#paul i am in your walls

[cottoncandysprite]

Genuinely I am SO terrified of this season. What is going on

[sarafangirlart]

Imagine being so gooner brained you sexualize HOSPITAL GOWNS

[renerosin]

Pαυʅ Aɾσɳ in the F2 Chasing the Dream Trailer [2024]

[julesnichols]

This is actually hilarious that the showrunner's definition of "not shock value, not frivolous, and emotionally resonant" are:

1. Zarah: was killed off towards the end of the first episode; an episode that established the relatively idyllic and peaceful life in New Eden, and her death was both a catalyst and unexpected. But not shock value? Not frivolous, when all it was was to fridge her so that Layton could have a storyline and Liana could have one mom and one dad instead of two moms and a dad? Sorry but I don't think it's even emotionally resonant given the whole fridging thing and also how anticlimactically the baby plot was resolved (and quite frankly Layton should've actually gone rogue, it would've been somewhat of a better plot)

2. Wilford: killed off the same episode he was revealed to be totally cold resistant. Barely did anything this season; given how wild his death was he probably should've been killed at the end of S3 instead of thrown into the wasteland because what was the point???? I don't even like this character and I'm mad on behalf of his fans his death was so goddamn stupid. How is him willingly smoking a poisoned blunt to spite Layton by killing himself before Layton can kill him not shock value (after seeing his cold resistance)? Or not frivolous, when he wasn't even really doing anything this season before he died? Or emotionally resonant?

In conclusion:

What did I just watch

[allbuthuman]

not ready for the analysis post yet but fucking hell verlaine's character makes me even more insane the second time around i'm so so sad for him

[alexjcrowley]

I love watching movies that try to be The Big Short and fail

[delioncoeur]

Straight creators getting their grubby little hands all over queer stories and then word vomiting vaguely offensive, condescending nonsense in interviews is the thing that finally turned me into a heterophobe omg. 🥲🙏

[cephalopodsquad]

... that's how we're gonna end the becky v trish match?

[firelilyfox]

Deadly Eyes

Dune: Paul Atreides x female reader

Warnings: se&ual harassment / angst / curses / hateful words / comfort

If someone means harm to the girl he loves, Paul won't hesitate

Words: 1k

_______________________________

You stare at the men and women right in front of you. All of them were looking at you with the same emotions pictured in their faces. Disgust. Outrage. 

Today was the first day after Paul announced your relationship to his people. The Fremen welcomed you with open arms… well some of them at least. Your roots lies with none of the big houses. All you know about your family is, that they were travelers who never lived at the same place for more than a couple of years. You are one of the Lost Ones. But when Paul rescued you from being tortured by the brutal Harkonen a couple months ago, you never thought about traveling somewhere else again. Your people always praised that the soul is a free from wich never settles and never find the one and only home. Paul changed your way of thinking. With him you felt at home for the first time ever. 

„The Mahdi can’t be with someone who is lost“, one of the believers growled as you were passing by. All you wanted to do was taking a walk and exploring the hallways of the Sietch, one of the rocky formations what the Fremen call their home. And now you are standing in front of a hand full of believers who are talking bad about you. 

A old, wrinkly woman hisses. „You don’t belong here, Lost One.“ 

You look at her fully blue eyes. The same color your eyes have turned as an outcome to the effects of spice everywhere. „Please let me through. I don’t wish for trouble.“ 

Now a young man steps right in front of you. Too close to be comfortable with. You try to move and bring some distance between the two of you, but your back almost immediately hits the wall. Your chest tightens up. This feels like a cage. A cage of people who hate you. 

„But you are trouble, whore.“ He couldn’t have been more than five years older than you, but he was so intimidating that you wanted to flee before he would hurt you. You still are one of the Lost Ones. Their are no fighters. Your people staying alive because they run for dear life when problems appear. That’s why the Fremen always looked down on your kind. 

„All your people do, is stealing and living in the shadows. You are not worthy to be here. Your are not worthy to be with Muad’Dib“, he grabbed your neck with a tight grib. „But I’ll find some use for u, don’t you worry.“ 

The others looked away while he is dragging you to a shallow corner at the end of the hallway. Your screams got muffled by his greasy hand and silent tears filled your eyes. The back of your head hit the wall hard and your vision flickers for a moment. Fear crawling all over your body, followed by the tip of his knife. You’re trying to beg for him to stop, but all he does is giggling at your helplessness. 

„I will show you your worth and after that I will give your body to the desert. I will…“ 

A voice is shouting at the near distance. „Where is she?!“ The man fearlessly let’s go of you and hiding his knife. You fall down on your knees as Paul rushes around the corner. Gentle hands pulling you up and you begin to sob, hiding your face at his chest. 

„How dare you to touch her!“ Paul growls at the man who is now lowering his head in respect for his Duke. 

„I did not want to bring any disrespect to you, Mahdi. But this woman damages you reputation. She is not worthy to be …“ but Paul cuts him off. 

„She is equal to me. I am who I am today, because of her. How dare you to speak about her like that?“ His voice became dangerously silent and you could feel under your palms how tense his muscles were. As you look around you discover that people have stopped and watching the scene with wide eyes. 

You reach up to gently touch his cheek, so Paul would look at you. „I’m okay, Paul. Nothing happened. I’m unharmed.“ 

For a moment the coldness in his eyes vanished, but as he looked down at your neck and saw the bruises … he was ready to kill someone. Paul kisses your forehead and it feels like that he needed to do it just to calm himself down, before he would actually cut a throat. His grip around your waist thightens but not in a hurtful way. You never felt more protected as right here in is arms. 

Paul turns his head slowly. A deadly look on his face. The man kneeled down in fear of his punishment. „I will only say this once and for all. Who ever touches this woman and mean harm to her, will be sentenced to death. Without exceptions.“ He looks around, making eye contact with everyone who is watching. „Spread the word. I will personally kill everyone no matter if man or woman.“ 

The Fremen quickly leaving the place murmuring and chattering. The message was clear. If you break this rule, death by Muad’Dip will find you. 

„And for you“, Paul looked down at the man who tried to do unspeakable things to you. His voice full of dark rage. „If you ever come near her again or look at her even from afar, I’ll break your neck.“ He gave two other men a sign to carry him away. 

„I should have known that something like that might would happen“, Paul curses. „I’m so sorry. I should have never left you go alone.“ His eyes meet yours and the deep sorrow in them breaks your heart a little. 

„You couldn’t ever have guessed that. This isn’t your fault and it’s not your job to see something like that before it happens.“ 

Paul pulls you closer now that the two of you are alone. „But is is my job to protect you.“ 

„And you did.“ 

He leans his forehead against yours, taking a deep breath. His body is still tense but his touch is so gently. „I don’t want to imagine what could’ve happened if I weren’t be here on time … I couldn’t…“ his voice breaks. This is the side of him no one ever sees. The softness and the vulnerability. To everyone he is the fearless Muad’Dib. But to you he is Paul Atreides. The man who owns your heart. 

„Then don’t. You saved me. I am right here.“ To prove your point you get on your tiptoes and kiss him softly. Paul cups your face with his hands, holding you so close to him that nothing would have room in between. 

_____________________________________________

Thank you for reading! Comments, ideas & reposts are very welcome <3

[zyafics]

DIRTY AIR | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (oneshot) | x Maybank!Female Reader

Summary — When Rafe wants you as a late-night booty call, you’re going to make him work for it. Word Count. 2.2K.

Content — 18+, smut, lots of banter, sexting, fingering, oral (female receiving), and the usual Maybank-Rafe tension. Reader is a bitch, a tease, stubborn, dominant, and uses a dab pen.

lıllılı Breathe (Rap Version) by Blu Cantrell, Sean Paul

When you exit the shower, you receive a text from Rafe.

RC: come over

It's not surprising that he's texting you at this hour. It's half past ten and Rafe is always in a horny mood. You roll your eyes as you type your reply.

You: no thanks

RC: i haven't seen u in forever

You: yeah? and how does that make you feel?

RC: don't be a bitch

You: ur the one texting me

You pause, fingers dancing over the keypad, before deciding to add: show me how much you miss me

You don't get an immediate response, but you don't care, dropping your phone onto the desk, and looking at your reflection through the vanity. The towel covers your body, your hair dripping wet from the recent wash, and your face fresh from makeup.

As you ponder on what to do next, whether you should do a new coat of black polish, your phone buzzes on the desk. Your eyes glance down at the preview, noting it's a photo from Rafe.

A dick pic.

The shot captures his cock fisted in his hand, in the darkness of his bedroom, and the fine muscles of his thighs on display. You feel a pulse of desire shoot to your core.

A text follows: better?

You bite your bottom lip, holding back a smile, and contemplate your response.

You: it isn't worse

RC: fuck off

RC: do u need a ride?

You: i don't remember saying yes

RC: are u serious

You: how do i know that wasn't already loaded on your phone?

The next photo came quickly. This time, in the same position, Rafe sends a picture with his middle finger up, signet ring glistening. You laugh.

RC: ur turn

Just before you can tease him further, another text follows: if i gotta fuck my hand tn, at least give me something to jerk off to

You can't stop the grin from rising on your lips, shaking your head, and deciding, for once—just this once—you'll be agreeable.

Dropping your towel to the floor, you stand in front of your mirror with nothing but a pair of panties loosely around your hips. You angle the camera in front of the reflection, using one arm to cover your tits. Then, you snap the photo and click send.

The response is instantaneous.

RC: take off ur arm.

You: cant, my tits are meant to be experienced live

RC: ur killing me here

You: poor boy

RC: how am i supposed to jerk off to that

You: use ur imagination

RC: i’d rather have u here

You: is that supposed to be romantic

RC: fuck romance i wanna fuck

You: keep going cameron, i’m swooning

RC: ykw, fuck it, i'm coming over

Your heart stutters and you quickly type a response: no you can't

But you don't receive a reply.

Minutes pass but the text remains unread. Half of you want to pick up the phone and call him but decided against it. It's stupid. You won't be the first to submit. He's not going to take this much energy from you. If Rafe does show up, you simply won't answer the door.

You resume your nightly routine. Changing into an old shirt and shorts, you take a final hit from your dab pen, and just as you're about to head off to bed, a knock on your door reveals JJ.

"What?" You greet your little brother, despite not seeing him the entire day. At least he's home safe.

"I just got back from the Chateau," he informs, causing your brows to pull together.

"Congrats?"

"Thanks," he leans against the wall next to your doorway, right beside your desk, "and guess who I met waiting outside our house?"

Your shoulders drop. "He isn't."

"He is," JJ declares with an obnoxious click of his tongue, shaking his head in that little brother shake of disapproval, but not having any real authority to change the circumstance. "He offered me twenty bucks to convince you to meet him."

You squint your eyes at him. "Did you take it?"

"Of course," JJ holds up the folded twenty between his fingertips and you scoff. "You're gonna meet him anyways. If the Kook's throwing away free money, might as well take it."

You shake your head at him, but truth be told, you would do the same. "You have no loyalty."

"Am I wrong?"

"Yes," you affirm stubbornly, now having another reason not to go to Rafe. "I'm not going to see him."

"That's not what he's saying."

"What? You and Rafe gossiping about me now?"

"Yeah, we're best buds now," he draws sarcastically, before pushing himself off the wall and knocking his knuckles against your desk, as if to test how solid the wood is, before pulling back. "Whatever you do, just don't fuck in the house. The walls are thin and I'd rather not hear you getting freaky."

He walks away, without closing the door, and you yell after him, "Yeah, and remember that whenever you invite Kie over!"

JJ doesn't say anything, flipping you off, but you laugh, and knowing without a doubt that your brother is carrying a similar expression. When JJ leaves, you grab your phone nearby on your nightstand. Still, no text. You wonder if Rafe truly believed JJ was going to fulfill his promise and drag you out of the house.

You decided to test it.

You: ur little plan didn't work

RC: maybe

You: my brother doesn't like u

RC: and i don't like him

You: then why are u here?

RC: thought i made that clear

You: go ask one of ur other girls

RC: nah

The chat bubble comes up before disappearing. Finally, a text comes through: none of them are u

You can't stop the swarm of butterflies from fluttering in your stomach and you hate how easily you fall for his words. Rafe's nothing but a casual fuck, which you're using a little too often, and you decide to push back.

You: i'm not coming outside

RC: maybe

You: i'm going to sleep

RC: then why are u still texting me

You lock your jaw, hating the flush rising to your cheeks from being called out. You decide not to entertain a response, dropping your phone on the nightstand, facing up, and snuggle into your blanket. You're about to close your eyes but the bedroom door remains open.

There's something aggravating about its presence that, with a huff, you throw your comforter off your body and march up to the door to slam it close, flooding the room into complete darkness. When you're about to go back to bed, the tiny space lights up from a notification on your phone.

RC: are u really going to sleep?

You: u thought i was bluffing?

RC: nah, but i just imagined it would be hard

You: why?

RC: because once u close ur eyes, all ur gonna do is picture me

You: ur so full of yourself

RC: ur telling me u won't imagining me between ur thighs rn? my fingers could be rubbing your sweet pussy and get u real nice and wet

RC: ur always so wet for me

You: shut up

RC: and when ur dripping, i finally put my fingers in. just one for now, just to tease u

RC: while i'm fingering u, ur moaning with that sweet little voice of yours, begging me to go faster

RC: i do.

You squeeze your thighs together, feeling the ember of heat spreading from your core and causing your entire body to ache. God, you need release, and you find your free hand between your legs, stroking your panty-clad pussy to find the patch drenched. You hiss from the sensitivity, just as more texts come through.

RC: and when i drop my face down to find ur clit

RC: you'll moan my name, won't you baby?

Your fingers enter your wet pussy, but the girth isn't enough, and while you're pumping yourself, it isn't the same. You're imagining him—goddamnit, you're imagining him—and how he can do it so much better.

More text pings, but your head is tipped back, trying to bring yourself to your own release with no relief. When minutes pass and nothing but an incessant throb pulses through your core, you decide enough is enough.

Throwing your covers off, you march to the front door and whip it open, finding Rafe leaning against his motorcycle, phone in hand. His eyes immediately find you and a conceited smirk rises to his lips, "changed your mind?"

"Shut up."

You grab his shirt, not bothering for small talk, and pull him into your house, threading through the narrowed space before finding your room. When the door closes, you push Rafe against it, pushing your slick-covered fingers through his mouth, forcing him to suck.

He does, and a look of surprise and lust passes through his features.

"You gonna fuck me like you promised?" You challenge in a whisper.

He pulls your fingers out, "Use me, baby. Make yourself feel good."

With that satisfaction, you're about to turn around to go to your bed, but Rafe tugs on your wrist, pulling you back. "Not so fast."

His lips slam onto yours and Rafe kisses you desperately. You taste yourself faintly on his tongue, and one of his hands cups under your chin before slipping down, pulling at the thin material of your shirt, messing with the hems of your shorts.

Rafe pulls away, teeth tugging at your bottom lip before releasing and mumbling harshly. "I need these fucking clothes off."

"You're here now," you step back just an inch, "do it yourself."

Rafe grabs the hem of your shirt and swiftly peels it off, before both hands land on either side of your waist, slowly, sultrily lowering your shorts as he sinks himself to his knees. Rafe guides you back, allowing you to meet the foot of your bed frame, and when he evicts you of your clothes completely, he pushes you onto the mattress. 

"Fuck, Maybank," Rafe groans to himself, "you're dripping."

"Like you promised, huh?"

With a smug look, his fingers brush against your aching cunt, rough fingers grazing your slit in vertical strokes. You instantly jolt into his hand, causing him to use his free hand to hold down your hips.

His dark blue eyes are trained on your pussy, and you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of need to say something. To prompt him to go faster. Rougher.

"This isn't for you," you proclaim with a low rasp, "this is for me."

"Whatever you tell yourself so I can fuck you."

A digit pumps inside you—like he said—slow and steady at first, but the girth alone causes you to clench around it. Before long, he adds another and another, curling his fingers inside of you, fingertips grazing against your sensitive walls.

Your head tips back against your sheets, breathy moans escaping you. You feel yourself building up to a white-hot pleasure, the familiar one that you've been chasing ever since his texts, but comes so easily with Rafe.

"Come on, baby," Rafe taunts, going faster. "Scream my name."

"Fuck off, Cameron," you stammer through a moan.

He chuckles to himself. "Close enough."

His face lowers to capture your clit and he sucks hard, making you see stars. Your fingers thread through his hair, pushing him closer to your cunt, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

Rafe usually loves being the dominant one, but something about you—chasing your own pleasure, using him as a mere toy for your own release—makes his inside buzz. He fucking loves it. With you and no one else.

Desperate moans cascade out of your lips, so needy, Rafe is reeling from the sound and safekeeping it into his memory. His name falls from your lips, and he channels his enthusiasm until he's knuckle-deep inside you with his mouth working over your swollen nub. 

You come hard while Rafe guides you through your orgasm, slowing down his thrusts. Once you ride it to completion, Rafe retreats his fingers and pulls you to the ledge of the mattress, forcing you back into a sitting position.

His eyes leveled with yours, your breathing is harsh while Rafe studies your features. The look on your face post-orgasm, the way your lips are parted with a fuckable pout, and the way your eyes are on him. Only him.

Slowly, you take his hand, the one slick with your arousal, and raise it to your mouth, pushing his fingers between your lips. You suck him clean, never breaking eye contact, and Rafe swears he's never seen a more erotic sight.

When he pulls his hand back, he uses it to cup the nape of your neck and pulls you into a kiss. It came as a surprise to you; the way his tongue plays with yours, tasting you, needing you. 

Then, a loud banging from one side of your wall causes you to jump back. JJ's voice follows, "Can you keep it down over there?!"

It takes a beat before you burst out laughing, Rafe following. You turn back to him, tilting your head.

"Wanna make some noise?" You ask.

He grins. "Would love to."

"Okay," you grab his shirt, exchanging position, and push him onto your mattress. Your knees on either side of his hips. "My turn."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[intoanotherworld23]

A Royal Throne

Summary: There’s no throne more worthy to sit on than Lucius’s face

Warnings: explicit content, mature content, smut, oral sex female receiving, face sitting, face grinding, mention of virgin reader, inexperienced reader, horny Lucius

A/N: hi my loves I know it’s been a couple months since I’ve been on here I’ve just been going through some stuff but I am back. I hope you guys enjoy this one and I encourage all of you to reblog and comment I would like to hear what everyone thinks! Appreciate everyone who’s supported me and continues to support me! If you wish to be added to a tag list it’s fully open so please don’t hesitate to ask! Thanks everyone! XOXO

Hall of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Paul Mescal/Lucius: OPEN

“Come here my little dove.” Lucius waving you over to him as he sat on the bed his legs spread prompting you to step between them. This position felt so intimate and warm it was very foreign to you. “Don’t be shy with me now.”

Lifting your silk dress and placing your legs on either side of his hips to sit on his lap. To your surprise though, he lays back and wraps his arms under your thighs pulling you upward. "What are you doing?"

"I am starving." He responds back, guiding your body up towards his face. Panic ensues and your inexperience starts to show when you have no idea what he’s about to do, or if you were gonna be able to do what he wanted. Pushing your body up so you were using the stone wall to hold yourself up.

“How can you be starving when you’ve eaten enough to feed an entire army?” Confused when he starts kissing along your inner thighs his facial hair tickling against your skin. Lucius could already smell your arousal, and was even more eager to dive in.

“Do you trust me?” He questions sensing your hesitation and nervousness. Judging by the look on your face you’ve never done this, and to be honest he was excited to be your first.

The first time you and Lucius laid eyes on each other the two of you have become inseparable. Even though he was a simple gladiator, and you were of royalty. That still didn’t stop the two of you from sneaking off into the dead of night. Knowing the risk if you two were caught, but something told you Lucius would always protect you.

“Of course I do Lucius.” Staring down at his face trying to sound confident, but you know he could hear your shaky voice.

“Then just follow my lead.” His head now positioned directly above your cunt. Licking his lips as he stared so intensely between your legs you felt like you could pass out. It just now hitting you what he was wanting you to do.

Nodding with him really doubting yourself, and just hoping whatever you were about to do was going to bring him immense pleasure. Holding your dress around your waist so you could watch what he was about to do. His thick hands holding onto your hips, and guiding you to sit on his face. His tongue right up against your cunt. A heat rising to your cheeks being in such a vulnerable position.

“I don’t want to suffocate you.” Anxiety bubbling over trying to lift yourself back up, and all he could do was smirk up at you.

“Then I shall die a true gladiators death.” He says before slamming you back down on his face. A gasp slipping past your lips at the sudden movement.

His tongue working furiously inside of you thrusting and swirling in all the right places. Finding yourself shamelessly riding his face without even realizing it. Gasps and whimpers leaving your lips echoing around the room hoping none of the servants heard. Lucius’s thumbs soothingly rubbing your already sweaty skin.

“Sweet as honeyed wine.” Muffling more to himself than you, but his words still held a grip on you.

“Oh gods.” Crying out as you looked down watching as he hungrily lapped at your cunt like he was a starved wild animal. One hand keeping your dress up while the other attached to his head a tight grip on his hair. All he could do was groan which vibrated against your clit.

Your orgasm was quickly approaching, and your entire body felt like it was on fire. You’ve never ever felt anything like this before. Lucius looked up at your remarkable expression, and it had him hard as stone. He loved holding your pleasure in his grasp, and made him feel like he had unlimited power.

“I’m close.” Rotating your hips as he thrusted his tongue as deep as he could the bridge of his nose brushing against your puffy clit. It was overwhelming as it felt like the room was spinning, and the walls were closing around you.

“Let go I am right here.” He encouraged as he started to suck on your clit. Holding you down refusing to let you go, and he just keeps going. It was everything that you never knew you needed. Throwing your head back as a cry of pleasure left your lips, and your thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Listening as his tongue lapped up your juices, your legs shaking as he eased you through your orgasm. Using his chest to lift yourself off his face your legs feeling like noodles. Lucius adjusting his position so he was sitting upright his hands never leaving your hips as he made you sit back down on his lap. Watching in awe as he wiped his mouth his beard glistening under the blaze of the candles.

“My sweet little dove.” A hand reaching up to caress your cheek with a soft smile. Hands down by his hips as you mindlessly played with the fabric of his pants. “Now tell me, are you a virgin?”

[tpwk-formula1]

TIME TO ORDER MY PIZZA

RAHHHH

aight. lets have an ob87 with the sicillian crust, red sauce, pepperoni, jalapenos, mushrooms, chicken, cilantro, buffalo chicken, gorgonzola and parmesan cheese, roasted artichokes, anchovies, goat cheese

and beer, sprite, and dessert <3 

TYSM

AN: Hi! Day two of following my schedule! I hope everyone has an amazing day! I'm working on the 2K Special and I am so excited for you guys to meet all our new AUs <3

TW: Unprotected sex, rough, dirty talk, oral, edging, begging

WC: 2.1K

Ollie Bearman x bratty! reader

sicilian crust dating red sauce rough sex pepperoni "Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want" jalapenos "Always such a fucking brat" mushrooms "Wrong, wanna try again" chicken "Awe, you thought I'd let you cum that easy?" cilantro "Stop crying and fucking take it" buffalo chicken "Such a fucking crybaby, just fucking take it all" gorgonzola "Are you always this fucking loud?" parmesan cheese "Awe... did that hurt? Tuff luck I'm gonna do it again" roasted artichokes “im gonna put a baby in you” anchovies "How are you already drenched" goat cheese "Get on your knees and beg" beer edging sprite size kink dessert yes served by Ollie Bearman

Y/N POV

"Always such a fucking brat," I hear Ollie seethe a whisper into my ear. Making me smirk softly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ollie," I say softly with a bright smile playing on my lips trying to fray innocence. Ollie doesn't even buy it for a split second just sending me a warning look before walking back towards his engineers to talk about the upcoming race.

I quickly turn my attention back to Kimi and resume my "flirty" which really just consisided of Kimi and I laughing over the fact that we are very clearly baiting Ollie to finally make a move.

"You're pissing him off," Kimi giggles making me look over my shoulder to find Ollie giving me a raised brow making me turn back giggling knowing our plan was going perfectly.

"The fact that it's only been you to get a rise out of him," I say making Kimi laugh and shake his head softly.

"This better work out for you guys. I still can't believe how obvious both of your guys feelings are to everyone around. Hell you even know Ollie likes you but he's so oblivious he doesn't realize how much you already like him," Kimi says laughing and shaking his head before walking to his engineers leaving me to find Ollie.

"Go back to Kimi," Ollie says not even looking up from his phone making me laugh softly.

"Ollie you cannot be serious," I say softly.

"I thought we agreed to figure out what was going on between us before talking to anyone else," Ollie says making me roll my eyes. My reaction only get Ollie to scoff and stand up letting his size tower over mine.

"Either stop being such a fucking brat or go back and giggle with Kimi," Ollie tells me in a stern voice that should problem instill a bit of fear but instead it has me clenching my thighs together.

"Are you getting off on pissing me off or is Kimi that much better then me," Ollie scoffs rolling his eyes. I can tell how mad he already is but what can I say... I like to poke the bear. (pun very intended)

"Just thinking about what Kimi was saying earlier," I say in a teasing tone before sending a smirk.

Before I can even start laughing to let Ollie know it was all a joke and he had taken the bait so easily it was like taking candy from a baby, he had me pushed against the wall with his hand around my neck.

"Wrong, wanna try that again," Ollie growls looking down at me. I can't help the moan that slips between my lips making Ollie smirk slightly.

"It was a set up," I whisper looking Ollie in the eye making his grip on my throat loosen slightly. He's looking down at me with a raised brow trying to figure out if I was lying or not.

"Kimi was tired of us being stupid. We decided to bait you into finally making a move. I've tried with Dino, Paul, HELL I even tried to bait you with fucking Charles and nada but heaven forbid I giggle with Kimi, which mind you we were laughing about how it was working," I tell him and by the time I had finished Ollie's hand around my throat had moved to my cheek.

"God, I'm more embarrassed it took me this long to realize," Ollie admits making me let out a small laugh before reaching my hands around Ollie's neck and pulling him down for a quick kiss.

The second Ollie's lips touched mine I let out a small moan before pulling him closer deepening the kiss.

"No," I whine when he pulls away.

"We're still in the paddock. When we get back to the hotel you better come to mine," Ollie tells me making me smile and nod slightly before pulling him down to steal one more kiss.

When we get back to Ollie's hotel room he's instantly dragging me towards the bed and before he pushes me down he quickly pulls off my shorts and shirt leaving me in the matching black bra and panties set I had put on this morning.

"Did you know this was gonna happen?" Ollie asks with a smirk while rubbing his fingers lightly over the lace of my bra.

"I hoped so," I admit letting my blush creep onto my cheeks. I glance down noticing that Ollie was still fully dressed I quickly tug at the bottom of his Ferrari team kit before pulling it off his body with Ollie's help.

Once he's shirtless Ollie quickly pushes me onto the bed hoovering over my body before leaning down and pulling me in for a heated kiss.

When I feel Ollie's lips trailing down my cheeks and neck I let out a soft moan when he bites down before sucking softly I'm sure will leave a mark behind. He leaves a few more scattered around my neck and chest before trailing his mouth down my pussy.

When he reaches his destination he spreads my legs further just staring at my soaked pussy for a split second.

"How are you already drenched?" Ollie asks with a smirk but before I can even answer him back he's licking a long strip from my leaking hole up to my throbbing clit where he pulls it into his mouth making me moan loudly.

"Fuck Ollie!" I cry out when he starts flicking his tongue over my sensitive clit.

"Taste so good," Ollie mumbles into my pussy making me whimper at the vibrations. Ollie only attaches his mouth back to my clit completely ignoring my cries of pleasure.

"Shit!" I cry out when I feel two of Ollie's fingers slip into my pussy finding my G-spot almost instantly making me arch my back off the bed from the stimulation.

"So good," I moan when Ollie starts fucking his fingers into my pussy while still teasing my clit. I can already feel my orgasm starting to build which has Ollie pulling away and smirking at me.

"No!" I cry out in a whine making Ollie laugh at me in a mocking manner.

"Awe, you thought I'd let you cum that easy?" Ollie asks with a smirk making me whimper. I always kind of figured Ollie was gonna be the dominant type but I'm still shocked by how dominant he truly is.

"Ollie, please I've been waiting for this moment," I beg making Ollie shake and head before flipping my body over so I'm now on my stomach but before I can even catch my breath he's pulling my hips up leaving me on all fours.

"Ow! Oliver," I cry out when I feel his slap ring out against my ass.

"Awe... did that hurt? Tuff luck I'm gonna do it again," Ollie says while he sends down another harsh slap to my ass.

"Fuck," I moan only resulting in Ollie spanking me again. He repeated this process until my ass was glowing a bright shade of red.

"So pretty," Ollie's voice rings out before he's burying two of his fingers into my pussy again making me whimper. From the new angle Ollie is hitting my G-spot with perfect precision every time.

"I'm close," I cry when I feel my orgasm start to build again but just like last time Ollie is pulling his fingers out just before I can tumble over the edge.

"Oliver! Please I need to cum," I cry out as I'm turning back onto my back to look Ollie in the eyes.

"Get on your knees and beg then," Ollie tells me with a smirk instantly making me sit up straighter and push him away from hoovering over me resulting in him standing up and taking a few steps back. When I climb off of bed I instantly sink onto my knees in front of Ollie.

I make quick work of unbottoming his pants and pulling them down a long with his briefs. Once his hard cock is freed I can't help the small whimper I let out in shock of his size.

Ollie quickly steps out of his pants and steps a bit closer so his cock was almost touching my lips.

I lean forward and take his throbbing cock into my hand and take a small lick on the tip of his cock. The hiss he lets out at the small stimulation gives me the courage I need to take the tip of his cock into my mouth.

"When I said that, it was a joke," Ollie says breathlessly but still wastes no time wrapping his fingers into my hair and pushing me farther down his cock.

"Fuck," Ollie groans out when my nose hits the trimmed patch of hair at the base of his cock.

I start bobbing my head on Ollie's cock making his grip in my hair tighten. As I have Ollie deep in my mouth I bring one of my hands up and start playing with his balls making him groan out and throw his head back in pleasure.

"No," I whine as Ollie pulls me off his cock.

"You cock hungry whore, I want to cum while fucking you," Ollie says while leaving down do we're face to face with each other. He places a few quick kisses down on my wet lips before standing back up straight and helping me stand.

Once we are both back on the bed Ollie has me in missionary teasing my clit with the tip of his cock while he peppers kisses all along my neck and collarbones leaving small bite marks and hickeys in his wake.

"Ollie! Please!" I cry out no longer being able to handle his relentless teasing.

"Be a good girl and you'll get what you want," Ollie says with a smirk and sliding deeply into my pussy with one thrust.

"Oh fuck," I cry out arching my back off the bed feeling my self be filled in ways I've never experienced before.

Ollie wastes no time thrusting into my pussy at a quick speed making me continue to cry out loudly in pleasure.

"Fuck! Ollie! So fucking good," I moan loudly through thrusts making Ollie smirk down at me before leaning down slightly to place a kiss on my lips.

"Are you always this fucking loud?" Ollie asks while picking up his thrusts into a rougher pace.

"Too good," I cry out again making Ollie smirk.

"Too good? You better get used to it," Ollie teases while using his fingers to start teasing my clit.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that," I cry out only making Ollie speed all his actions up.

"Cum for me," Ollie grunts out.

"Shit!" I cry out while I feel my orgasm wash over me.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," Ollie grunts out while I still feel my orgasm washing over me.

"I'm gonna put a baby in you," Ollie grunts out while I feel his cum filling me up.

"Fuck Ollie," I moan feeling the final wave of my orgasm end while Ollie is slowly pulling out of my pussy.

"I think our families would kill us if we got pregnant coming into your rookie season," I tease making Ollie laugh while pulling me into his hold and taking me into the bathroom with him.

"Do your business and we can shower after," Ollie tells me softly while a small laugh is falling from his lips. He sets me down on the toilet and moves to turn the shower on.

Once I was done I climb into the shower after Ollie and instantly wrapping my arms around his bare torso.

"Sorry it took me forever," Ollie says while looking down at me.

"I mean if I get fucked like that for waiting we can go back whatever we were before," I tease making Ollie's cheeks heat up.

"I can just fuck you like that, because now that you're mine we aren't doing any of that waiting bullshit," Ollie says with a small laugh falling from his lips.

Once we finished the shower Ollie gave me one of his shirts to wear and we both climbed back into bed. When Ollie grabs his phone he notices a few texts from Kimi.

Before he can even answer them his phone starts ringing with an incoming FaceTime.

"What's up," Ollie asks while laying on his back and looking up to the phone. He intentionally kepted me out of the camera view.

"Did you finally get the girl?" Kimi asks clearly frustrated that Ollie had been ignoring him.

"Cause that's the only acceptable answer for not answering my messages," Kimi adds making Ollie laugh.

"I saw you with her, assumed she would be with you," Ollie tells him making me shake my head and pinch his side.

"Bro, I know Y/N is there with you!" Kimi exclaims with laughing. I end up laughing revealing that he was correct.

We ended up talking with Kimi for a little bit before we got off the phone and fell asleep in each others arms.

[lurkingshan]

Random QL Superlatives: 2024 Edition

My friends! It is time once again to reflect back on the year and give out some random ass awards to the things that gave me joy in the many QLs I watched.

In no particular order, this year’s winners:

Best Long Term Glow Up: Off Jumpol as Jane in The Trainee

I've been simping for Jumpol since the Puppy Honey days, because I know potential when I see it! This year the rest of y'all finally caught up with me and realized this man is aging like a fine wine. We all won!

Most Valuable Prop: Aoyanagi Hajime Standee, I Became the Main Role of a BL Drama

Will anything ever make me laugh as hard as Akafuji opening the door to Aoyanagi Hajime while holding an Aoyanagi Hajime standee and then running for his life, standee tucked under his arm, to escape the mortification? If so, it's def another joke from this show.

Best Heart Destroying Angst: Every Moment of Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo

Sometimes you just want a show to break your heart into a million tiny pieces and then stitch it back together, and there is no better version of that experience this year than this beautiful show.

Wackiest Premise That Somehow Works: Caged Again

Whomst could have predicted that a BL about a penguin who turns into a human, goes to high school, and falls in love with a panther would be one of the sweetest, most compelling stories of the year.

Most Precious Bean: Taishin, Takara's Treasure

Just look at his cute little face!! My son has never done anything wrong in his life. He's adorable and I won't hear a word against him.

Drama Child of the Year: Young San, Century of Love

My soul fully tried to leave my body every time this child appeared on screen. I must congratulate this child actor--his name is Chayanan Akkharadumrongdet--on perfectly embodying the spirit of an old man trapped in a tiny body. Give this boy an award!

Best Love Theme: Di Inakala by Paul Pablo, Marahuyo Project

Such a gorgeous song, first used while King reads Ino's letter and realizes Ino has feelings for him. Hits me right in the chest every time I hear it.

Best Sex Scene - Almond and Latte's first time, Knock Knock Boys

Everyone else can throw in the towel, this is the best depiction of a loving but awkward first time that will ever be committed to film.

Star of My Vision Board: Yako, She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat

Oprah said it best: “She is the mother I never had, she is the sister everybody would want. She is the friend that everybody deserves. I don't know a better person.”

Outstanding Achievement in Old Man Yaoi: Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding

It's not every day that a show manages to sell you on a 20+ year age gap, but this one did it without breaking a sweat and had us all rooting for Ishida to eat that old man up with a spoon.

Best Sight Gag: Rock Lifting Karan Over His Shoulder, Cherry Magic Thailand

Is it the way Rock bends down and grabs him with no warning? The way Karan still does a polite wai over his shoulder? The way Dujdao scurries after them? Idk but it's been 10 months and I am still laughing.

Best Absolute Mindfuck: Love for Love's Sake

Sometimes a scene from this drama will flash through my mind and I'll have to spend a few minutes just staring at the wall, and that's how you know it was damn good.

Most Brainrot Inducing: Unknown

The way this story had a chokehold on my brain for three entire months was no joke.

Swooniest Love Interest: Mahasamut, Love Sea

Just look at this glorious man! And on top of all that visual splendor, he's kind and generous and brave and smart and competent and high key a smart ass. In this house we love Mahasamut!

Best Classic Watch: The Miracle of Teddy Bear

The most delightfully surprising watch of the year for me, and a great reminder to never, ever trust anything MDL commenters say about a show.

Y'all know the drill: feel free to join in and post your own superlatives, and please tag me if you do!

[hivemuthur]

Nothing's New - Ch.3.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, a lot of angst, smut sort of present moving from this chapter forward

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 5,5K

tag: #nothings new

summary: Alright folks, some abrupt decisions are made in this chapter and I am foreshadowing Viktor's self-discovery (I will place a warning in the next chapter, as here it's still not that relevant). I will post some smut in a minute so you all don't get too sad :v

Cross-posted on AO3

—

You’ve spent the entire weekend stewing in your thoughts. Replaying the events over and over, from beginning to end, picking up pieces you might have missed before. It’s been a week since your last interaction with Viktor, and today is the final day for you to collect your things from his apartment.

You’ve been lying in bed, wondering if what happened last week was real or just an odd case of pareidolia—attaching meaning where there was none. Viktor’s anger, his cracking voice, the way he slumped back into the chair after you hurled fragments of conversation at each other. And yet, those fragments were more than anything that had happened between you in the past year.

People do such strange things after breakups. They throw themselves anywhere but into the breakup itself. They drink, get addicted to something, take up an extreme sport—or extreme hookups, which could also count as a sport—start smoking, dive into a new relationship, or become completely hopeless or cruel versions of themselves. And those versions do stupid, strange things.

Like giving your ex the keys to your apartment to pick up their stuff. Or being the said ex and going to your ex’s apartment to pick up your stuff. Utterly deranged. Utterly strange. Cruel on one side, hopeless on the other.

You have waited the entire weekend, sitting on pins. You haven’t seen Paul once, ignoring his texts and phone calls. Then, inevitably, Sunday noon has crept in, and you realise, that you have to go.

The journey is a drag in itself, but once you are in front of his apartment, you pause. You hold your breath as you slide the key into the lock. Getting here was torment. You thought the cursed triple-date restaurant ordeal was horrific, but you knew nothing. This is horrific. This is true terror. The terror of what’s on the other side of the door gnaws at you the whole way here, and now it gnaws harder, your hand frozen on the key, frozen in the lock.

When you hear it click, you release the trapped breath and close your eyes, stepping in. It’s dark. The day is muggy, with rain on and off, as the weather broke earlier in the week. The first licks of autumn hang in the air, and suddenly, you remember how freezing Viktor’s apartment is during the colder months. Your apartment. The apartment you lived in together. Whatever.

You take a timid stroll through the hallway—some pictures have disappeared from the walls. The ones of you and him. It’s expected, no reason to sulk. Moving on.

There it is: the lounge. The space where you’ve spent so much time reading, yapping, playing records, having sex on the couch, on the windowsill. Sleeping in front of the TV. So much time spent there alone, waiting, falling asleep with a book on your face, or staring expectantly at your phone. So many times you were abandoned here.

Viktor’s desk by the window is still covered in books, papers, and notes. He’s taken his computer away for the weekend, leaving behind a sharp square-shaped void outlined in dust where it had been. You draw a sad face in the dust with your finger, then hesitate, wondering if you should wipe it away so Viktor doesn’t notice.

You sit in his chair and spin yourself around, your feet dragging on the floor. No pictures to stare him in the face while he works, no particularly personal notes. No signs of Julia yet. No assprints in the layer of dust on his desk. Check.

You turn to the box he’s left for you in the middle of the room. Your name is scrawled angrily on it, as if Viktor forced himself not to write something like "CUNT" instead. It’s sealed, ready for you to grab and flee. But you want to see what remnants of you he’s collected, the things he so firmly believes need to be returned.

You rush to the kitchen and grab the first knife you see. Back to the box. A strange feeling churns inside you—something close to excitement, but also to dread.

With trembling hands, you slice the tape, reopening the wound. The box is stuffed with paper on top, meticulously packed. You pull the layers out and start digging.

Your books and clothes, mostly. You take them out one by one. Your T-shirt with "ALL MY BOOTS ARE FUCKED UP" written across it in huge letters. You used to sleep in it. You hadn’t realised it was left behind. It smells exactly of nothing—just a piece of cloth that’s been hanging in a closet for months. And yet, it smells faintly of Viktor, though maybe it’s just your imagination.

Books, each of them ones you love. Especially your first edition of The Lord of the Rings. Not the first edition, just the first one you ever got. A couple of notebooks with notes for work and personal scribbling. Your pin that says, “Bono in short legs shock.” Nothing in particular.

A few records are stuffed to the side. You wince at how he’s squeezed them in there and wonder if they’ve already melted and warped in the heat that was killing you not so long ago. And then, your heart sinks. Between the books and the clothes and an odd perfume bottle, lies a small box.

A gift you’d brought him: the tiniest chunk of meteorite you’d bought at the weirdest book convention you’d ever been to. It had been mixed with a natural minerals expo, an esoterica expo, and a reptile expo. Truly terrible. Until you spotted a man selling pieces of stars from his private collection. And you thought to yourself that if anyone on this planet deserved to receive a star for no occasion, it was Viktor.

He was speechless when you gave it to him. “Amazing,” he’d whispered, his eyes glinting as he weighed it in his hand. For something so small, it had felt so heavy. His heart had felt heavy too, with affection and devotion. He kissed you, kept kissing you until you were out of breath. It was wonderful.

And now it sits in your hand, discarded and abandoned. And it feels heavier than ever.

Forcing the tears back where they came from, you take a shaky breath and scramble up from your knees, clutching the box in your hand. You go to return the knife to where you’d taken it from in the kitchen, determined not to leave any sign of your snooping—except for the sad face drawn in the dust.

When you turn from the counter, it hits you violently in the face.

A Post-it note on the fridge. Viktor’s handwriting. Very old-fashioned. Very Viktor. More intimate than text messages. He’d left those for you once, before your intimacy had died. But this one isn’t for you.

“Miláčku, if you could grab my notebook on your way to work, I will be eternally grateful. V.”

In an instant, you forget your intention to leave no trace. You snap it from the fridge door, twisting it violently in your fingers. Something roars in your chest, and you can feel yourself spiralling. The need to go somewhere safe is overwhelming. So you go to the bedroom.

And there you are, confronted with another square-shaped void. The outline of where the bed used to be screams at you with the darker shade of wooden floor compared to the rest of the room. The empty space—what you remembered as small and cramped—now feels massive and vast.

You crumble onto the floor, squeezing the box with Viktor’s star in one hand and the wretched note in the other. There is no force that could stop your tears. Your lungs burn as you release a pathetic wail of a sob, granting yourself one of the ugliest cries you’ve had in months. The sun sets at some point.

Your chest and shoulders shake in spasms as your tears fall onto the piece of yellow paper, distorting the handwriting into blurred stains. This is the worst you have felt since the beginning. This is the bottom, surely. Crying in your ex’s apartment, on the spot where your bed used to be, clutching a word in your fist as if you refused to give it away to another woman. You refuse to give Viktor away to another woman. You refuse to give yourself to another man.

When you’ve run out of tears, you just stare at the note. For about ten minutes. No, for around twelve hours. You have no idea how much time has passed. You sit there curled up where the bed used to be, unable to move, unable to cry. The remnants of whatever composure you had when you stepped in are all gone.

You don’t even flinch when the door unlocks, and you hear footsteps and a sigh from the hallway. You are completely content to die here in your ignominy.

“Why are you still here?” Viktor’s voice echoes through the corridor, making him sound like an annoyed ghost. Hearing no response, he sighs again, louder this time, to emphasise how distressing your presence is to him. A caricature of a sigh, almost as if mocking someone else’s.

“I asked, why are you still—” He pauses when he sees you. “Are you alright?” The way his voice is laced with genuine concern makes you sick. It is the truest thing he has said to you in such a long time. One of the very few true things he has said in a year.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice utterly sad and so small. You open your shaking fists, and Viktor crouches awkwardly to make sense of what you are showing him. Once he sees the box and the wet, yellow paper, he understands.

“This,” he says calmly, “is something I no longer want. And this is a note to my girlfriend, Julia.”

His tone is devoid of emotion—quiet, calm, calculated. Inside, he is a storm. He left those two things intentionally, to stab you back. He had no idea the stabbing would work so well.

He planted them to stop feeling so fucking sodden. The rush of adrenaline at the thought of you finding those items was a momentary relief because he wasn’t able to tell you how stumbling upon your things jabbed at his heart. He wasn’t able to tell you that he actually played your records and read your books. Or that, when he found your T-shirt hanging in the wardrobe, hidden under his sweater—the one you stole all the time in winter—he died, just a little. How he hadn’t realised until he put the sweater on and discovered there was another skin underneath the wool. And that it still smelled of you after all this time. He wouldn’t tell you that he’d rather eat drywall than smell it again.

“Why is it saying what it’s saying?” you ask, your voice a sharp, trembling whisper, disbelief written all over your face. It’s so undignified to ask this. But dignity is a luxury you have to shed to get through this.

“Because I forgot my notebook for work the other day,” Viktor replies, his tone dispassionate, his eyes studying you like a scientist observing a failed experiment. This has truly backfired. Or rather, it has worked too well. In his wildest dreams, Viktor wouldn’t have dared to think he would find you curled up on the floor, your face swollen and defeated, exposing yourself to another blow.

“Do I have to wipe your face with it, so you answer my question?” you hiss, though the answer isn’t unexpected. The tiny dent made the last time you saw each other was, in the end, only a dent.

You wouldn’t even call it a crack—something you could peel off and peek inside. So, of course, you have to keep hitting.

His jaw tightens, but his voice remains cool, measured. “It is a pet name. A word you use for someone you are in love with.” He is hitting back. Your anger makes him angry. The fact that you are so angry and broken means that nothing has ended, nothing has resolved. And it boils the fear within him, and he attacks when he is afraid. Normally, it wouldn’t be a phrase to play with. But now, he is afraid.

The paper in your hand crunches loudly as you snap your fist shut. “It belongs to me,” you say in a dark tone, your voice brimming with equal parts defiance and anguish.

Viktor scoffs. “That’s rich. Nothing in here belongs to you, save for the trash you refuse to take out.” He stands up to accentuate his disgust. “Are you honestly being jealous right now?”

“No!” You shake your head and pick yourself up to level with him. “But this is just… cruel,” you shoot back, your voice rising, cracking under the weight of his dismissal.

“You will forgive me,” Viktor says with a bitter smile, “but I don’t follow. Which part of me doing the exact same thing that you are doing—moving on—is cruel?” He hasn’t moved on. He is standing stuck in one place. Julia is a distraction, and he knows it. And he knows it’s wrong to use someone like that, but he is only human. And there is no comfort in the idea of being eternally broken.

“You know exactly what I am talking about! Did you leave it here intentionally? Did you do this to hurt me?” Low. You are so low right now, the sound of you hitting this new bottom is echoing across your skull.

“You are so fucking full of yourself,” he spits, his voice dripping venom. “This is my house. It was on my fridge. As far as I remember, there was nothing in my fridge that you might possibly need to take with you.” Except for this exact note that I left there for you to see. That I left there to hurt you, and you are absolutely right about me because you know me better than I know myself.

“Why did you make me come here?” you demand, your voice trembling with rage and heartbreak.

“Do I look like a delivery man to you?” Another cold scoff. Fast, so fast, he’s afraid you are going to see.

“Viktor. This—this is not going to work the way you think it will. You can’t just get rid of me. I will be in your life. I—”

“No!” he roars, the crack in his composure finally showing. “I want you gone. You—you fucking abandoned me! You ran, as if I were some abusive bastard. You do not get the right to demand anything from me!”

You are actually being screamed at by Viktor. Your brain short-circuits, and you blink a couple of times.

“What about Jayce and Mel?” you counter, clutching at straws, desperate to find a thread that could keep you tethered to him. Why, though? Were you really going to be friends again?

“I don’t give a fuck about Mel. And if I can live without you, I can live without Jayce,” he snaps, his voice teetering between fury and despair.

“Viktor, you cannot be serious right now. Jayce is—”

“I would rip off my leg to rid myself of you,” he cuts you off, his voice raw and unfiltered, his accent thickening under the weight of his emotions. “The good one. There is nowhere I wouldn’t go to rid myself of you. I regret—”

“I could slap you for that,” you interrupt, your voice low and trembling with fury.

“I wish you would,” he shoots back, stepping closer, his face a mask of tortured defiance. “I wish you would do fucking anything other than run. I wish you had waited for me that evening and talked to me. I wish you didn’t wipe your face with a note. I wish you’d picked up the phone instead of turning it off. You ruined me. You stole so many months of my life. And you dare to be surprised that I have found someone.”

“You abandoned me first,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but the words hit him like a blow.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice tight, his eyes closing as if to shield himself from the truth. He knows. He knows. But for once, when he needed you to be strong, you were weak, and he couldn’t forgive that. Just once, when he crumbled under the pressure of stress, under the pressure of investors gnawing at him and Jayce, he just wanted you to stay put. To just be the person he came back to, day after day, until it passed. And when you crumbled, he hated you because you made him hate himself for being weak as well.

“You abandoned me first,” you repeat, louder this time, the words escaping your lips like a confession. “I loved you so much.” There are so many bottoms yet to be discovered by you, you realise. Stacked in layers, only for you to be painfully peeled off, like the paper skin on shoulders burned in the sun.

“Stop,” he says again, his voice faltering, the dent cracking as you keep hitting. As you keep scratching and clawing your nails at it.

“I tried to stay, but I couldn’t,” you continue, tears spilling over your cheeks, your voice alien even to you.

“Stop this,” he pleads, stepping closer. His hand reaches out, hesitating in mid-air before brushing against your face. His touch is tentative, trembling. His thumb sweeps the tear running down your cheek. His face, morphing in anguish, rage, something you can’t read—hesitation, resignation—all of those things watercolour across his eyes, his eyebrows, his lopsided mouth, transforming from one into another second after second.

“It ripped me apart,” you whisper, and his hand drops, his head bowing under the leaden weight of it all.

You feel the fear of the moment escalating or fading—both wrong—as now this is the most real thing that has transpired between you in almost a year. Your breath hitches when Viktor steps closer. And then.

He rubs his face against yours, his breath trapped in his throat as his composure fades. You freeze. The feeling of his skin on yours—so familiar. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple jumping, and finally, his golden eyes meet yours. And then. And then.

And then.

The featherlight brush of his lips—not yet a kiss. A strangled movement, hesitant and unsure. Your face cupped in his hands, the pull of gravity still stronger than the pull of his arms. And you stay, fixed in your place, breathing in his scent.

The last time you kissed was a long time ago, save for the absent pecks you gave each other when coming and going. And before that, you kissed many times. But never like this. Never so uncertain, so afraid.

He holds the back of your head as if you were water. It isn’t just one kiss. It’s plenty of lingering, sad kisses—no tongue, just his soft lips gently pressing against yours, making tiny smacking sounds each time he retreats to start again.

The outside of him is calm, but his heart flutters in his chest, and you can feel it under your hands, fisting his sweater. You kiss him back with equal, fleeting tenderness. Your hands travel to his neck, to his cheeks, ghosting over the beauty marks on his face. In the deafening silence of this space, all you can hear is his shuddery breath.

So this is how it used to feel. You remember. The one tremendous feeling that was missing, that you had forgotten about. Belonging. It crawls back into the periphery of your nerves—the sensation of being taken and kept, falling from his mouth to yours. But this time, you take him back; you keep him back.

He closes his eyes and kisses you deeper, pulls you closer. The familiarity of it erases all his careful plans to kick you out of his life. It clouds his judgment as he does the unthinkable. His fingernails scrape faintly against your cheeks, and you open your mouth fully for him, allowing him to swallow you. Your tongues touch, and Viktor groans. Because it feels different than with other people, and he can’t deny it.

His cane clatters against the wood as he leans on you, pushing you toward the windowsill. His fingers now dig into your ribs, knocking the air out of your lungs. You hop up, open your legs, and he is between them immediately. Leaning on you, squeezing the back of your neck, his hands all over you, under your clothes, and you gasp for air, rutting your hips against him to feel more of him—all of him.

Your hands fumble with his shirt and sweater so you can touch the flat plane of his stomach. His belly button glues itself back to his spine as you slide your palms underneath. Your breaths grow heavy as his hands fist your hair and press you further into his face until you can’t breathe. He gropes you so hungrily it almost hurts; all the clothes you are wearing hurt your skin, and only Viktor’s skin can soothe this pain.

You desperately pull the layers between you up and press your stomach to his. His hips buck into yours, his cock straining in his pants, and he wants—he wants, he wants you so much he whimpers, rutting into your core, the pang of lust and need twisting in his lower belly.

It all falls back into place when he suddenly remembers what it’s like to be just blissfully fucking you, what it feels like to be inside you, and he is aching. He thrusts against you hysterically, cursing his clothes, his hands grabbing fistfuls of your flesh, and you wrap your legs around his hips, digging your thumbs into the hollow of his cheeks.

And it’s only when you moan out his name that he remembers something else—how hard it was to breathe when you left. How bad he felt under Mel’s worried gaze. And he knows he wouldn’t survive it if it were to happen again.

So he pauses, breathing heavily, resting his forehead against yours. He snarls and pulls away, and you feel something hooked out of your chest violently, leaving a gaping hole behind. He disappears from your space so fast you can only register him moving further between your blinks.

When you open your eyes again, you see him in the far corner of the room, hunched on his cane, chest heaving, turned so that he wouldn’t face you.

“Get out.” His voice is flat and rotten, as if someone has made him eat poison.

Wordlessly, you take the box with the star chunk from your pocket and place it on the windowsill before leaving the room. You drop your belongings back into the previously gutted box, not bothering to seal it back up, drop the keys into the bowl by the door, and leave with a loud thud echoing all the way back to the bedroom.

Viktor stands by the window, waiting to see you out on the street. His hand clasps against his mouth, trying to suppress a sob, his eyes fixed on you down there, so tiny, waving in a cab. It swallows you and takes you away, alongside your things.

It’s getting late, but he still calls Julia. He gives her the worst, most generic talk he can muster. He gives her a weak “It’s not you, it’s me,” which is, of course, a lie. Because it’s about her—not being you. And he can’t bear another woman crying in his apartment on that day, but he braces through it. He doesn’t tell her about the kiss. She cries a lot, but they part in peace. She’s understanding like that. And he feels about one stone lighter when she leaves.

But it’s not enough. One stone lighter, that’s all he feels after. His apartment is still heavy, still weighed down by the absence of you. He locks the door, leans against it for a moment, trying to breathe. The quiet settles over him, a suffocating silence that makes his chest tight. It’s not like he thought it would be. He should be relieved, shouldn’t he? He doesn’t have to juggle anyone’s emotions anymore, doesn’t have to pretend to be something he’s not. But all he can think about is you. How you left, how he watched you go, how he felt that piece of him break off and disappear when the door shut behind you.

He makes his way to the couch, sits down heavily, his hand finding its way to his lips. His fingers press against the spot where you kissed him, still lingering with the faint taste of you, the memory of your warmth. He mumbles a quiet apology, but it feels hollow, empty, like he’s talking to the walls.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over, the words breaking him. “I love you. God, I love you...”

His breath catches on the last confession, as if saying it aloud will somehow make it real, but it only makes the absence feel sharper. It’s almost unbearable. The pain of not having you here, the pain of knowing he pushed you away. He presses his palm harder against his lips, as if trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through his fingers. He feels completely gutted.

And you come back to Paul with your gutted box of things. He lets you in, no words said. He makes you tea and sits you on the couch. And you feel... so rotten, so evil for doing this. He cradles your head on his lap and makes quiet, soothing shushing sounds. When it starts to feel worse and worse, you snort up your sniffle and sit up.

“I have to talk to you,” you say in a cracked voice, Paul still smiling, still not realizing, because he would never expect you to do something so horrible.

He cocks his eyebrows and hums. “Oh-oh.”

“Paul, I’m serious,” you say, your voice trembling. The tea in your hands cools as the weight of what you’re about to tell him crushes you into the couch.

“You sure you want to do this now? Seems like you had a hard day already,” Paul replies, his tone gentle, though his gaze searches yours cautiously, as if bracing for something heavy. He’s ready for many things. He understands breakups are complicated. He knows how fresh this is when you started. And he’s told himself he’s ready for this kind of moment as well. Yet. Yet.

“I need to tell you something,” you insist, setting the tea down and folding your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking.

“Let me guess. Things are not as over between you and Viktor as you thought they were,” Paul says, leaning back, his face unreadable but his voice still gentle, knowing.

“I—” you stammer, feeling a lump rise in your throat. Were you this obvious?

“You don’t need a genius to know that. It was pretty fast… you and me. I am aware,” he continues, his voice soft but tinged with resignation, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. He’s actually hoping to be wrong, but well.

“We kissed,” you admit, the words spilling out like a confession you can’t hold back any longer. And then you wince as the memory somehow becomes real once you speak it out loud. But you can’t tell him what kind of kiss it was. That you’ve betrayed Paul about a million times today, with each tender and longing kiss Viktor gave you—and you gave back to him. Let him think it was just a kiss.

“Oh.” Paul freezes, his expression shifting ever so slightly, though you can’t tell if it’s surprise or hurt—or both.

“Oh?” you echo, your own voice quivering with uncertainty, afraid of what will follow.

“Well, I… I didn’t exactly expect you to say that,” he admits, running a hand through his hair, his movements deliberate, as if giving himself time to think.

“What did you think I was going to say?” you ask, your voice cracking, the weight of guilt pressing on your chest like a vice. The bottoms just keep coming.

“Oh, I don’t know. That you’re not ready to move in yet? I don’t know what I was thinking, really,” he says with a bitter laugh, his shoulders sagging as he looks away from you for the first time.

“Paul—” you start, but he cuts you off with a raised hand.

“Do you want to get back together with him?” he asks, his tone measured, though the tension in his jaw betrays him.

“No,” you say quickly, but the certainty in your voice wavers under his gaze. No. No, you don’t want to. You’re sure you don’t want to. And yet.

“Do you want to move in with me?” he asks, his voice quieter this time, almost cautious, as if he doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“I… don’t know,” you admit, your hands clenching into fists against your thighs, wishing you had an answer that would hurt less. No. You don’t want to.

“Do you still love him?” Paul’s question lingers in the air like a storm cloud. You swallow hard, your silence speaking louder than any words could. And you hate yourself for it. This poor, kind man. And what you did to him. Almost the exact same thing Viktor did to you.

Paul sighs, the sound heavy with understanding and pain. “Do you love me?”

“I—I don’t know,” you whisper, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes under the pressure of his scrutiny.

“Well,” Paul says, forcing a weak smile that makes his lines more prominent. “I guess that concludes it.”

“Paul—” you try again, desperate to say something, anything, to fix this.

“Don’t,” he interrupts, his voice breaking slightly. “I guess I should’ve known. Jesus, how have I been so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid. I am. I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your chest aching with regret. He looks so hurt. And it aches to be so broken that you can’t love a nice, beautiful, boring man. It would be so easy if it weren’t so hard.

“Is that all it was? Just a wait up before you can get back with him?”

“Paul, I’m not getting back with him. And no, it wasn’t. I just… don’t think it’s fair. To be with you, when I’m not…” anything in particular. Not in the relationship, not outside of it. Just complacent.

“Do you have any idea… what it feels like to be with someone who is in love with someone else, all the time?” He looks at you and the answer is written all over your face, then takes a long sigh. “I’ll call you a cab.”

You sit in silence for a while. You drink your cold tea. You stand up, pick up your box for it to be taken from your hands and carried by Paul to a cab. He slumps it onto your knees and closes the door before you can say ‘thank you.’ Then he pats the cab’s roof and sends you away. He will make you his own box, soon.

And you come back home, to your dark place, with one box, and another already anticipated, to stack one on top of the other. Thoughts clattering in your head. Viktor, the mess you’ve made, the confusion—all so harrowing.

You should feel something, shouldn’t you? Relief, maybe? But it’s just emptiness, the kind that fills every corner of your flat, each inch of it reminding you of what you’ve lost. You try to focus but your thoughts slip back to Viktor, to the kiss, to the way he touched you, like he still cared, like he still wanted you.

Sitting down on the bed, you press your fingers to your lips, the memory of his kiss burning there, so vivid, so real. You can almost feel him again. The warmth of his hands, the way his lips fit against yours like they were made to. Your chest tightens, the ache deepening. You close your eyes, leaning into the pillow, whispering, “I love you. I miss you so much,” to the fabric, as if hoping that saying it aloud will somehow help you to repent.

And in that quiet moment, when the dust settles down, the truth you've been running from finally breaks through. It was always there, under the surface, but now you admit it. Now, you let yourself feel it, how much indeed you love him and miss him.

[niiwa-angel]

Hazbin Hotel Incorrect Quotes

Vaggie, going over more ground rules for the hotel: Alright! We will be having weekly team dinners! Everybody will be taking a turn cooking!

Vaggie: Except Alastor, after the roast incident of April.

Alastor: You all said you wanted a shoulder roast.

Angel Dust: Pork shoulder, not Paul shoulder!

~~~

Alastor, calling a meeting: Listen up, you little shits.

Alastor: Not you Nifty, you're an angel and I'm happy you're here.

~~~

Valentino and Velvette, after losing Vox at the aquarium.

Val: He probably went to the shark tank. He likes sharks.

Vel: You're right.

Vel, laughing: He's probably in the shark tank, he likes sharks so much.

Val: Ha!

Both of them start running.

~~~

Husk: Hello, people who do not live here.

Cherri: Sup?

Husk: I gave you the key to my room for emergencies.

Frank the Egg Boi: We were out of molotov cocktails.

~~~

Charlie: What happens at Overlord meetings?

Alastor: Oh, you know. Boring discussions really. Lots of bureaucracy.

cut to the Overlord meeting

Vox, jumping up on the table: If you don't stop smacking me with your tail, I will end your entire family!

Zeezi: Bitch, try it!

Carmilla: Everyone sit down!

Velvette, recording: Can it old lady! This is gonna break the internet!

Clara smacks Velvette in the face with the handle of her spear: Don't talk to my mother like that!

Valentino: Don't smack my costume designer! She's getting blood all over her clothes!

Rosie, sampling: Tasty blood!

Alastor, also taking a taste: Indeed! Have you considered becoming a soup?

Zestial, fed the fuck up, slamming his hands on the table, effectively shutting everyone up.

Zestial: Sit. Down. Now.

Everyone sits down.

~~~

Lucifer: If you make your hot chocolate with water, you're out of the fucking hotel!

Lucifer: If you're lactose intolerant, you can stay but you're on thin ice!

Angel Dust: I just snort the powder because Vagina took my stash.

Lucifer: ...

Lucifer: What the fuck?

~~~

Velvette, kicking through the door to the Overlord meeting: Hello losers!

Carmilla, not looking up from her tea: Hello, problem attendant.

~~~

Valentino, watching Vox freak out because of something Alastor did.

Val: Is it a chocolate pudding at three am type of night?

Vel: Does the day end with 'Y'?

~~~

Charlie: Can you guys get along for five minutes?

Lucifer and Alastor: No!

~~~

Vox and Valentino, aggressively making out in the kitchen.

Velvette: Can I get a waffle?

Valentino, rips his underwear off

Velvette: Can I please get a waffle?!

~~~

Carmilla: I am this close to losing it.

Zestial: Mine dear, there is no room between thine fingers?

Carmilla, watching Vox and Alastor argue viciously while Velvette, Valentino, and Rosie egg them on.

Carmilla: Yep.

~~~

Velvette: Selfie with the fossil!

Velvette, drags Zestial in for a selfie.

Zestial, noticing the filter: What witchcraft is this?

~~~

Vaggie: Okay people! If you're going to have weird food in the fridge, it needs to be labeled as such!

Vaggie: Alastor, that means labeling your demon meat! Angel, that means labeling your edibles!

Nifty, raising her hand: Are my roaches okay?

Vaggie: We're actually going to get you a mini fridge for your room, because your roaches are creeping people out.

~~~

Charlie: I love you.

Vaggie: I love you too.

Pentious, from the wall: AWWWW!

~~~

Carmilla: Acceptable snacks to bring to the Overlords meeting; brownies, candy boards, cheese plates, and veggie trays.

Carmilla: Unacceptable snacks to bring to the Overlords meeting; anything made with demons, magic mushroom cereal bars, and penis shaped gummies.

Zestial, a spider: I am also not a fan of the mint tea.

~~~

Charlie: Okay! I know its funny that Alastor and I can't walk on ice, but that doesn't mean it's okay to freeze the hallway to watch us slip!

~~~

Husk: I have very high standards.

Angel Dust, pulling out a machine gun and opening fire.

Husk: Oh no! He's meeting all my standards!

[starlightsreigns]

pray you catch me | a lemonade story

summary ⇢ mellie feels crazy. he’s not cheating on her, right? but a woman’s intuition is the most honest thing in the world, and she needs to start accepting his secrets. word count ⇢ 0.9k tags ⇢ minors, do not interact, implied cheating | one ; intuition "im praying to catch you whispering"

What are you doing, my love?

There was a vacancy in his eyes nowadays. Even now, as he pounded into me, his eyes were far away. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, feeling those familiar knots forming in my stomach, ready for release. I gripped the sheets tightly as he continued the assault in me until the ecstasy became too much. 

Silence followed us for a while. He didn’t even join me in the shower afterward. Roman stayed in the bedroom, stuck to his phone, like he had for the past couple of months. Something was off and it’s starting to concern me.

From the bathroom, as I lotioned my body, Roman’s faint voice seeped through the bottom of the door. He was whispering on the phone and my curiosity got the best of me, making me press my head against the door. Is this what it’s gotten to? I can’t ask him who he’s talking to, so I’m stooping down to the level of an insecure woman. 

“Nah, I can’t tonight, I’m… busy.” 

He gets the same call every Tuesday night. Before I can look at his phone when he’s asleep, it’s deleted from the call log, but I know what I'm feeling in my gut. He’s more secretive now and I’m not the girl who follows her man in disguises, so I have to find the trust in him. 

“Ro, you want a later dinner?” I clear my throat, entering the room again. “I can make us something.” 

Roman’s putting his clothes on when he turns to look at me, “I might go pick us somethin’ up.” 

My stomach turns. We’re not takeout people. Our diets matter too much to eat out, and he’s rarely the one to offer it. I clear my throat while tying my robe tightly. How do I question him when he’s standing right in front of me, eyes sparkling, and his beautiful smile on display?

“It’s two am, Ro, are you sure?” My question is more of a plea for him to stay. “You know I can make anything.” 

He kisses my forehead lightly, “It’s okay, Mel, I’ll be back.”   

My lonely ear pressed against the walls of your world

How is this the life I’m living now? worried that the man who I call my husband is cheating on me when we’re only two years into marriage. Roman’s different — he’s distant, quieter, and away more. he’s always been on the road, it’s his job, but nowadays, it feels like I see him even less; if that’s even possible. 

Initially, his smiling face would be the first thing I saw when he walked through the door. He’d be on his hands and knees gushing about how much he’d miss me. We’d spend every waking moment together, sharing everything. There were dinner dates, day trips, vacations, deep conversations, and just us. 

Yet, now, he doesn’t even invite me on the road with him. Now, I’m stuck at home. I wonder, and it makes me sick to think, that he’s inviting her — whoever she is. our life together is just starting and I'm accusing him of an affair, but my heart knows I'm not going crazy. I can’t be. 

It took him an hour. The food cartons sit on the kitchen table, unopened, eating is the last thing on my mind. I’m on the couch, frozen in my seat, trying to catch a single word he’s saying on the phone. He’s on the porch, telling me he had to speak to someone from work, but the conversation filled with laughs tells me otherwise. What could Paul say that makes him laugh like that? 

you can taste the dishonesty it’s all over your breath..

“Not ready for bed?” Roman asks. 

That’s the first thing he says to me after being on the phone for that long. He sits beside me on the couch and pulls me into his chest. This is the only thing I’ve wanted all day, to have him close to me and dispel any worries that I’ve had that maybe he’s cheating on me. Roman caresses my face, pressing a tender kiss on my lips, but there’s a taste on his lips that makes me draw back. 

“Did you eat… seafood tonight?” I question softly, running my finger over his lips. 

Roman chuckles, “No?” 

I nod slowly, leaning back against him. He’s telling the truth, right? 

Nothing else ever seems to hurt like the smile on your face When it's only in my memory, it don't hit me quite the same

His smile now isn’t like what it used to be. Something is missing in the way he talks to me or the way he looks at me. It’s like we’re back in the beginning but with less love. The questioning of if he really likes me, I wonder if he’ll call today or … just everything that was exciting. 

The day he got down on his knee and asked me to marry him, he made a promise that we’d always have each other, that our love would take us everywhere, and that nothing could separate us. Yet, there’s a wall that sits between us. 

She sits between us. And as easy as it is to blame whoever she is, the person destroying me is the man sitting beside me on his phone with the brightness turned down. 

Where do we go from here?

“In the tradition of men in my blood you come home at 3AM and lie to me. What are you hiding? The past, and the future merge to meet us here. What luck. What a fucking curse.”

not sure if i like this idea, but I'm here. what's everyone's thoughts? x