.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to speak, but even if he could, you wouldn’t have heard him. Your mind was consumed with the exquisite fullness of his cock filling you completely.

Your eyes crossed as he continued to thrust in and out, your lips parted in a silent gasp, drool escaping the corner of your mouth and trickling down to the polished surface of his desk.

“Cock-hungry little whore,” he grunted, folding his body over yours to penetrate you even deeper. “And you claim you hate me.”

“I d-do,” you managed to moan, your legs trembling from the intensity of the sensations.

“You hate me, yet your sweet cunt is squeezing my cock like it’s her lover.”

Your mewls and whimpers grew louder with each thrust, your head spinning from the overwhelming pleasure. “Sylus…” you moaned his name, urging him onward toward his own release.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“I-I’m… s’close. So so close.” Tears were welling up in your eyes, and Sylus moaned deeply behind you as he felt your cunt squeezing him, clenching around him like he belonged there. Because he did. 

His hand shot up, wrapping around your throat as he kept pounding you from behind, his whole desk shaking from the force of his thrusts. You were sure a bruise would form on your abdomen where it made contact with the wood. 

Your eyes rolled as he applied more pressure, making it difficult for you to breathe. “Such a pretty kitten…” He moaned in your ear. “And now she’s collared. As she should be.”

Your orgasm broke through you with a new force, the tears escaping your eyes and your cries lulling Sylus to fall on his own release right after you.

“Fuck.” He moaned, his teeth clamping down on your shoulder. Rope after rope of cum filled your cunt, his thighs shaking slightly from behind you as he emptied himself inside you. 

You were so overstimulated and sensitive by your encounter when Sylus caught his dripping cum from your thighs and pushed it right back in.

Your legs threatened to give out, your mind clouding the moment he began to fill you with his seed once more. “Such a pretty cunt, used and bred by me,” Sylus murmured, his voice low and possessive. “What will your boss say when my kids are running around his base, huh?”

You weren’t even aware of how or when it happened, but suddenly you were moaning his name, sweet and desperate, as you drenched him once again. This time, the force of your release was blinding, your vision fading to a brilliant white.

Confused, you turned to see Sylus, his abdomen glistening with your essence, his fingers slick and dripping as he stared at you with a manic edge in his eyes.

“Oh my God…” Heat rushed to your cheeks as the realization of what you had just done washed over you. “I’m sorry… Sylus, I’m—”

Before you could finish, his hand pressed firmly against your lower back, forcing you back into position as you tried to shrink away from his gaze. “Kitten…” His voice was taut, barely contained. “We’re not leaving this room until you do this again.”

[dckweed]

SWEETNESS, andrew ‘pope’ cody

summary: in which pope’s new neighbor is a generally sweet but heart broken musician that declares him her friend and for some reason..he just can’t say no, not when she's so sweet to im and he's he’s so damn attracted to her, and certainly not when she’s begged him to fuck her oh so sweetly...

warnings: PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION FOR THIS CHAPTER, MENTION AND DEPICTION OF ANIMAL DEATH. graphic violence, graphic mentions of sex, choking, spanking, marking, spitting, mean dom!pope, soft dom!pope, crybaby reader, musician reader, you're a slut for this man !! bust open like a can of biscuits whenever he wants it kind of slut and ngl im not mad at it !! there will be mentions of death at some point, eventual pregnancy, eventual description of death, kidnapping, physical violence, mentions of mental health struggles

hello loves, its not as in depth/emotional as i wanted it to be, but it's SOMETHING. im not able to spend too much time typing/editing anything due to the injury to my hand (also found out i have the beginning of carpal tunnel and im not supposed to spend alot of time typing because of that too), the next one however, is going to be absolutely filthy and slutty. ALSO, sweetie is a musician, i will be using songs that alot of people already know and just rewriting them to fit the story/sweetie whenever she perfoms or sings..song from this cap is called hot girls in hell by lolo

series masterlist here.

PART TWO: hot girls in hell?

The weekend passes by all too quick and before you know it, you’re back in your classroom. The bright lights glare off of the white tile, the few students that elect to take your class are off doing their own things and somehow, you’re still thinking about Andrew.

It’s embarrassing, honestly. The way your stomach tightens every time you hear him unlock his front door, the way your ears perk at the sound of his voice through the thin beachside walls. You’ve been spending more and more time around him lately — always with a reason, of course. You’re not just throwing yourself at the man. (Even if you sort of wish you were.)

“Do you know how to change a lock?” You had asked last week, twirling your house key around your finger, lip between your teeth.

Andrew looked up from the tire he was patching outside, sweat already dotting his brow, black tee clinging to his chest in the worst/best possible way. “Yeah,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “Why?”

You shrugged, trying to look casual. “Jake still has a key. And I don’t want to deal with that.”

He didn’t ask questions. Just nodded. “I’ll grab my tools.”

And then he was at your house, crouched in front of your door, muscles flexing under that stretched-out tee as he yanked out the old deadbolt like it personally offended him. The air was thick with salt and sawdust, your heart pounding as you leaned against the frame watching him work.

You’d never wanted someone to fuck you through drywall so badly.

You started dressing a little differently around him after that. Not obvious. Just... smaller shirts. No bras. Shorts that hugged just a little tighter. Tank tops with the thinnest straps known to man. You caught his eyes flicking down more than once, caught the way his jaw clenched when you bent to pick up a box or reached for something high.

He never said anything. But God, you knew he was looking.

And you knew you liked it.

That’s what made it so easy to start spending your afternoons next door. Sometimes helping him clean up, sometimes pretending to help with whatever project he was working on, sometimes just curled up on his too-small couch with your feet in his lap, a book open but unread as you pretended not to notice the way his hand settled on your ankle.

He never moved it. And you never made him.

Last night? He was sat on your love seat, watching you strum on one of your guitars, smiling around a beer as he listened to you sing your silly little breakup song..he didn’t think it was silly though, that was what you had called it, he thought it was sort of neat..hated that you were writing those though, that someone had hurt you enough to cause you to write breakup songs in the first place..

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting, you’re good for nothing..you told me you loved me, you don’t fuckin love me.,” He was pretty sure that he fuckin’ loved you, pretty sure he was even insane enough to say that shit, to believe it when you hadn’t even fuckin’ kissed him yet, when he hadn’t taken you out and called you his yet. You were his though, whether you knew it or not..you’d been his from day one, from the moment you yelled at his brothers in your oversized tshirt, hair wild and eyes sleepy.. “You think that you’re special, i think that you’re mental, I hope there’s no hot girls in hell..”

Andrew hoped there weren’t any hot girls in hell too, for your sake. Hoped that he never landed a nice piece of ass again, hoped that he got some chick pregnant and was left with the meanest, bitterest baby mama imaginable.. “How could you do this? You’re mean and you’re stupid..you’re getting wasted and im getting too thin..” He got the feeling that this was a song you’d written about this man awhile ago, you hadn’t lost any weight..if anything you were packing it on, thickening up with the food Andrew had been bringing you and taking you out to eat almost nightly..he loved watching you do your little happy dance in your seat when you took the first bite of food, loved watching you smile and be a little goofy around him. “You should be crying, painfully dying, I hope there’s no hot girls in hell..”

“Don’t you think that there would be hot girls in hell though? Aren’t some demons called succubus or some shit?” He asks, sipping his beer. You toss your guitar pick at him, it bounces off of his forehead and you snort in laughter, choking a little bit on your beer. He loved the way you laughed, how it always came from deep in your belly..it wasnt pretty by any means, it was just fuckin’ funny, so fuckin’ you. He fell asleep on your little loveseat, lanky legs stretched out to the floor, body slumped somewhat to the side. You slept right next to him, head on his shoulder, his arm around yours, chest rising and falling with yours, reruns of the dumb reality show you had coaxed him into watching with you playing on the tv, the cat curled up on the arm of the love seat, snoozing. He hated waking up, and so did you. 

The day it happens, it’s a Tuesday.

You’re at school late, cleaning up after your final class. The marching band has a parent meeting you offered to help set up for, and Andrew’s off somewhere with his brothers doing prep for a job. You texted him earlier — something stupid about the new coffee place opening on 3rd — and he left you on read, which wasn’t like him. But you figured he was busy.

It’s already dark by the time you pull into your alley. You know something’s wrong the second you get out of the car. The porch light is out. The front window is shattered.

Your stomach drops, hands clenching tightly around your car keys. You hear a voice in your head telling you not to go in there, to call for help. It’s the smart thing to do, the best option, really..but..cops would take forever to get out here, you don’t have forever to wait, don’t have the fucking patience to sit in your car and stare at your home, you just fucking dont. 

Against better judgement, against the fucking nagging voice in the back of your head, you race up the steps and throw the door open. Glass litters your floor, the window broken from the outside for sure, door left cracked open like someone left in a hurry. You note the scuff marks on the outside of it though, like someone tried to kick it in. 

The heat hits you first. It’s sweltering in there, the heat hitting you like a fist to the face as soon as you step in, like it had been trapped inside waiting to get out. “What the hell?” You know it was Jake. Who the hell else would have trashed your entire living room, but not touch the most expensive items sitting in the corner, your keyboard and guitars, the easiest things that he could have taken. No..no he went after something else, the drawers of the end ables were ripped out and turned over the, shit littered from the couch to the hallway, and probably to the fuckin’ bed room too if he went after what you think he went after. 

The smell hits you next. Burnt hair, fried skin..

You gag, hand over your nose, heart hammering. “Snickerdoodle?” Your voice cracks, frantically looking around what part of the house you could see for your cat, your chunky little man. 

You step inside, glass crunching under your shoes, and that’s when you see it.

The oven. The flicker of heat. The light still on.

A crutch wedged up against the handle.

No.

No.

No.

You scream.

You collapse.

Your knees hit the floor so hard you barely feel the sting of the glass shards burying in your skin. Tears stream down your cheeks as you scramble forward to the kitchen, wrench the oven open with bloodied shaking hands only to be hit with a wall of heat and the smell of burning flesh. You scream again. The kind of sound that tears something in your throat.

Your cat. Your fucking cat.

Jake did this.

You fumble for your phone. Hands slipping. You can’t see through the tears. Can’t even breathe.

You hit the first contact you can think of.

“Sweetness?” Pope’s voice crackles through the speaker.

You don’t speak. You just sob.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“Home,” you choke. “He—he broke in. Andrew. He—Snickerdoodle—”

“Stay where you are. I’m coming.”

The line goes dead.

You’re still sobbing on the floor when he bursts through the front door less than ten minutes later.

You don’t even hear him come in — not over the sound of your own grief. But then there are arms around you. Strong ones. Holding you tight against a broad chest as you fall apart in his lap.

“I got you,” he mutters, voice shaking with fury. “I got you, sweetness.”

You cry until you can’t anymore.

When you finally speak, it’s a whisper: “He used his crutch to hold the door shut.”

Andrew doesn’t respond. Not out loud. But you feel it — the way his entire body tenses. The way his jaw grinds against your temple. The way his hand curls protectively around your waist.

“You’re not staying here.”

“Andrew—”

“You’re not, the windows busted out, he nearly got the door kicked in based off the scuff marks..” he growls, standing and hauling you with him like you weigh nothing. “You’re not sleeping another fucking night in this house.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. He helps you up, crouches down and picks the glass shards out of your knees. You cant tear your eyes away from the oven, away from it. You don’t hear what he says, but you know he’s talking to you, large hands cupping your bloodied knees in a manner so gentle that it surprised you. 

You stand outside, dazed, as he calls Deran and Baz and makes them box up your entire life. You watch him carry your guitars with reverence, your clothes with care, your makeup like it’s sacred.

An hour later, he’s locking the door to his house. Tossing your keys on the counter next to his. Tugging a blanket around your shoulders as he settles you on his couch,  stretching your leg out so it’s perched on the surface, a first aid kit right next to your foot. You wonder how many times he’s had to patch up his own wounds, or his brothers’. 

“You’re here now,” he says softly, kneeling in front of you. His eyes are wild. Dark. “You’re with me. And no one’s ever fucking touching you again.” 

You believe him.

Even if part of you is still too broken to say so out loud.

But your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt as he starts to work, cleaning all the little wounds, blowing on it to make the stinging stop. He doesn’t seem to mind you holding on, touching him. He’s safe, he’s strong, he’s warm.. He’s never hurt you, never made you feel anything but safe and okay in his presence. 

And that’s enough for now.

taglist: @thatchickwiththecamera @sidneysidney123 @cheyennerenee10 @thvxr

[bluemantics]

“Just— just move your leg a little to the left.”

“I’m trying, Keith, shut up!”

“Well, my legs are numb. So any day now….”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Keith huffed out a too-warm breath as Lance shuffled around next to him, Lance’s arm trapped behind his shoulders. They’d been captured during the supposed peace feast that Nul’kar was hosting, sedated with alien chemicals, then tossed into some sort of box on the back of a vehicle. Trapped, squished together, they could barely move. Keith wasn’t too worried about the immediate threat— he’d already signaled for Voltron when he felt the toxins set in. He was more worried about Lance’s neck, right next to his face.

Keith tried to turn his head away and failed.

“Look,” Lance started, voice thin. “I know this is an awkward situation for both of us, okay? Let’s just try to ignore it and stay still for now while we wait.”

“…fine,” Keith said flatly.

“Good.”

Then, silence. Keith just let it sit, not caring, trying to think about anything else besides Lance’s long, elegant neck directly in his face and oh god—

“I can’t take the silence,” Lance huffed.

“I thought you just wanted to sit here?” Keith questioned back. He felt his thigh cramp underneath Lance’s. That would hurt worse later.

“Yeah, but let’s just… I dunno? Talk?” Lance snipped.

“Okay, then, what do you want to talk about?” Keith couldn’t help annoyance from slipping into his tone.

“What do you miss about home?”

Keith paused. Lance’s demeanor had changed suddenly in a way Keith recently noticed happened more and more frequently. He always struggled to respond to those changes, too anxious that he would say the wrong words.

“I didn’t have much back home, really,” Keith admitted. He felt more than saw Lance’s wince. “But, the desert. Sunsets and sunrises. And nighttime drives. It was a nice change for me, to be peaceful.”

“Oh,” Lance hummed.

“Yeah. What about you?”

“My family,” Lance answered immediately. Keith sensed his shoulders bunching up, and he tried to lay a comforting hand on Lance’s back. Lance jolted at first, but leaned into it after. “My mom, and her cooking. My dad’s corny stories about how they met. My sisters and their stupid fights, my brother’s jokes. I miss it all, and sometimes it makes me feel greedy, to want that life back when I’m trying to fight for other people to have that kind of life. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” Keith murmured. “But it’s not selfish. It’s just… human. We all want that stuff.”

“Even you?” Something imperceptible hung in the air, pressing down on both of them.

“Especially me, I think.” Keith bit down on his lip, worrying at it in the dark.

“Especially?” Lance asked softly.

“It’s different for me.”

“Okay.”

Suddenly, an explosion sounded off outside the box. The vehicle halted, and a green weapon slashed into their box, making Lance yelp and press back toward Keith. It was only Pidge, appearing through the light in the opening, shredding her way into the box.

“We’re here to save you two dumbfucks!” she yelled, bullet fire sounding from somewhere beyond her. “Let’s move!”

Keith and Lance nodded quickly, tumbling out of the box, their conversation now forgotten between its walls.

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Neil, my name is Zalean. If you have a few minutes, I wanted to tell you a little story. Not really a question and I’m not sure how to use tumblr but I wanted to say thanks so much for coming to Florida a few months back and talking with Art Spiegelman. It was my first time ever figuring out how to buy tickets for something. I lived in, middle of nowhere, Vermont for most my life and had no idea what I was doing, I had never been to anything before, nothing had made me excited enough to do the 5 hour drive. And then you just appeared 20 minutes away from where I am living now.

See, I was just starting to get to know your books and work because I fell in love with Good Omens so deeply when I discovered it during season twos release. Funny thing is, I knew of you all along without even realizing it, Stardust has been my favorite book and movie since I was a kid because it was my dad’s favorite story. Finding out my two favorite things were actually connected, I started trying to get hands on as many of your books as I could. I hadn’t read in years before finding your books. It was eye opening.

The talk event at the Dr.Phillips Center was sold out by the time I knew about it, someone had asked me if I knew of the event when they saw my Good Omens keychains my mom had made me. I called the box office because there is no harm in asking. I explained how I’m an art student at UCF and desperately wanted to be inspired and learn from you both. The customer service people were amazing and ended up calling me back to get me a seat in the orchestra pit before they were released to the public. I drove alone, I walked there alone, I sat alone, and it was worth it. I was so thankful to get a seat and grateful to my professor who was a bit jealous he didn’t know about it but let me leave class early to go because of course the art professor would be understanding for any learning opportunities in the arts. And it was truly wonderful, it seemed real and that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want a show. I just wanted to hear, in some sense, that you were like everybody else. I brought a notebook and pen for any information or story’s that I thought made a difference to my little life. The other people around were wonderful, you inspire kind people.

Like I said, I had never been to anything like this and I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know you would have signed books and I only found out because the people next to me came in late. I asked them why they brought the books after it was over and the lights turned on. They did look at me like I had three heads for a moment until they realized I didn’t know there were books to buy, they looked kinda sorry for me but they were so nice. I had never really thought about the importance of someone’s scribble before this but it’s something that proves you were there. It says “Remember when this person made you happy? Remember when they changed your life? Remember when they gave you hope? Look at this and remember.” I hope to see David Tennant and Michael Sheen to get an autograph now that I understand the meaning behind it a bit more but honestly I just love diving into everyone’s projects, the wonder you all create. Oh what fun it is to live a life full of stories!

The people that were sitting next to me let me look at their signed books and hold them. I flipped through some of the big ones, handed them back and expressed my gratitude just to be in the theater. I showed them all my little quotes I wrote down, I never want to forget why I create things and you say so much about never stopping, always creating. Then the women handed me a different book, a smaller book, but when I tried to hand it back, a bit confused, she softly placed it back in my open hands and said “I want you to have it, we have plenty and I want you to love these stories just as much as we do. It’s just starting for you, I want you to remember who started it”. The book she handed me being“The Ocean at the End of the Lane”. The first book I decided to read by you and had just finished a week before. The women had no idea she given me a signed copy of the book that made me want to read again. Your books make the world better. For such a big theater and such a big stage, I just wanted to tell you my little point of view.

The story you told about wishing you enjoyed the past more than you did, I hope you get to enjoy it now, and I hope you want to. And thank you, to you and to Terry Pratchett for creating something special. I convinced my dad to watch Good Omens with me over December break, he loved it.

I forget sometimes that everything is someone's first time, and then I read something like this and feel like I need to remember that better. I'm glad the people beside you were kind.