#please let me know if you want to know any more about these

[navybrat817]

Love drunk Bucky! What about a drunk reader?

Yes, we've seen drunk!Bucky in Pretty Girl. A drunk reader could be fun.

Your Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You're very vocal about wanting Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Drunk reader with no filter, drunk confession, dirty talk, humor, slight feels, talk of consent and communication, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Raw. Next question.”

You sipped your drink, the room going eerily silent. It was the quietest it had been since everyone gathered in the lounge for some drinks hours ago. Pairs of eyes stared at you with a mix of fascination and shock as your words hung in the air.

Just moments ago, Clint had been going through his phone and showing everyone candid photos he managed to snap of everyone. Most of them were hilarious, but the most recent one wasn't hilarious at all. It was clearly hot based on your reaction.

“What did she say?” Steve whispered to break the silence.

“You heard what she said. Everyone heard it,” Sam whispered back, giving you a quizzical stare. “How many drinks have you had?”

You held up a finger followed by another couple. “Like this many. And water. Hydration is so important.”

“Hold on. Back to what you said a second ago.” Clint turned the phone toward him with a raised brow and slowly turned it back toward you so you could see it again. “You know that’s a picture of Barnes, right? Not some model or actor?” he asked.

Bucky Barnes, the beefy super soldier who was trying not to shatter the bottle in his metal hand as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. Clint managed to snap a photo of him when he removed his shirt after a recent workout, which begged the question of why he was taking the photo to begin with. Bucky wasn’t looking at the camera since his eyes were shut, but his parted mouth, slightly messy hair, and sweat shining off his torso made him look like a thirst trap. The sweatpants only made the picture that much hotter.

“Yeah, I know. He’s hot. We all know he’s hot,” you shrugged. “And I said what I said.”

Bucky audibly exhaled. You had a penchant for being very honest with the team which they appreciated. If someone asked for your opinion or thoughts on something you didn’t hide how you felt. You were careful not to be cruel if you disagreed with anyone, but you still led with honesty. Alcohol didn’t change that.

So, if you said you thought Bucky was hot and you wanted him to fuck you raw, you meant it.

Clint exchanged a quick glance with Natasha before the redhead nodded to the spot beside you. The spy looked like she was having a hard time not smiling. “And you know he’s sitting next to you, right?” she asked.

You downed the rest of your drink and shrugged again. “Yeah, I know. And I’d let him fuck me raw. Every day. Twice on Sundays,” you said unapologetically as Steve coughed. You swung your head toward Bucky with a sultry smile and leaned in a little closer. He smelled your perfume before you sat down tonight, but now the sweet smell combined with your natural scent was making him dizzy. “You’d fuck me raw, right? Maybe fuck me from behind so you can get nice and deep.”

The bottle shattered which only made you smile more. Bucky’s nostrils flared and everyone backed up a few inches, except for you, the newest member of the team. The person who loved to leave little treats and snacks for him to make sure he ate throughout the day. The same person who made a show of bending over and stretching in front of him whenever you two worked out together. The only one who seemed to get a real smile out of him since you showed up like a shining beacon of happiness and sass.

And now you were telling him you want him to fuck you. Raw. He thought about it, of course- how wet and snug you’d feel around his bare cock, how you’d take him like a good girl. He pictured you sobbing his name and squirming as he pinned you down and brought you over the edge again and again. Licking his lips, he imagined the taste of your arousal on his tongue and wondered if he could make you squirt. He sure as hell wanted to try.

Bucky heard Thor’s footsteps, but didn’t take his eyes off you as the God of Thunder took a seat. “Clearly, I’ve missed something.”

“I said I want Bucky to fuck me raw,” you said without missing a beat.

Bucky bit back a groan. He was two seconds away from throwing you over his shoulder like a caveman and taking you away from everyone. There were so many filthy things he wanted to say and do to you…

And your bluntness didn’t seem to bother the blonde. “I thought you two were already having relations. With how close you two-”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say ‘relations’?” Clint asked. “Relations.”

“Is that not what they’re discussing?” Thor asked, taking a sip from his flask. “Though if there is no protection there is the risk of procreating, but they would have beautiful offspring.”

You leaned in a bit closer, but Bucky gripped your arms to move you away from his spot. “I don't want the glass to cut you.”

“You're so thoughtful. And amazing,” you smiled. He adored your smile. “And if a breeding kink is what you’re into, actually breeding me or not, I’m all for it. I’m wet just thinking about it.”

Thor laughed and held up his flask. “That’s the spirit.”

Bucky’s cock twitched in his pants. “I know you’re wet. I can smell it,” he all but growled. He inhaled so deeply he could actually taste it, and he wanted more. And if he could smell it, Steve could smell it.

“Okay then.” Clint removed his hearing aid. “I think I’m done.”

Steve jumped up when his best friend glared at him. “I think I’m done, too,” he said, not wanting to face Bucky’s wrath even though it wasn’t his fault he also had heightened senses.

“Let’s go, boys. I think these two should talk without us,” Natasha suggested, hauling Sam up by the arm and giving both of you a wink. “Be good, okay?”

“No promises,” you replied in a sing-song voice.

“Shouldn’t they get a room? I’m just saying,” Sam said as Natasha dragged him away.

“Breed her well, Barnes. Make us proud!” Thor shouted. Steve hauled him from the room, too, with Clint hot on their tail.

“Alone at last,” you giggled. If you were at all embarrassed, it didn’t show. And now that the two of you were alone, the tension skyrocketed. “You know, this isn't how I pictured saying any of this, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” he said. He couldn't believe you wanted him, but you did.

“I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or weird. I’d never want that.”

“That’s the last thing I feel,” he exhaled, still gripping your arms when you finally moved into his lap and straddled him.

“Good,” you smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

As much as he wanted to feel your lips against his, he stopped you. And as much as he wanted to tear your leggings away and have you then and there, but he couldn’t. “I’m not fucking you. Not tonight.”

The playfulness slipped from your eyes. So did the smile from your face. “Oh. I thought…” you breathed, looking away and quickly blinking. God, he hoped there weren’t tears in your eyes. “You don’t actually want me, do you?”

Bucky hadn’t meant for his words or stopping the kiss to come across as rejection, but that was exactly what happened. “That’s not–”

“Oh, my God. I ruined everything, didn't I? Why did I open my mouth?” You sniffled and tried to move away, but he wouldn't let you. “Six months of friendship and crushing on you and I-”

“Hey. You didn't ruin a thing.” Bucky gripped your chin with tenderness he didn’t think he was capable of anymore, and his heart broke when he saw the tears swimming in your beautiful eyes. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life,” he admitted, brushing a tear away that fell. “But you’ve been drinking, and that means you can’t fully consent, and I will not take advantage of you, no matter how you say you want me or this. I respect and care for you too much for that.”

HYDRA took consent away from Bucky for a long time, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. He’d hate himself for doing anything with you without your full consent. He wouldn’t be the kind of man who did that. The man you deserved would be the one who properly took care of you in and out of bed.

And he’d be the best man for you if you let him.

“So, you do want me?” you asked, your voice uncertain.

“I did say more than anyone else, and I meant it,” he replied. You had to believe him. “But our first time should happen when you're sober.”

However you wanted your first time to be, he'd make it happen. He'd make love to you or fuck you or both. As long as there was clear consent and communication, he’d give you everything you needed and more, and he knew you'd do the same for him.

The smile you gave him repaired the cracks in his heart. “You’re a good guy, Bucky,” you said, snuggling against him. “And it isn’t just sex I want, but, well, I do want to have sex with you.”

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled and rested his chin on your head. “And I know. It isn't just sex I want either.”

Bucky wanted to take you to bed, but he also wanted to take you out on dates. He wanted to make you laugh and smile, wipe your tears and comfort you when you cried, and be the one you confided in. He wanted to be your man, and he wanted you to be his best girl.

“I wanna be yours,” you sighed as if you read his mind, his heart skipping a beat. “Can I be your girl?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes when he kissed the top of your head. “You can be my girl.”

And tomorrow once you were sober, he’d officially ask you to be his girl.

Happy Moanday, lovelies! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Five

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: A chance encounter offers a break from your tangled thoughts about Azriel. Meanwhile, Az reaches a pivotal realization.

Warnings: training, sparring and weapon use, severe overthinking, longing, brief use of recreational drugs (lovely 'mirthroot')

Word Count: 7.1k

Part Four

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Even in the early hours, the heat was suffocating. 

You’d been half-tempted to cancel on Mor, to crawl back under the covers and enjoy the blissful cool of your room. But you knew better. Mor would’ve winnowed straight into your bedroom, dragged you out of bed, and reminded you that you’d made a promise. 

So now, here you were, on the training grounds, sweat already collecting at your brow, watching Azriel and Cassian spar on the far side.

Both of the males were dressed in their usual head-to-toe leathers, though Cassian seemed just as bothered by the weather as you. You’d noticed he’d trained shirtless more often lately, something you attributed to the presence of his mate, but today he was fully covered. It probably had something to do with the steady, focused gaze Az held. Something to be cautious of. Wary. 

Unlike his brother, Azriel’s expression was detached, as if the sun didn’t touch him at all— like he was completely unbothered by the sweltering heat. His wings shifted slightly against the back of his leathers, but that was the extent of his discomfort, if any. 

You’d never visited Illyria in the summer months, never experienced the full brutality of its heat. Perhaps it was there, under that oppressive sun, that Azriel had learned to manage heat in such attire. But, then again, Az was entirely too skilled at masking what he actually felt.

Something about him, now before you, made you want to continue staring—his wings, the way his body moved with the smoothness of a predator, the effortless strength in the curve of his form. Lately, everything about Azriel had been doing that— distracting you. Overwhelming you. Calling to you like a siren song. His voice, his smile, the way he moved.

A laugh from Mor pulled you from your thoughts.

"It’s a shame the healing balm worked so well," Her voice teased from behind you. You turned at the sound, watching as she tossed a sword from one hand to the other with an ease that was almost poetic. "Seeing you turned me into a softie, you know.  All those bruises and that pouty face— I had to go easy because I felt bad for you.”

You snorted, catching the blade she tossed your way. "Oh, so that’s the only reason I beat you last week? Because you were going easy on me?"

Her grin widened. “Yeah. But Runa got too many hits on you. You’re rusty. So maybe I’m not doing you any favors by going easy." She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe Cassian’s been going too easy on you, too."

“Or maybe,” you shot back, stepping into the ring, “I was just going easy on a citizen.”

Mor’s laugh was loud and unapologetic as she followed you. "You’re saying that like you didn’t know exactly who she was when you threw the first punch."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you squared up to her. “Okay, can we maybe stop reminiscing over my recent regrettable actions? Please?”

“Never.” She slid into a stance with ease. “But if you beat me, I’ll stop laughing about it for a week.”

“Only a week?”

“That’s all you’ll get, babe.”

You rolled your eyes, lips still curved in a grin. “Fine. Deal.”

And then, without hesitation, Mor lunged. Your blades collided with a sharp ring, the sound vibrating up your arms. You let the adrenaline of the fight pull you out of your thoughts, focusing on the female in front of you.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that before anything else, Morrigan was a warrior. Graceful, clever, and impossibly skilled. The kind of fighter who didn’t rely on brute strength but on speed, precision, and an uncanny ability to read her opponent. Skills she’d learnt to outmaneuver and beat males that may have been twice her size, twice her age. And if you looked hard enough, past her glittering makeup and the plethora of gold jewelry she adorned, you’d notice the scars scattered across her body, small slices from knives and swords that didn’t have enough time to heal during the first war. 

Mor didn’t hold back, her strikes coming faster, sharper, until your muscles burned from the effort of keeping up.

From across the ring, Cassian’s booming laugh carried over, followed by what sounded like a gruff remark from Azriel. You glanced over almost instinctively, your eyes following the movement of Az’s shadows. They twisted around him, stretching into the shaded spaces between Cassian’s body and the ground, curling around the general’s feet in an attempt to constrict his movements.

Mor’s grin widened as she caught your sword mid-swing. “You’re distracted,” she said.

You twisted to break free, stubbornly meeting her gaze. “Am not.”

You tried to return to the rhythm of the fight, but Mor was right. You were distracted. Every glance in Azriel’s direction made your heart race, your mind spiral. Even from across the yard, you could feel the heat of his presence. It threw you off balance. And before you knew it, Mor disarmed you, sending you crashing to the ground with a grunt.

“Like I said,” she hummed, smirking as she extended a hand to help you up. “Distracted.”

“Maybe a bit.” You winced, rolling your shoulders as you stood straight. “I have too much on my mind. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Mor tilted her head. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head, wiping at the sweat on your brow. “That’s the last thing I want to do, actually.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing you before she nodded. “Well, we just got some new weapons last week—I’ve been dying to test them out.”

You raised a brow. “What kind of weapons?”

Mor shrugged. “Not sure. Rhys says they’re lighter. I think you’ll like them.” She grabbed your discarded sword, tossing both it and hers onto the rack with ease. “You’re too cautious for a regular sword anyway. You don’t like getting hit.”

“No one likes getting hit.”

“True,” she said, laughing slightly as she bumped your shoulder. “But you’re smart about it. Always letting them exhaust themselves first.”

“Go get them,” you nodded to her. “I want to try them out.”

Mor grinned. “Good. Then I can start kicking your ass with them, too.”

She turned to leave, and you watched her go, ready to grab some water. But then, just as you were about to turn, you felt it—a presence behind you. You knew it in your bones, from the soft breeze you swore his shadows danced in, that it was Azriel. Still, when you turned and saw him standing there, you felt unprepared, like something in your chest tightened, hot and sharp, like heartburn. You shoved it down, burying it deeper, just like you had been doing all week.

He raised an eyebrow at you.  “You’re really gonna let her beat you like that?”

You ran a hand over your face, trying to settle your racing pulse. “What can I say, it’s been an off couple of weeks.”

It was hard not to notice how close he stood, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, pushing the air around you in a way that made it harder to breathe.

“Yeah,” Azriel glanced at you, and his expression softened just a fraction. “Are you okay? I mean, now?”

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just hot. Overwhelmed.”

He studied you, his brow slightly furrowed, but there was something else behind it. Something he wasn’t saying.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable,” you said, gesturing at his leathers. “Aren’t you boiling alive?”

Azriel tilted his head as if considering your question, then replied evenly, “I’m alright.”

“You’re lying,” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him. “You have to be.”

That earned you a faint smile, a quick twitch of his lips that you might have missed if you weren’t already watching him too closely.

“You’re welcome to try them on,” he said smoothly. “See how they feel.”

You blinked, a small flutter echoing in your chest at the teasing edge in his voice. You frowned and said to him, “I’m wearing the exact same thing as you.”

“Mine are different.” His smile tugged again. “They’re cooling leathers.”

“Really? That's a thing?”

The look he gave you— a mix of amusement and something else— told you everything you needed to know. You scowled at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re messing with me.”

When your eyes met his again, they were practically glowing in amusement. He shrugged, and his shadows seemed to dance with the motion— still clinging close to him, hiding from the sun, but seemingly content despite it. He gave you a quick, warm smile— as if he were afraid for the rest of the public to see.

“I am,” he replied, leaning closer. “My leathers are, sadly, just as basic as yours.”

The sunlight caught in his hair when he stood like this, painting it with faint golden streaks. Along with your growing frustration at the heat, your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of him. You fanned your face with one hand, trying to ignore the ache building in your chest. You blamed the sun for making it tight. 

You suddenly became aware of your presentation—of the disheveled way you must have looked. Your hair had fallen loose during the sparring with Mor, strands clinging to the sweat at your neck, a messy halo around your face. You reached back, gathering it in both hands, attempting to tighten the hold of your hair tie. As you twisted it around, the elastic snapped, the sharp sting of it flicking against your skin.

“Shit.”

A quiet sigh left you as the broken tie dangled uselessly from your fingers. Of course. As if you didn’t already feel like disaster enough. You pushed your hair back again, fingers combing through the tangled strands, debating whether to leave it down or try to secure it with something else.

You realized, quickly, that perhaps this small inconvenience was a blessing in disguise— a reason to walk away from the conversation, to regain control of your scattered thoughts. You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, to say you needed to go put your hair up, but before you could, Azriel spoke.

“Wait.”

You paused, turning back toward him as he reached into one of the hidden pockets of his leathers. When he pulled out a hair tie, your eyebrows shot up.

“What—”

Azriel’s expression was uncharacteristically sheepish as he handed it over. “You always wear the same one. I noticed the band was wearing out. It was only a matter of time before it broke.”

“You… noticed that?”

His shadows shifted around him, curling between you two, and he subtly gestured toward them with his chin. “They did.”

Your fingers closed around the band as you stared at him. “So you’ve been carrying this around just in case?”

He nodded and you blinked at him, unsure if you should laugh or melt into the floor. “That… is very considerate of you.”

Az glanced at you, quiet for a moment, before he replied. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to snap and pick a fight with someone because you're overstimulated with your hair clinging to your skin. I’m just trying to protect the public.”

You rolled your eyes at that, though the thought of your family endlessly reminding you of your actions over the past few weeks made the corners of your mouth twitch. The infamous calm you’d prided yourself on—gone. You’d be hearing about your fight with a citizen for at least the next century.

“Shut up,” you said, but your heart still stuttered painfully. “But, also, thank you,” you added, focusing on twisting your hair into a knot to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Better?”

Your throat felt tight as you looked up once more, meeting his molten gaze. “Yeah,” you said. “Better.”

Azriel nodded, stepping back to give you space again. But you caught the faint curve of his lips, the small, quiet smile that made your chest ache.

You felt some relief as the wind ruffled your now-updo, but your thoughts circled.

Azriel had proven to be a male of his word. He’d spent the past two weeks showing you, in every way he could, that he was sorry. It wasn’t loud or showy—Azriel never was—but his apology seeped into the small, thoughtful things he did. Helping with reports, lighting your room’s fireplace when it got too cold. Nothing demanding, but everything that proved he was trying.

It almost felt normal again, like you and Azriel had fallen back into your usual rhythm. Your routine. 

Almost.

“Good luck,” Azriel said, nodding toward where Mor was returning with the new weapons. He leaned in slowly, his shadows drifting between your shoulders, curling in the pocket of shadow created by your closeness. “And, if you want… we can go flying afterward. To celebrate you beating Mor.”

The idea of being so close to him, of having him hold you to his chest, feeling his heartbeat against yours as he carried you, made your stomach churn, made you feel nauseous. Nervous. But you nodded anyway, smiled like it was just another plan, like old times. It felt tight. Diplomatic. 

“Okay,” you managed to say.

Azriel smiled, and you heard Mor’s voice asking what you were conspiratorially talking about. You didn’t answer, didn’t bother to pay attention if Azriel answered, either. The new, sleek steel weapons she’d returned with felt different in your hands. Lighter, faster. Mor had been right—these suited you better. But it didn’t matter. You were too lost in your head, too tangled in your thoughts.

Even if Mor had kept her eyes closed, she still would’ve won the next fight. You weren’t focused enough to stand a chance. There was a brief, confused look in her eyes when she realized how easily she’d taken you down once again.  But she didn’t press, not even as you yielded for the day and ran home, slipping into a cool bath with the hope that it would clear your mind of everything that tainted it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You stacked the last of the reports on the living room table, smoothing your palm over the top page before grabbing a scrap of parchment.

Rhys—went through the latest proposals and highlighted the ones most viable. Let me know if you need anything else.

You stuck the note on the pile and stepped back, scanning the work you’d spent the past few weeks compiling.

Rhysand would be by later to go over them with Azriel—discussions about Hewn City’s reformation efforts, the best way to bridge the centuries-old divide between the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams. You’d done your best to outline a path forward, to present the grievances of its citizens in a way Rhysand could use to negotiate.

Your fingers drummed idly against the edge of the table before you caught sight of your wrist. The small hair tie sat there, snug against your skin. And although it was nothing, just a simple band, it felt as if it were burning. You weren’t sure why you were still wearing it—why it wasn’t in a pocket or left in your room, ready to be summoned when needed. You ran your fingers over it, jaw clenching as frustration rose in you, sudden and sharp.

At what, exactly? You didn’t know.

You did know, however, that it was likely related to Azriel.

You’d been avoiding him since the other day at training. Since he’d given you the small elastic now circling your wrist.

It wasn’t intentional, not really, but you’d been thinking too much. Feeling too much. Uncomfortable in your own skin, hyperaware of yourself and Azriel in ways that made your stomach twist. Like pressing against a tender bruise.

The anger you’d been holding onto—the indignation that had burned hot and bright in the aftermath of your fight—faded much faster than you’d expected. You still wanted to be angry, to hold onto the grudge that felt like armor, but Azriel made it impossible. His kindness had chafed against you, rubbing away at the edges of your resentment till all that was left was an overly aware sense of him. Of his presence, his care. His devotion to something as simple as your forgiveness. 

You’d forgiven him within a week, had taken all of his baked goods with open arms, had expressed appreciation for the times his shadows brought you snacks during your late nights with Rhys and Feyre, going over negotiation plans for the reformation efforts. 

But Azriel was being too nice now. Too thoughtful. Too much. And it was starting to wear you down.

You were noticing him in ways that felt deeper, heavier, and far more dangerous. It was overwhelming, this shift in perspective—like seeing him in a new light that illuminated details you’d never thought to look at before. The slope of his shoulders, the way he always seemed to be aware of you, even when he wasn’t looking at you. You felt blinded, too rushed to adjust to this new, backlit version of Azriel.

It stressed you out— made you want to sit down and create a list, sort through the pros and cons like some sort of strategy meeting. Analyze the feelings bubbling in your chest until you could pin them down and find the most equitable, profitable, and logical path forward. The right direction to take.

Realistically, you should wait it out. Let the feelings settle and fade before they could complicate the beautiful, solid friendship you’d built over centuries. You weren’t even sure what you were feeling. You couldn’t risk something so vital over emotions you didn’t fully understand.

The front door clicked open.

You turned at the sound of footsteps, eyes falling on Azriel’s figure as he stepped inside. His hair was a little mussed, dark strands sticking to his forehead like he’d flown through the midday heat. A faint flush tinted his cheeks, and for a moment, you wondered if the sun was still blazing in the midsky—if the warmth on his face was from exertion or simply the sun pressing down on him.

He took two large strides before his hazel eyes landed on you. His expression shifted, then, brightened, as if he hadn’t expected to find you here. The soft tug at the corners of his mouth, almost a smile but not quite, was enough to send your pulse into a sharp, erratic rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, lightly. “You’re home.”

“That I am.” You smiled and met his eyes. “Hi.”

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped farther into the room, something small and wrapped in plain paper in his hand.

“I’m glad I caught you. I have something for you,” he said, holding it out to you.

You blinked, glancing between him and the package. “What is it?”

“Some tea,” he said, his gaze flickering to yours before darting away. “For sleep.”

“For sleep?” you repeated, taking the package carefully, his shadows greeting you with a gentle circle around your wrists.

Azriel nodded, his hand falling to his side. “I noticed the other day. When you were sparring with Mor. You were leaning more on your left. You do that when you’re tired.”

Your chest tightened, your fingers curling instinctively around the package. “It was that noticeable?”

“Yeah,” he said. “ To me at least. I thought this might help.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, the simple thoughtfulness of it wrapping around you like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. You opened the package carefully, revealing a small tin filled with pouches of tea. You swallowed, staring down at the item in your hands.

“Thank you. This is…” You trailed off, your voice failing you. “This is really sweet, Az.”

“Let me know if it helps,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, his wings twitching behind him. “If you like it, I’ll get more.” He gave a small, almost tentative, smile. “Or maybe I’ll try it myself.”

You nodded, clutching the package tighter. “Okay. Yeah. I will.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. You turned, intending to step away, to put some distance between you and the sudden awkwardness settling in your chest. But as you moved past him, Azriel stepped closer, just enough that the space between you disappeared. For a moment, you were not quite touching, just close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of night-chilled air and cedar.

And then his hand caught yours. When you glanced back at him, his expression had softened, a sense of concern flickering in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, intimate. Like he was sharing a secret despite you both being the only ones in the room. 

Your breath caught. You could see the faint crease in his brow, the way his gaze searched your face like he was trying to find his answer there, in your features. “Yeah,” you said quietly, even though your heart was pounding.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. His thumb brushed over your skin absentmindedly, as it usually did when he soothed you on bad days. Your breath hitched at how intimate it felt now, how aware it made you of his touch. “Are we okay?”

You blinked, frowning at his words. “Yeah, of course. Why would you ask that?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I just…I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” you replied quickly, but the excuse felt hollow even as you said it. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, but something in his tone made you think he didn’t believe you. After a moment, he added, “Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” you said after a pause, and it was the truth. You weren’t angry at Azriel, not anymore. It had completely faded, morphed into something else entirely.

You felt guilty about how you'd been acting, how you'd resorted to avoiding him in an effort to make yourself feel better. Because, despite you telling him otherwise, you knew Azriel was interpreting your distance as proof that you were still mad. 

Azriel nodded, but his expression didn’t quite relax. His hand tightened slightly around yours. “But you’d tell me, right? If something was wrong?”

“Of course.”

His gaze softened further, his eyes almost pleading. “Because I always want to know,” he said quietly. “If something’s wrong. I want to know.”

You couldn’t breathe. His hand was still on yours, his thumb brushing soft, slow circles over your skin like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. You were going to vomit. You were going to be sick. You had to leave. You had to get out of here before you did something reckless, before you said something you couldn’t take back.

“I know, Az. But, I should… I need to go,” you said, stepping back and gently pulling your hand from his. “I have a lot of errands to run.”

Azriel blinked, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Oh. Okay.”

You clutched the package tighter to your chest, avoiding his gaze as you backed toward the door. “Thanks again for this. Really.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then stopped, nodding instead. “Let me know if it helps.”

You nodded quickly, forcing a tight, polite smile before slipping out of the room.

When you made it upstairs, you grabbed a coat, barely paying attention to which one, and were out of the townhouse before you had the chance to run into Azriel again. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it needed to be away from him.

For a strange, fleeting moment, you found yourself wishing you were angry at him again. Wishing he was being stubborn and unfair instead of sweet and thoughtful. It had been easier then, even when it hurt, because at least you’d known how to deal with it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Velaris buzzed with midday energy, alive with movement and the sounds of life. The streets teemed with couples strolling hand in hand, children darting between legs, their laughter woven into the hum of conversation. You wove through it all in a haze, your mind spinning like a top. For a brief moment, you scowled at the love surrounding you—wondering if it had always been this prevalent, this visible, this... everywhere.

You hadn’t come up with a plan since leaving the townhouse, still unsure of where you were going—or if you even wanted to go anywhere at all. All you knew was that you needed to keep moving. Moving meant you were occupied. And being occupied meant you could at least try to ignore the noise—both the loud thoughts and the feelings twisting inside you. But no matter how fast you walked, how hard you tried to lose yourself in the busy streets, the fluttering in your chest wouldn't let you forget.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what it meant, even as you fought with everything you had to deny it. But maybe... maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe Selene had gotten into your head and now you were overthinking everything—reading too much into Azriel’s kindness, his care. You’d seen it before, convincing yourself of something that wasn’t true, spiraling until you couldn’t trust your own judgment.

You didn’t see the person you bumped into until it was too late. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, shaking yourself from your thoughts, but when you looked up—

“Oh,” you said, startled. You blinked at the male before you. “Hello.”

The golden light caught his hair—a rich, burnished brown that framed sharp, handsome features. Made them seem almost celestial.

Adrin smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, two small dimples forming at his cheeks. “Y/n. Hello.”

“Adrin,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No harm done,” he said easily. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of concern as he studied your face. “Are you…doing all right? I heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. “It's a long story. But everything is okay.”

Adrin tilted his head, and although the smile was still there— that warm welcoming smile— his brows drew together slightly. “You seem…bothered. Long day?”

You huffed a small laugh, rubbing absentmindedly at your chest. “Something like that.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I know the feeling. It’s been one of those days for me, too. I was about to try and make it better—clear my head a little.” He hesitated, then added, “You could join me, if you’d like.”

You blinked at him. “Oh, no, I don’t want to interrupt your plans—”

“You wouldn’t be.” He was quick to shake his head. “Really. I’d like the company.”

You hesitated. Thought through the idea. You liked Adrin. And while you wanted to run—hide away, retreat into the quiet of your own mind—you knew it would only make your thoughts spiral faster. But being around your family, or anyone who might see through you immediately, made you itch with unease.

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. The chance to be with someone who wouldn’t pry, someone who seemed genuine in his invitation.

“Sure, yeah. What are you thinking?”

Adrin’s lips twitched into a small grin. “I might have just the thing we both need.”

An hour later, you found yourself at his apartment, stretched out on his balcony overlooking the city. The air was cooler here, quieter, the noise of the streets below softened into a distant hum. The smell of mirthroot curled in the space between you, something so distinctly warm and earthy.

You breathed it in, already feeling lighter, like you were melting into your chair—but in a good way, not like earlier, when the heat had pressed against you relentlessly.

You took a slow pull from the rolled mirthroot stick Adrin had handed you. For the first time that day, your shoulders eased.

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

You exhaled slowly, watching the plume of smoke dissipate into the air. A soft laugh escaped you.  

“Oh yeah. I kind of forgot how much I like mirthroot. This is dangerous.”

Adrin chuckled, and you glanced over at him, watching as his lips curved into a lopsided smile—only one dimple visible now. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

You tilted your head, studying him further. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be into this,” you said, gesturing to the rolled stick in your hand.

His brows furrowed. “Why's that?”

You shrugged, still smiling, your face warm—not from embarrassment, but from the pleasant haze settling over you. “I don’t know. You’re from the Dawn Court. You’re a healer. You just seem disciplined. Like, above this.”

Adrin let out a full, rich laugh, the sound making your grin widen. “Please. Let’s go through that again. I come from Dawn. I’m a male healer. A pacifist, even.”

You paused, letting his words replay in your mind before it finally clicked.

“So it makes total sense,” you said, correcting yourself.

Adrin nodded sagely, and another small round of laughter followed, easy and unhurried. You realized how much you liked that about him. That his presence wasn’t demanding. That he let things be light. Maybe that was why it was always easy to converse with him whenever you’d stopped by Madjas. 

You inhaled again, letting yourself sink further into the feeling, into the rare quiet of your thoughts. Even now, though, even floating, something tugged at you. Some part of you that refused to be fully untethered. The rational side of your mind begged for a break from the relentless circling of your thoughts, but you shoved the worst of them away, opting instead to focus on the ones that didn’t hurt.

“Hey,” you said suddenly. “Can I ask you a really weird question?”

“Sure.” Adrin straightened slightly, tossing you a quick glance as he brought his mirthroot to his lips.

You hesitated, but the mirth haze had worked through your nerves, made you bolder, more loose lipped. “Do you have a crush on me?”

He choked on his next inhale, coughing before looking at you, eyes wide. “Sorry?”

“Nevermind. That was weird. Sorry,” you said quickly, looking away, waving it off. “Forget I said anything.”

But he shook his head, smiling faintly as he leaned in slightly. “No, it’s okay. I’ve always appreciated how forward you are. Honest. It’s refreshing.”

You blinked at him. “Really?”

He nodded. Then he paused for a moment, contemplating.  “If you’re asking if I find you attractive, the answer is yes. I think you’re beautiful.”

Something in your chest tightened.

“But,” he continued, “I wouldn’t say I have a crush on you. That feels… shallow. I don’t know you enough to call it that. It would be liking the idea of you. I don’t like doing that.”

His honesty was just as refreshing as he claimed yours to be. It loosened something in your chest—some small guilt that had settled when Mor first suggested you go out with him. Guilt at the idea that someone you’d grown to enjoy might want something from you that you couldn’t give.

If only everyone was this articulate. If only Az—

You shoved the thought away and exhaled slowly. “That’s… a really nice answer.”

Adrin smiled again, but this time, it was smaller, softer. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head. “It doesn’t.”

“Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I have no expectations here. I enjoy the friendship we’ve built—if you’d call it that.”

“Of course I would,” you said softly. A small chuckle escaped your lips as you raised your rolled mirthroot and nodded toward the one between his fingers. “And if I didn’t consider you a friend before, you’re definitely one now.”

Adrin’s laugh rang out, warm and melodic, filling the space between you. It was soothing, like the sound itself carried the calm of his healing touch.

You settled into a comfortable silence, the easy rhythm of conversation lingering between you as you both watched the city below. But then, without warning, your mind wandered once more.

This time, it drifted toward the upcoming event Rhys was hosting—a formal gathering to show appreciation for allies and those who’d supported him. At his own home, too. A gesture of humility. You could already picture the glittering decorations in the River House, the couples dressed to the nines, gliding together in effortless, practiced harmony.

Usually, those scenes didn’t bother you.

You’d never minded attending events alone, enjoying the freedom to slip in and out of conversations as you pleased. But now, the thought of walking into that hall, of watching so many people in love around you… It grated. And you knew exactly why. Azriel’s words, his reasoning for changing while dating Selene—how everyone was falling in love, moving on—echoed in your mind, and you hated how tightly they clung to you.

They’d made you feel like something was wrong with you for not actively seeking out love. For being content with being single. Alone.

You glanced at Adrin.

“Adrin,” you said, clearing your throat. “Are you busy this weekend?”

“I don’t believe so. Why?”

“There’s an event—Rhysand is hosting. It’s an appreciation for those who help him. I was wondering if you’d want to come with me. Considering everything you’ve done to help Madja… and us.”

His brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering in his expression before he smiled. “Really?”

You nodded, waiting and watching him as he thought through his answer.

“The company of a friend is always nice for events,” he said finally.

Your heart stilled at his use of the word "friend.” It felt reassuring. Safe. A reminder that he truly didn’t hold any expectations, just as he’d said only a few minutes prior.

“Yes,” you replied softly, a small smile curling your lips. “It always is.”

“I’d be honored to go. Thank you for the invite, Y/n. I’ve never been to big events like that.”

You laughed lightly. “If you keep letting me smoke your mirthroot, you can come to every event with me forever.”

He grinned, shaking his head, his hair falling across his forehead in an effortlessly charming way. “Is that what I’ve become now? A drug dealer and a friend in one?”

“Yes,” you teased. “A breath of fresh air, really.”

You both fell into another comfortable pause, settling into the easy rhythm of each other’s presence. You wondered what was going on inside Adrin’s mind. His eyes had grown distant, like he was retreating into his thoughts. He had mentioned having a long day too. You hoped he was feeling better now, just as you were, that perhaps your company had offered him what his had offered you—a reprieve.

Adrin reminded you of someone else in your life. Someone with teal eyes and the same easy, friendly humor. You smiled at the fleeting thought that crossed your mind, something quick and bright, like a shooting star.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel’s meeting with Rhysand had taken longer than expected, forcing both males to venture to the Hewn City itself. By the time he returned home, the city of Velaris was already asleep.

Azriel felt conflicted as he passed by your door, his shadows lingering just long enough to confirm that you were safe and asleep in bed. He was relieved, glad that you were finally getting the rest you needed, but a deep, quiet disappointment gnawed at him.

He was planning to catch you one last time today—to talk, even for a moment. To tell you about the meeting with Rhys and how brilliant your plans were, how he was praising them despite you not being there to bask in the compliments. He knew you loved the feedback, knew you loved hearing how your hard work paid off. It always did.

But Azriel knew, even then, the conversation would feel off.

Things had felt off since the night he apologized—and even his shadows had confirmed it wasn’t just in his mind. That he wasn’t simply overthinking.

You’d said you weren’t mad anymore, that you two were okay. But Azriel still felt, still knew, that something was wrong. 

Things weren’t normal. They weren’t hostile, and Azriel was beyond thankful for that, but it wasn’t comfortable like it used to be. You seemed to be hesitating around him. It gutted him to think that he had made you wary, made you overthink how you acted around him. He’d stripped himself of his own comfort.

Azriel stepped into his room slowly, feeling the weight of the day begin to catch up with him the moment he crossed the threshold. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the frame as he let the quiet settle around him.

The familiar emptiness of the room greeted him. His dresser was bare, the surface wiped clean once again. Mor had, strangely excitedly, offered to clear it out for him when she first learned about Selene’s betrayal. Despite the anger simmering inside him, Azriel had made her promise not to take any drastic measures—he didn’t want her to engage with Selene at all. Mor had reluctantly agreed.

Azriel took a few more steps into the room, and with each movement, the exhaustion that had been nagging him all day seemed to settle more heavily on his shoulders—his body was sore, his mind buzzing with a thousand half-thoughts.

His shoulders slumped as he sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands moving to rub his face, fingers dragging through the mess of his hair.

Azriel hadn’t placed all the items Selene moved, the minimal decorations he owned, back where they belonged yet. But he opened his bedside table and grabbed the one thing he was thinking about—the strange clay creation of him you’d made.

His mind wandered to the night he cleaned your wounds and apologized.

He’d traced the change back to that moment.

Azriel didn’t know why he felt disappointed, why he had expected something different from that interaction. He’d apologized, finally, as he’d intended to—though too late, he told himself, because you’d gotten hurt. But you had accepted it, had looked at him with that same softness he’d come to admire, and accepted it. You’d cracked a joke. You both laughed. It had felt simple again, natural, like Azriel had finally found his way back to himself. But something in him sank when he’d said that one line—when he said he didn’t know why he’d entertained the idea that you’d ever have feelings for him.

He wasn’t sure why, but it tasted so wrong—sour, like something rotten.

He let himself sink further into his thoughts.

Azriel had never seen himself as lovable. At least, not in the way everyone else was. 

From the moment he was thrown into that dungeon as a boy, he’d believed he deserved every punishment, every scar, every moment of suffering. The people who should have loved him—the people who were supposed to care—had only taught him he was a burden, something broken and unwanted.

When he left that darkness behind, it followed him, reshaping him into something sharp and unrelenting. A weapon. He became what was needed, what a High Lord required, committing acts that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He wore those deeds like armor, each one another layer of the male he thought he had to be.

Love, he assumed, had to be just as hard. How could it not be? He was unworthy of the softness others found so easily. While Rhysand, Cassian, Amren, and Mor managed to find it, to hold onto it despite their own sins, Azriel had only ever known heartbreak.

So he told himself that love—for him—would never be simple. It would require blood, pain, sacrifice, and suffering. He thought love needed to ache in his chest, leaving him hollow and desperate, clawing for scraps of something he couldn’t quite hold. That it had to be fought for with every ounce of strength he had. And maybe even that wouldn’t be enough.

Something had changed, though, regarding how he thought about love. 

His fingers brushed the rough edges of the clay figure in his palm. It was uneven and messy, painted in smudges that bled into each other. The proportions were laughably off—the wings crooked, the body too long—but it fit perfectly in his hand nonetheless.

He held it carefully, turning it over as his chest tightened. You’d made this for him, drunk off your ass and laughing with the others, your hands coated in clay. You’d sculpted a miniature version of him without a second thought.

And though it wasn’t a gift, though you hadn’t even mentioned it after that night, Azriel kept it. Kept it somewhere safe, somewhere he could easily grab it and remind himself that if someone as kind as you could love him, care for him the way you did, then he must not be as awful as his mind often tried to convince him he was.

You’d seen the worst of him—all the jagged edges and dark, unspoken parts. He was the softest with you, a side of himself he never showed anyone else, but somehow also the worst. You’d heard the things he’d done, seen him caked in blood that wasn’t his, and still, you had sculpted him. Still, you thought of him when you were having fun.

Azriel had begun to realize that, in reality, love seemed to be… patient. Gentle.

The love his family had found was hard at times, yes, and needed to be fought for, like everything important. But it was kind. Natural.

And so Azriel thought long and hard, the clay figure resting warm in his hand, his shadows curling and twisting softly around him. They whispered your name, over and over, like a quiet, delicate prayer.

And that was when everything clicked into place.

That deep longing he felt to see you, that comfort he found in your presence, the ability to be open, bare, seen, and unafraid—

That feeling was love.

He was in love with you.

And he suddenly couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: hey yall.... how we feeling?????

so like im invested. and also i kinda love Adrin like yesss gimme a stoner healer man who respects a persons boundaries and doesnt crush on the idea of them before knowing them!!!

and yesss for azriel being in love!!! hes gonna be struggling with this new realization, fighting the Voices in the corner of his room and being jealous over things he doesn’t need to be jealous over. mmmmmm delicious

i do believe….there may only be one (1) part left 🫢

as always— thank you for reading 🫶🏻

and don’t forget your daily clicks for palestine !

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[chobunz]

── “ shame. ” ( pjs ) ּ 𓂅 ⋆ 🗯️

๑ When jay finds out that his brother tried to make a pass at you, he’s more than furious— and he’s going to make sure that shit never happens again..

pair: possessive bf!jay ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: smut, pwp, angst, mentions of cheating, humiliation, degrading, revenge, jay is pretty toxic and kinda mean in this, spanking, spitting, facial masks (iykyk), daddy kink, video recording, jay acting like nothing happened after, doing it in his jake’s bed (…yikes), sweet aftermath | words: 2.3k

a/n. this is a repost of an older fic that i deleted but fixed some parts so i like this one a lot better <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“it’s not what it looked like, jay !” “i promise it was nothing..” you attempt to try and explain yourself but the damage has already been done, knowing the ‘calm’ look he upheld on his features was anything but calm. your boyfriend has always been the crazy jealous type, especially when it’s over you. you were terrified of the outcome, of what he might end up doing. you had no idea what he was going to do to his younger brother, but you just prayed to the heaven’s above that nothing bad will happen to him.

jay sat manspread on the off-white leather sofa, staring blankly at your begging shape beneath him. so many thoughts were racing in his head all at once, he wasn’t sure whether to be more angry at you or his brother. what the hell were you even trying to protect him for? why were you so locked in on making sure jake doesn’t get hurt? all this pleading and crying over someone who made sexual advances towards you ? did you like it ? were you enjoying all the attention ??

he feels as though he’s been betrayed, not only by you but his own fucking brother at that. yet he still wants answers from you, he wants to know why you’d let him even say those things to you in the first place. granted they were just text messages but that still didn’t make it right, it was more than obvious that jake was trying to flirt with you. jay saw the messages himself, going through your phone while you were in the shower to see if you were hiding something; he noticed you’ve been acting different lately and wondered if there was anyone else in the picture. he had no idea it’d be jake of all fucking people.

after seeing those messages, he’s now fully convinced himself that you fucked jake but you’ve already expressed to him multiple times that you didn’t. he refuses to believe you though, he just thinks you’re covering up for him— which only pissed him off even more; and since jake isn’t here yet, why not just take out all his anger on you instead ?

“you’re not understanding, everyone says that cliché shit, y/n.”

“why are you so worried about him ? worry about your damn self.” jay aggressively spat. “you’re just gonna let him talk to you like that and not even tell him to stop once ? did you forget that you have a whole boyfriend ? guess i never really mattered to you after all.” he put you in your place, making you feel even worse for your actions.

you’ve lost count how many times you’ve profusely apologized to him, on your knees in front of him as you plea for forgiveness. you’d rather take all the fall and have nothing happen to jake, you know it’d get really ugly if they got into a fight and jay couldn’t afford to get caught up with the police again.

“just punish me jay, please. i don’t want you to hurt jake, it’s not worth it—”

“what do i get out of not doing anything to him ?” “you want me to continue on knowing that he just casually tried to make sexual advances at my girl ? are you fucking stupid ?” he cut you off with even more harsh words. jay wasn’t having any of it, he’s already made up his mind and now he can’t get the horrifying image of you cheating on him with jake out of his mind. it just made his blood boil even more.

“no.. i just don’t wanna be the cause of ruining your relationship with him..” you paused for a second, watching as he grabbed his phone, completely dismissing your presence. “are you even listening ?” you get nothing in return but a camera being flashed in your face unexpectedly.

“pretty.. look a little more guilty though.” he chuckled to himself as he looked at the picture he took, still refusing to answer you.

“jay ! i’m trying to reason with you right now but you won’t even bother to hear me out.” your chest felt like it weighed a ton, heaving out a heavy sigh as you anxiously ran your fingers through your hair.

“go on, i’m listening.” jay finally acknowledges you again, his expressionless demeanor made you unable to read exactly what’s on his mind.

“i’ll do anything.. just, please forgive me.. baby, forgive us.” you try your best to appeal to him, clasping your hands together.

“how many times do i have to get through your head that there is no fucking ‘us’, it’s only you and fucking me. stop bringing him up. he’s not even here right now !” jay bitterly spoke at you, it was like he bit into every word before he let it bubble out of his mouth.

you could only stay quiet. what other choice did you have at this point ? it’s not like anything you’ll say will change his mind, you’ve exhausted all options.

“you want me to forgive you ? huh ?” it was barely even a second before you reacted, nodding your head eagerly. causing jay to chuckle at the helpless look on your face.

“desperate ‘n sorry, huh baby.. ? you’re the one who’s blatantly in the wrong and now you’re sitting here begging.”

he bent down, holding your chin in his grasp tightly, inching his face closer and closer to yours. “why didn’t you tell him to fuck off ? was it because you were enjoying it ? attention seeking slut.”

again you don’t utter a word back, you don’t know what to say, especially with the painful hold he has on your face. even if you told him no he’d just laugh in your face anyway, you couldn’t win no matter what you said or did. you wince to try and dismiss the pain, body shaking as tears kept falling from your puffy, reddened eyes.

“you got no god damn shame do you? do you, doll ?” before you knew it jay’s lips parted against yours, taking in your steady breaths, replacing them with heavier ones. jay put every bit of frustration he had in him into this kiss. the sounds of your lips parting only to meet again echoed around the living room.

he was sloppily devouring you, taking every bit of you that jake so desperately wants but could never have. he’s going to make sure he marks every inch of you, and make sure that you won’t be able to walk for a good week after he’s finished with you..

“fuck, get upstairs.” jay broke your savoring kiss, leaving a string of saliva dripping down the rim of your jaw. he watches a few stray tears run down your face for a moment, his pants starting to get tighter and tighter. if you didn’t look this pretty when you cried, maybe he wouldn’t be so turned on by all of this— but he thinks he’s might’ve found his newest addiction.

“but i—”

“shut up. jake’s room. now,” he rudely cuts you off, following behind you as you paced up the stairs, smacking your ass on the way up. all that’s on his mind now is fucking you so dumb until you’re completely ruined.

this felt wrong to you, doing intimate activities in someone else’s bed— his own brother’s bed to be exact. yet you were so caught into him you didn’t protest nor do a damn thing about it. you knew you’d have to face the consequences, so you’ll just have to suck it up.

๑ ๑ ๑

when jay starts unbuckling his belt, the clanking sounds send chills down your spine. looking up at him with glossy eyes, your vision blurry, but you still can clearly see his thick cock stand tall over his stomach as he lowers down his boxers. he grabs you by the arm and brings you up on your knees, only to turn you around, pushing you face down into the mattress.

jay started filming you, watching you through his phone as you jerked yourself back onto his shaft. the sound of your dewy skin slapping together arousing him even more.

“fuck.. so big..” your hand crept up to your boobs, playing with them.

“you can take it, whores like you always can,” he panned his phone around the room before focusing it onto your ass.

“mine. all fucking mine.” jay groaned as he pulled away, spanking your ass before taking his phone to set it up on a pillow. he then proceeds to show the ‘viewers’ a thumbs up with a raise of his eyebrows as if he was just casually doing a livestream.

“hurry, please baby..” you pinched and circled around your needy bud. waiting on jay’s say-so.

“don’t be fucking rude, say hi.” he points to the camera before returning his gaze to you.

you’ve never felt more embarrassed in your life, as you should be, you’re being filmed, even if you gave him consent, your head still remained low. “hi..” you mumbled, even adding a little wave.

your bare skin clung onto jay’s, arms needily hanging onto his body, begging for his touch.

“what do you want ?” jay devilishly smirked, eyeing down at you but you don’t say anything back, instead giving him a pleading look that you hoped to be understood.

“gotta use your words, closed mouths don’t get fed sweetie.”

“i want your big cock in me.. please.” you manage to cry out, hoping that he’d find some sympathy within to give you what you want.

“who’s?”

“daddy’s.. i want daddy’s big cock in me..soo bad..!” you whined, unable to bear the mess between your legs, the feel of your warm arousal dripping down your legs made your clit throb for more.

“mmh, that’s my good little slut..” he smacked his lips, tapping your thigh indicating that he wanted you to turn over and lye down.

jay dragged you by the waist, positioning you in front of the camera. checking the angles from time to time. when he finally laid eyes on the prize he felt his length tighten. how fucking pretty you looked, your puffy needy pussy. how wet you are for him. he ran his fingers through your folds, taking some of your slick to bless the camera with.

“you think she’d ever get this wet for you ?” he chuckled, licking the sweetness off his fingers before stationing himself between your thighs, the tip of his fat cock pushing at your entrance.

“oh— fuck, squeezin’ me already,” jay gasped at the tight fit. it was like taking your virginity all over again. your messy cunt swallowed him whole. but that didn’t stop him from destroying it did it. no?

he didn’t bother showing an ounce of mercy on his end, only vulgar words said beside your ear and rough hip thrusts that leave your poor hole sore and sensitive. you were delirious, unable to form a single thought as you continued to get pounded into relentlessly. you could have sworn missionary was supposed to be a ‘romantic’ position. your soft weeping and moaning was accompanied by the squelching of his length repeatedly entering your tight. one of his arms hooked around your leg whilst the other laced on your stomach, applying pressure onto your abdomen.

“fuckfuckfuck, baby.. ! i’m so full !” your fingers grabbed and groped at the navy blue sheets. throwing your head back at the symphonies jay made with just your body.

“you full ?” he chuckled at your stimulated appearance, looking so fucked out already.

“don’t stop, daddy.. ohmygod..” your eyes roll to the back of your head.

oh he most definitely wasn’t gonna stop, no fucking way was he going to stop. you’re not done until HE says you are.

“stupid tight fucking cunt ...” jay hovered over your body, kissing from your chest up to your jaw. “open your mouth.”

you comply, opening your mouth widely with your tongue out, to receive his own saliva, like the thirsty little slut you are. wrapping your legs around his waist so you could feel him reaching deeper inside.

“good fucking girl..” “you’re daddy’s dirty little toy” “say it.”

“i’m daddy’s..— mm..” your voice was shaky, the sensation of jay’s lower rubbing against your clit was elating. “dirty little toy..!”

“oh god.. ’m gonna come..” you soon reached your climax, bubbling right at it’s tier, before jay could even speak you coated his thickness in a white dripping mess. “fuck..”

jay quickened his pace, edging himself before quickly retreating himself. climbing over your body, pumping and rubbing his length. his voice getting more pungent with each stroke before he releases his cum all over your face.

he reached back rubbing your thighs before leaving your frame to grab his phone, filming your current state. pearly strings of white decorating your hair and your beautiful face. the leftover residue on your lips and the finger you were currently sucking on, cleaning it of his spill.

“did so good for me, princess..” he praised, rubbing your sides gently, earning a tired hum from you.

“jake, you ought to tell me where you got this bed !” he displayed a mischievous smile to the phone that was still recording.

“mama, wanna go pee for me ? put your clothes back on too..” he pampered you, looking at you with loving eyes as if he wasn’t just shouting at you to his lung’s capacity an hour ago.

“okay..” you stretched, giving jay a quick kiss on the cheek before heading into the bathroom.

“oh, jake, i used one of your condoms by the way, tight fit.” jay whispered before kissing the camera and waving goodbye, ending it once and for all.

๑ ๑ ๑

‘lil bro’

pending...

[ attachment sent ! ]

“he’d probably jerk off to this. fucking perv.” the boy scoffed, slipping his legs through the holes of his sweat pants.

seen

“oh ? haha.” jay giggled to himself as jake opened the message right away, “babe, you almost done ?”

you come out of the bathroom fully clothed, washed your face, and fixed your hair. “mhm, all set now.” you link arms with your boyfriend who now had an innocent look on his face, resembling nothing like what you saw from earlier.

“alright, let’s go, sweetheart.”

ヽ(＾Д＾)ﾉ

© chobunz 2025.

[thezombieprostitute]

Don't Move

Based on this post. Entirely written on my phone.

Warnings: Smut. Please let me know if I missed any.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

It's been a rough day. It feels like every five minutes someone else was complaining to you about something you had no control over. Acting like your inability to help was a personal choice. It was frustrating and you were ready to pull your hair out.

Your main consolation was that the day had to end at some point. While you didn't relish the multiple flights of stairs you had to climb, at least you weren't at work.

You open the door to your apartment and stop short when you see your boyfriend, Bucky, sitting naked on the couch with his legs spread.

"Oh, hi Doll," he smiles. "Worked up a sweat cooking dinner and decided to take a shower. I'll go get dressed so we can eat."

"Stop!" you order. "Don't you dare move." You step inside and close the door, eyes not leaving his form.

"Doll?" Bucky's adams apple bobs as he registers the hunger in the gaze.

"Arms on the back of the couch," you instruct as you take off your shoes. "And keep them there until I tell you otherwise."

Watching Bucky's thick cock harden as you got closer made you feel good. Powerful. Needed.

"Feel free to say anything," you tell him as you kneel in front of him. He gasps as you put your hands on his muscly thighs. "But no touching."

"Doll?" Bucky whimpers and it sounds like music to your ears.

You start by kissing his thighs, gently squeezing from time to time. You slowly work your way closer to his erection. You give a lick, smiling at the whimper you get in response.

"Please, Doll. Please."

He starts to lift his hips to bring your lips closer to where he needs them but push yourself away.

"Don't move," you order.

He settles with a slight pout and hungry eyes. "Fuck you're gorgeous."

"Thank you," you smile. "But no more interruptions."

"Yes, ma'am," he groans. "But don't blame me if my arm breaks the couch."

You smirk as he hisses through his teeth when you gently bite his thigh. You go back to alternating kissing and licking up his thighs.

When you reach his balls you give them a playful kiss before fondling them. Bucky groans heavily and you think you hear the back of the couch creak.

You kiss your way up to the tip of his cock and lazily lick the precum off. You giggle as the back of the couch starts cracking.

"Please, please, please," Bucky grunts. His eyes are burning with desire for you, his muscles straining with the effort to not move.

You swirl your tongue as you take the tip of his cock into your mouth. Bucky's hips start to move but he stops himself with a moan and more sounds from the couch. It really won't survive this but right now you don't care. You're in charge.

Bucky's please become breathier, his eyes begging you for mercy. He throws his head back as you slowly push more of his erection down your throat.

You feel yourself getting wet knowing that this huge, strong Adonis of a man is bowing to your will. Knowing that this man who could easily throw you over his shoulder is obeying your orders. You feel powerful.

Using your other hand to stroke his shaft you work more and more of him down your throat until you're choking on him. You let yourself breathe but you don't stop. Not when you can feel Bucky vibrating from how close he is. His chanting of "please" has become faster, more desperate.

Then you stop. Bucky let's out the most pitiful while you've ever heard from him. He gives you a pained look and you smile.

Leaning in close to him you whisper, "now fuck me like you want to."

Bucky's whimpers turn into growls as he gets off the couch and moves you against the wall. He strips your pants and tears off your panties. No doubt he's smelled how wet you've gotten from having him in your mouth.

He lifts you by the hips and thrusts up into you as a brutal place making you cry out. Normally Bucky's very good about prepping you but sometimes you just need to get fucked like a plaything and he's more than happy to oblige.

"Got me so worked up I need to cum now," he grunts. "But I also need to feel you milking my cock like the good slut you are."

His metal fingers move between your bodies. You'll never get over how strong your super soldier is. The cold of his fingers shocks your clit and you keen.

"That's it, Doll. That's it. Give me what I need."

Your body is quick to yield to him and you cum with a loud yell, Bucky following soon after.

He carries you to the couch and lays down with you on top of him as you both catch your breath.

"Thank you, Bucky. I really needed that."

He chuckles, "me too, apparently," before kissing the top of your head.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Tagging: @alicedopey ; @darsynia ; @delicatebarness ; @icefrozendeadlyqueen ; @irishhappiness ; @kmc1989 ; @lokislady82 ; @ronearoundblindly ; @stellar-solar-flare

[vntglace]

eddie munson x fem!reader ₊˚⊹♡ shy!reader, smut, rough sex, a lil degrading | based on this request.

dating eddie munson has been so fulfilling.

he's funny, he's sweet. he tries to pay for everything, even when he can't really afford to. he lets you steal his sweaters, shows you sick music, and calls you cheesy, ridiculous nicknames.

and, of course, he's really good in bed. he's apparently only been with one other girl before, and although the thought makes a jealous pit form in your belly, she clearly taught him well.

he's on top of you now, your legs wrapped around his waist as he kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

suddenly, he looks up at you. "is there anything that you wanna try? like, something i don't do that you want me to?" he asks.

the question takes you off guard, your cheeks heating up. "um...no?" you say, unconvincingly.

eddie grins. "oh, c'mon. you're telling me you don't have any fantasies for me to fulfill? what do you think about when you touch yourself?"

despite the mischievous expression on his face, you can tell he means what he's asking. he wants to pleasure you, and you're grateful, but you can barely look him in the face with how embarrassed his line of questioning is making you.

"eddie!" you say. "i don't...well, i'm not..."

"oh, don't tell me you don't touch yourself. everyone does," he says. "even good girls like you."

your face burns. "sometimes, yeah, but...i don't know, it's all...abstract thoughts. i don't have anything specific that i know i like."

eddie had been your first, so you don't have enough experience to tell him what you're into.

"well, tell me something you think you'd like, and we can try it. y'know if you're not feeling it, we can just stop."

his reassurance makes you feel safer, a little more comfortable. you play with his hair as you talk, trying to keep yourself distracted from your shyness. "i mean...i think i'd like being on top? and...maybe if you were a little bit...rougher with me? like, not hurting me, but like...just faster? harder? and maybe a little...mean."

you groan, putting your hands over your face. "i don't even know what i'm saying."

eddie takes your wrists gently. "hey, hey," he coos. "no need to be so shy, pretty girl. we can try that for sure. can i try something right now?"

you nodded, still struggling to meet his eye.

his grip on your wrists gets tighter, and he pushes your hands over your head, effectively pinning them against his pillows. "like that? you want me to be rough with you, huh?"

you whimper, nodding again, already feeling your pussy grow wetter at the lower, more dominant tone of his voice and the grip he had on your wrists.

"tell me you want it. use your words, princess."

"please be rough with me," you say, breathless.

he grins wickedly. "with pleasure."

he's practically feral as he kisses you hard, nipping at your bottom lip, then moves to suck a hickey into your collarbone. "thought a good girl like you wouldn't be into something like this. thought you'd want to be treated like a princess. instead you wanna be treated like a slut, hm?"

you moan. "yes," you reply to his rhetorical question, too dumb with desire to feel ashamed any longer. eddie has unlocked something primal within you, getting you to open up about your fantasies.

"wanna get on top, baby?" he asks. "see if riding me is as hot as it is in your dreams?"

"please," you say, all but begging.

he rolls onto his back, rolls a condom on, and then beckons for you to come and straddle his hips. he slips his cock inside you, and you whine at the stretch of him filling your hole. he fucks up into you, hard and fast, just like you'd asked for.

the position is a little more uncomfortable than you'd imagined, but there's something pleasurable about the ache in your thighs as you keep them spread for him, about how exposed you feel as his eyes go from your face to your breasts, bouncing with each of his thrusts.

you feel the urge to cover yourself, but it's like eddie can sense it, and he reaches out to grab your hands, holding them at his chest to keep you steady, as well as keep your body on display for him.

"you look so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock like a slut," he says, voice breathless with pleasure. "gonna come if you keep lookin' at me with those innocent eyes."

"cum for me," you say, surprised by the vulgar words coming from your mouth. "fuck me until you cum inside me."

you know he's wearing a condom: there's nothing too taboo about letting him do so, but it makes you feel sexy, dangerous to tell him to do so anyway.

it doesn't take long for eddie to do just that.

dating eddie munson just got so much more fulfilling, you realize with a smile.

[windixie]

˗ˏˋ hey emo boy !´ˎ˗ emo!choso x reader

summary : what's so good about hot topic? I mean it's trending, it's legit in the name, but your style... is the opposite of that, so why visit all the time? it doesn't have to do with the emo boy that works there right?

warnings : filthy drabble full of smut, smut, smut, and maybe uh smut? p in v, creampie, breeding kink (sorry!), choso is a whimpering mess :( fingering, m!receiving, f!receiving. lmk if I missed any!

taglist : @elylyyy @mjsjshhd @officialholyagua @chiunpy @hi-hello-heyo @etsuniiru

if you wish to be added or removed from tag list pls comment <3

emo! choso who just scored a well paying job at a hot topic store in the mall near his college. hes thankful for the job because he is supporting all of his younger siblings and besides, he loves the store himself. but he starts to love it even more when you, the pretty girl, walks in for the third time this week.

emo! choso who asks if you need any help finding something only to get denied by you because you’re so shy and scared of the big muscular man who’s got a shit ton of piercings. you love them all and you especially love his tongue piercing. you wonder how it feels against your needy cunt as you tug at his hair. you can’t help but moan out his name when your needy fingers play with your soaking pussy after finding out his name.

emo! choso quickly develops a small crush on you after you both get more used to each other especially because of your daily visits.

emo! choso who feels guilty from checking you out all the time. it’s not his fault your pretty skirt barely covers that big ass of yours and it’s not his fault he can see your pretty Victoria’s Secret panties you bought from across his store.

emo! choso who is so excited when you invited him over to your house after you both bonded over your favorite book series.

emo! choso who soon finds himself fucking you sweetly and sloppy. “fuck.. fuck.. good fucking girl! baby fuck not gonna last long..!” he kept whining in your ear as he pounded his big fucking cock in you. you were seeing white as you came for the umpteenth time as you clutched onto your wet bedsheets.

emo! choso stills wants more out of you even after eating you out which was embarrassing for you because you squirted so much and all over his face but he didn’t care! he swallowed all of it as if he was dehydrated. “baby please let me cum in you! put a baby in ya yeah? gonna be a good mommy! such a good mommy!” he babbled as his strokes became even sloppier.

your headboard kept slamming hardly against your wall you didn’t even care if you got a noise complaint the next day. how could you care when you were literally getting filled up but the boy you’ve been gushing over for weeks!

emo! choso who actually whimpers! a lot! and hes not afraid to be vocal cuz he knows you love it. “mmf yeah take my cock baby.. no no.. s’ not big! it’ll fit just like every time! yeah such a good baby! oh shit.. ngh oh you’re tight!” he whimpered as big fat tears left your eyes.

emo! choso who has a thing for blood. yeah. period sex. mhm. he loves it so much he’s filthy but he read somewhere that cumming helps the cramps so what else can he do but help his pretty baby?

emo! choso definitely fucks you whenever you wear his band t-shirts. he gets such a painful boner and you always help him by putting it in your mouth. even tho you have a bad gagging reflex

emo! choso loves you so much he’s so happy to see that positive pregnancy test and he immediately starts thinking of names.

[hederasgarden]

Eternal Devotion (1/3)

Summary: Months after your husband's untimely death, his presence lingers, haunting you in ways you never expected. Pairing: Vampire!Friedrich Harding x Wife!Reader  Word Count: 3.9K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Heavy angst and grief, period typical sexism, creepy things, mildly dubious consent, sexual content, vampirism and all the warnings that come with that (I’m diverging from canon a bit in regards to feeding). This is my attempt at Gothic Romance. A/N:  The reader has always been Friedrich wife, Anna does not exist in this AU. Big thanks to @ryebecca, @otaku-girl-ao3, @whatblogisthis216 , @eremeldanin and @caught-reading for their help with this fic.  Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her. -Hozier

The room is dim with the curtains drawn tight, allowing only a sliver of daylight to creep through the gap. In the distance, the soft hum of morning activity rises from the rest of the house, the gentle chatter of your two daughters layered over the quiet rustling of the servants preparing for the day ahead. You should rise and follow the rhythm of the world outside this room, but you cannot. 

Friedrich has been gone nearly six months. It feels like a lifetime. The days stretch endlessly, and each one feels like an affront, a reminder that the world refuses to stop turning. How are you supposed to go on living? You know if you had died, Friedrich would have climbed into the casket beside you and his grief would have blotted out the sun.

But there was no casket for him. No body left to bury. He was swallowed by the sea, lost while fulfilling a promise you made, helping Ellen return to Thomas.

Your daughters do not yet grasp the finality of it. No matter how many times you tell them, they speak of their father like he is simply away at work, perhaps, or out on some important errand. And each morning they act as if he’s come to tuck them into bed, kiss their cheeks, and say their prayers like he did before. They look up at you with soft eyes, the very same as his and you must relive the pain of it again and again when you remind them their father is gone.

Sometimes, you wish you could believe your own dreams, the ones where Friedrich slips back into bed beside you. Yet even in those fleeting moments of illusion, something is wrong. The warmth you long for is absent. His touch is colder, harder, his presence not the way it used to be. When his lips meet your skin, it stings, sharp and unfamiliar, and the truth rises within you, pushing against the comfort of the dream. 

It’s not him. And it never will be. Now and forevermore, each morning you will wake to find the sheets beside you cold. Empty.

Everyone told you the grief would abate with time but these past few weeks have drained you more thoroughly than any that came before. Each morning, it feels as though your very blood has turned to sand, your bones to lead. Even the simple act of turning onto your back, to stare up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, takes more effort than you can summon. 

You remain in bed until the door creaks open, and the light sound of footsteps follows. Kerstin’s voice is no more than a whisper as she brushes your shoulder.

“Frau Harding. Your parents have arrived for breakfast. Your father wishes for you to join them.”

The sight of your maid’s pale, worried face is enough to rouse you. You let her dress and prepare you for the day. Although she’s done this a thousand times, there’s something about the way her hands hover over the buttons of your gown, the hesitation before each movement, that makes you feel like a stranger in your own skin. You see how she and the other servants watch you now. Even when they pretend to be absorbed in their tasks, their glances are sharp, laden with worry. They fear you’ll descend into the same madness as Ellen, but it is only your grief, so vast and deep, that’s reshaping you in ways you can’t even recognize. 

When you enter the dining room, your daughters rush to you. You hold them close, inhaling the familiar scent of their hair. Your mother greets you next, reaching out to cup your face in her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as they linger there. There is a deep sadness in her eyes and she glances over at your father with a look halfway between pleading and resignation.

“Come, you must eat,” she encourages, guiding you to sit beside her.

Your father, sitting at the head of the table, offers no such tenderness. His presence is a commanding weight in the room and the deep set of his brow lets you know this is not merely a social visit. You glance at your mother who stares at the hands in her lap and your fingers curl around the richly upholstered arm of the dining room chair. Whatever he has come to say will not be good, you realize. 

“The children are finished with their breakfast,” he announces sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a command. With a quick flick of his fingers, he gestures to the governess. “Take them to the parlor. Their mother and I have matters to discuss.”

Once they are gone, your father doesn’t wait long to speak again. “It has been six months,” he begins, his gaze unwavering. “Long enough. You must remarry, and soon.” 

You blink, momentarily stunned. Six months? Six months since Friedrich was swallowed by the sea, leaving nothing but an empty, aching space behind. Six months in which you have not even been able to make sense of the grief that clings to you like a second skin. How could he even think of you remarrying so soon?

“But… Father, I…” you begin, the words faltering in your throat.

He doesn’t let you finish, his voice growing sterner. “You must think of the future, not just of your own sorrow. The children need stability, and you need a husband. You cannot manage alone, not with the wealth you inherited from your late husband.”

You shake your head, even as you know there is a kernel of truth to his words. The vast estate, the shipyard, and the assets Friedrich once managed all fall on you now. It is a burden you are not prepared to shoulder and one you have steadily ignored these past months. But even beyond all that, the thought of remarrying, of taking another man into your life is something you can’t even entertain.

"I cannot… not yet," you whisper, barely above a breath. And in the pit of your chest, a deeper thought rises unbidden: Not ever.

“I understand your reluctance,” he says firmly. “But even now, men circle you like vultures. They want your husband’s wealth and his business. We must act swiftly and secure the right match — for you, for the children, for our family’s future.”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to pass. Your hands move to straighten the cutlery in front of you, anything to occupy them, anything to hold off the flood of emotion threatening to spill over.

And then, almost without thinking, you speak. “You never say his name.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “What?”

“Friedrich,” you whisper. “It is always my husband or your son-in-law. You do not… you do not say his name.”

There is a long pause before your father clears his throat, dismissing the uncomfortable silence. “We cannot afford to linger on sentiment,” he says. “Sentiment will not feed the children or keep the business afloat. We need to think practically.”

You stare at him, hearing nothing more than the absence of your husband's name in his voice, the not-so-subtle command that you too must move on, move past this grief, and return to the world of the living. 

“You cannot make me do this.”

"Perhaps not," your father concedes, exhaling sharply. "But your husband has many cousins who would think nothing of reclaiming control over the business." He pauses, taking a deliberate sip of his water, his eyes never leaving yours. "Men who would see no value in a widow and her daughters when they have families of their own.”

His words have their desired effect, leaving you feeling small and powerless. Your shoulders slump, the strength in you draining away as your head hangs, heavy with the crushing knowledge of what awaits.

“Now, your mother has already arranged for you and the girls to have new clothes made for your return to society," he continues, his tone cool and businesslike. "We will host a small, intimate gathering. I will invite a few prospective suitors—men I consider promising options. You may, of course, choose which one you wish to pursue."

“How kind you are to offer me a say,” you murmur, the words bitter in your mouth.  

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I know grief has stolen your good sense but you will watch your tongue when you speak to me,” your father warns. 

A surge of emotion rises within you, sharp and unwelcome, forcing its way up your throat. The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unrestrained. “You would not speak to me this way if Friedrich were here.”

Your father shakes his head, rising from his seat to tower over you. “He is not here, my girl. He will never be here again. You are alone in a world that is unkind to women such as yourself.”

The pity in his eyes is more than you can bear. The dam breaks, and the first wave of tears crashes down, unbidden and unstoppable. A  flood that drags you under. You sink back into the chair, helpless as wracking sobs tear through you, a deep, raw ache flooding every part of your being.

Distantly, you hear your mother’s voice chastising your father. Her arms slip around you, pulling you close. She whispers gentle reassurances, her shushing echoing the soothing words you’ve said a hundred times to your own girls, but it feels empty now, a hollow repetition that cannot shield you from the brutal reality.

Friedrich is gone. And with him, any hope you once held of finding happiness.

–

When you step into your father’s parlor, the weight of every gaze in the room settles on you like a tangible thing. The faces that turn toward you are mostly unfamiliar, offering you that sad, understanding smile you’ve grown so weary of. It is a smile that means nothing at all in light of their presence here. Each one of them is complicit in your father’s schemes.

“You look lovely,” your father says. He presses his lips to your cheek in an exaggerated gesture of affection, more a farce than any real expression of love. “The blue truly suits you,” he adds, his eyes dropping to take in your fine silk dress. 

It’s the latest fashion from Paris, or so you’re told. Once, a dress like this would have delighted you—Friedrich always took such joy in bringing you the finest, most exquisite silks and fabrics from his travels. But now, the dress feels all wrong, too tight and too revealing, exposing more of your shoulder and décolletage than you’re comfortable with. 

You smile at your father. Even though it barely touches your lips it doesn’t seem to bother him. He simply sweeps you further into the room, his hand on your arm guiding you forward as he begins the task of making introductions. It’s a performance, and you are trapped at the center of it. But you do as your father and society demand, falling into the practiced motions of politeness. 

You engage in small talk, offering the kind of perfunctory responses that are expected of you, feigning interest in whatever these men have to say. Some ask after your children, while others offer their condolences for your loss. But behind their kindness lies a predatory sort of interest. It is all you can do to nod, offering your own strained smile as you stand there wondering how much longer you can keep up this charade.

When your father finally leaves you for a moment you close your eyes, exhaling. 

“Oh, dearest girl.” 

The unexpected voice makes you flinch. You turn, meeting a familiar pair of brown eyes of Herr Gothrim. Of all your father’s friends, he is the one you think might understand your plight the best. He lost his wife to the plague that swept the city nearly a year ago.

“It is shameful what your father is doing. Forcing you from your mourning period so soon.” He shakes his head. “Though, I confess, had I daughter like you I might be convinced to do the same.” He steps closer, his voice quieting. “You are the talk of the city and beyond.”

“They desire Friedrich’s wealth,” you reply. “Nothing more.”

Herr Gothrim stares at you for a moment before he speaks again, his words laden with something that makes your skin crawl.

“Do not sell yourself short. You are young. Beautiful. You might still bear your future husband a son or two.”

Friedrich had wanted a son. You knew that long before you ever married him. He had spoken of it often, longing to see his name carried on but he never once made you feel like an instrument to secure his legacy. More than that he loved your daughter fiercely, completely. And though it might have been a sin, he loved you even more.  

“I fear you will not have the luxury of time, my dear,” Herr Gothrim warns. “Your father will push forward with his plans, and if you do not make a choice, one will be made for you. Perhaps a familiar one would be best.”

His eyes briefly flick over his shoulder, and you follow his gaze. It rests on his son, Pieter. The sight of him makes a sharp, uncomfortable feeling bubbling up from within. Once, he had petitioned your father for your hand and before Friedrich had made his offer, Pieter had been the one your father had entertained as a potential suitor. 

To your dismay, Pieter seems to take your attention as an invitation, crossing the room to join the two of you. He greets you with an overly familiar kiss to your cheek that lingers, brushing against the corner of your lips. When he pulls away his hand remains on your elbow, tethering you to him. 

“Frau Harding, you look well,” he says brightly. “Or should it be Fräulein now?”

His boldness stuns you but before you can gather your thoughts, he continues, oblivious to the discomfort in your silence. “I must confess, I was both surprised and pleased to receive your father’s invitation. And to see you again after so long. I am eager for a second chance to win your hand.”

It is only the thought of your daughters and the need to ensure their future is safe that keeps grief from sharpening your tongue. You force your eyes downward, focusing on a speck of dust on his lapels to avoid looking at his face. “My father was pleased you accepted his invitation. He has always been fond of you,” you reply hollowly.

Pieter smiles, seemingly unaware of how your voice thins and your words fall flat and meaningless. 

“You look cold,” he observes. “Come, you should warm yourself by the fire as we reacquaint ourselves. My import business has grown greatly since we last spoke.”

His touch feels possessive, demanding even yet you are helpless to do anything more than follow him. You catch your father’s eyes when you pass him. He looks pleased and it turns your stomach. 

Pieter keeps you by his side for the rest of the evening, his words a constant hum around you. Whether he’s wholly unaware of your discomfort or willfully blind to it, you can’t decide. His conversation is a relentless stream of boasts about his business, his wealth, and his success, as though he expects you to be impressed, to be eager for his attention. Each time you try to excuse yourself, your attempts are dismissed with a smile and an insistent push to stay.

It isn’t until your mother comes to collect you at the end of the night that you are finally freed from his hold. You follow her away from the gathering and into the waiting carriage, Pieter’s gaze lingering on you. 

You’re so exhausted on the ride home that the muffled sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets and the rocking of the carriage nearly lulls you into sleep. You find your daughters are already in bed when you arrive at the house. Though you loathe to disturb their peaceful slumber, you find yourself drawn to them, compelled to check on them before you can rest. You make your way down the dark hallway, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet the only sound betraying your presence.

When you crack open the door to their room, a cool rush of air greets you, sending a shiver through you. You find their window unlatched, the curtains fluttering in the autumn breeze that has slipped in. Startled, you step further into the room, a wave of panic rising in your chest. You move quickly to reach the window and quietly shut it again. 

Once it is secured, you turn to your girls. The sight of them, peaceful and safe in their beds, eases some of the tension in your chest. Your youngest clutches a slip of fabric in her hands, her tiny face relaxed in sleep. There is something about the cloth she holds that gives you pause. You kneel beside her, gently prying it from her grasp. At the sight of the familiar handkerchief and your own needlework, worn and fraying with time, your breath stutters in your throat. 

It was one of the first gifts you ever gave Friedrich, back when he was still courting you. You had made him dozens more over the years, but still, he carried it with him, even as it began to unravel at the edges. You always assumed it was lost with him and to find it here, tucked in your daughter’s hands, feels like both a balm and a wound.

Fingers trembling, you press the fabric to your face and close your eyes. For a brief moment, you swear you can still smell Friedrich’s cologne, faint but unmistakable. You linger in that moment until your daughter shifts in her sleep and you're brought back to reality. Carefully, you tuck the handkerchief into her tiny hands and kiss her forehead before retreating from the room.

–

Your dreams are restless, an amalgam of fractured images and disjointed sensations. Pieter’s dark, unblinking eyes merge with the black fabric of your mourning gown, and then, without warning, the scene shifts, plunging you into the vast, endless depths of the sea that claimed Friedrich. 

The cold water envelops you, and you gasp for air, but the water rushes in, drowning your cries. In your panic, you thrash wildly, desperate for escape. Just as you feel yourself slipping into the abyss, strong hands seize you, pulling you upward. Your eyes snap open, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. The water recedes, and in its place, Friedrich’s face fills your vision.

“I am here, I am here, my love,” he murmurs softly, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand rests lightly on your chest, guiding your breath to match his steady rhythm, coaxing the frantic pace of your heart to slow.  

You stare at him as the world crystallizes around you. Then, you surge forward, your lips crashing into his with a desperation that consumes you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching him tightly like he might vanish if you let go. The kiss is a lifeline and you cling to it with a need so raw it aches.

“Friedrich,” you gasp, reveling in the familiar tickle of his mustache and his strong hands on your body.  

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if this is real, if he’s truly here, or if your grief has finally unraveled, conjuring him from the depths of the ocean to haunt you. But then, as his lips press urgently against yours and the solid weight of him fills your arms, you decide you don’t care. It doesn’t matter if he is a ghost, risen from the sea’s cold embrace. Nor does it matter that death has leached the color from his cheeks and the warmth from his hands. All that matters is that he’s here.

“My love,” you cry. 

“I am here,” he promises, trailing his lips down the side of your throat until his mouth seals over the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. 

He lingers there, the sting of his kiss euphoric. You bury your fingers in his thick curls, tugging gently and he all but growls against your skin. With his mouth still on you, his fingers tug at your nightgown, baring your body to his eager hands. They slip between your parted thighs, finding your wet heat, and stealing it away as they work you to the peak of pleasure. Friedrich groans and the pain in your neck flares, sharp and sudden.

When he pulls away, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you, leaving you breathless and spent. You stare up at him as your vision shifts, the world taking on a hazy hue. In the dim light, his blue eyes are dark, almost silvery, and something deep within you recoils, an instinctive fear that you can’t quite name. But then, he blinks, and just as quickly the shadow fades. The warmth of his gaze returns, and those same familiar blue eyes, the ones you’ve loved for so long, look down at you with tenderness.

Your fingers hover over his face, longing to touch him again. But a painful realization stops you. 

"You are not real.” The words leave you in a rush. 

“Does it matter if I am?" he asks. "Does this not bring you peace, my love?"

You shake your head, the pain of his absence still raw in your chest. You can’t resist the pull of him, the need to feel close again, even if only in this fleeting moment. Without thinking, you draw him down to kiss you, and the taste of him is sharp, unexpectedly coppery.

"It is a horrible thought," you murmur, breaking the kiss, "but I wish I would not wake when morning comes. I want to stay here with you. In this dream."

A deep frown forms between his brows, and his hand finds your cheek, his touch colder than it should be. His mouth parts slightly, and his teeth, white and sharp, glimmer faintly against his pale lips. 

“You do not wish to find a new husband? To live?” he questions. 

"I wish only for you," you say, voice trembling but sure. "And for our girls."

“My dearest wife,” he whispers, kissing you sweetly. “I will never leave you. I cannot.”

A soft moan slips from you, unbidden, the sound encouraging him to kiss you deeper. His lips move with a possessive tenderness that fills the hollow spaces inside you. “Nor would I ever let you go," he promises. “We are bound even in death.”

[thehoodedsweater]

Thanks for the tag! Of course when I wanna write a fun fact about myself I forget all knowledge immediately.

My fun fact is that I’m making a Ghostbusters fan comic! I’ve been making it since April of last year and I’m currently on page 18, and I’ve used it as a good way to show how my art style and storytelling skills have improved. If any of you guys wanna learn more btw, please let me know! I’ll be happy to yap into the void.

tagging @bumblingbriars @standing-flowers @justarandombirb @justa-snake @mikethecowboy @peachy-wafflez @rutzou @larspinfieldlover @dutchessofcaladan @dynastinoble @weezer-alert @basicallybeene @din0st1ck3rz @doctor-spengler @ilovettrpgs @deaft-punk @illinoisballripper @grimpowrrs @armikuu and anyone else who wants to join :))

(screw it what's a fun fact about yourself also @ people I'll go first I'm allergic to myself

@escapetheslaughter

@ugly-astral-taurus

@bees-official

@gremlininthedark

@bloodmoon-da-idiot

@multifandomcutie13 )

[figthoughts]

How do u think Dean proposes?

oh bae, lots of thoughts on this,, loverboy!dean is back .ᐟ

okay so call me cliché, but i fully believe dean is a very sentimental guy. i just know he’d be so giddy throughout the whole proposal process. before choosing a ring, i think he’d probably snoop through your jewellery to get an idea of what you like—maybe even going as far as asking your friends what they think you’d like for an engagement ring.

and dean’s definitely getting sam or cas to go with him to the jeweller’s when he’s finally decided. he’d be standing at the glass cabinets in front of the clerk, grinning and rambling about you like a bumbling idiot, clearly so head over heels for his ‘fiancée’ (yeah, he’s already calling you that to people before he’s even proposed).

and when he’s finally picked out your ring, he takes the next few days to plan out the perfect proposal. he knows he doesn’t want to do something over the top or too cheesy.

so he settles on something he knows you’d like. something that just seems so quintessentially you and dean.

dean picks you up in the impala, dressed to impress—but not suspiciously so—and flicks on your favourite love songs from the mixtape you made together a few years ago.

you both hum along, and he taps his hand on the steering wheel as he drives, trying to not let the proud grin show on his face at the fact he got your friends to help you pick out an appropriate outfit and a fresh new set of nails for the occasion. he knows you’ll thank him for that later. dean makes casual small talk, trying to appear as normal as possible, like this was any other regular date.

eventually he pulls the impala up at a familiar place—the place where he asked you to be his girlfriend. dean debated and contemplated between here, the cliff overlooking the lake not far from the bunker, or the little italian restaurant he took you to on your first date. he figured a more private setting would be better suited for his plans.

so as you joke about the sweet memories of this place, dean laughs, hoping you’re not catching on quite yet. you pull out the picnic blanket and lay it across the hood of the impala. you and dean take a seat on top of it and unpack the basket he’d packed for your afternoon picnic. he pulls out the sandwiches he’d sam made and the cherry pie, along with the attempted charcuterie board—keyword ‘attempted’. you compliment it nonetheless, and the efforts he’s gone to, even if the spread looks a little messy. you can tell it’s all been made with love, and that’s what’s important.

as the time with you passes, dean’s chest gets heavier and heavier with anxiety. his eyes flicker over your face and god, it hits him; he’s so in love with you. his heart races as the sun begins to set over the pair of you, colouring you both in warm amber hues. the sun reflects off the lake as the water ripples, and all dean can think is ‘please, let her say yes.’

dean just manages to keep up his nonchalant act, disguising his inner turmoil. he tries to keep everything seemingly lighthearted and normal, despite the doubt and fear plaguing his thoughts. the sun eventually dips down under the horizon, and he smiles at you, “wait here just a sec, baby. i left something in the car.”

he grabs some tealight candles and a piece of paper from the glove compartment and returns back to his place next to you on the hood.

instead he places the few candles between you, lighting them as you laugh and ask what’s going on, though by this point you’re beginning to put two and two together. dean looks up at you and lets out a nervous huff, plastering a smile on his face to cover the anxiety clenching at his chest.

“let just me just—” he says, fumbling with the paper in his hands. dean meets your gaze and studies you silently for a moment, taking in your beauty and how you seem to be giving him an almost encouraging expression. he nods and begins reading off his paper.

dean reads his scribbled words, his hands shaking as he holds the crumpled note, recounting all the memories you’ve made together and how he yearns to have a lifetime of more with you. he tells you how you’ve bettered him as a man and how he’d be nothing without you. he tells you how important you are to him and how much he strives to be as good and as kind as you one day. he tells you he can’t imagine a world where he’s not by your side.

dean finishes his speech by telling you why he loves you, and it’s not just superficial things. it’s things that make you feel seen and heard; things that only someone like him would notice and internalise. by the end of it, dean’s trying to swallow the lump in his throat that grew when he noticed your teary eyes looking back at him.

he sets down the paper and lets out a breath, trying to steel himself for the question he’s about to ask. he pulls out the ring box and holds it up in front of you in his shaking hands.

“will you marry me?”

A/N: okay so this was meant to be like quick headcanoning points but here’s a story for u LOL this makes sense in my head for dean. i don’t think he’d do anything outrageously exuberant, like propose in front of a crowd or anything,, but anyways i hope this was sweet anon!!!

✩ taglist bc yolo: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4jackles @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @legalmente-loca @theoneandonlystonedspiderman420 @manicjk @aileenunfiltered @minettacreekk @winchester-whiskey @emeraldcrs @freyabear @floralscented @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @deansbeer @artemys-ackles @bluemerakis @misatxox @star-yawnznn @ambiguous-avery @starzify @whisperingdaze @deanswidow @psychicnatural @ghostlyaccurate @k-slla

↑ comment to be added!

[l0vem41l]

"i've always wanted something simple..."

「 tws + notes: no tws, potentially ooc, unedited as BAWLS, what do you mean it's been a while since i've last written, domestic (kinda), lowkey heavily implied romance,,,, blame the spirit of valentine's day (。﹏。) 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic relationship <3 」

↳ ft. bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, and tim drake

author's note: yeah so... i'm still dc rotted. here are little things that i just find cute つ﹏⊂ <33 gonna keep it 120% w/ u, life is BUSY!!!! but we ball regardless :D you know im gonna find time to write my superhero fanfics anyways >:3

▸ BRUCE loves when you wear his clothes. simple but recognizable, his clothes become a silent way of saying "they're with me." and considering that most of the pieces in his wardrobe that are downright iconic, almost all of gotham knows who's jacket you're wearing when you step out in it.

he's not insecure by any means, and it isn't quite a display of possessiveness— but rather, affection and devotion. you're special to bruce, and even if it's through subtle means, he's more than happy to show it.

▸ DICK likes to have you within reach. no reason in particular, he says, but you know that's not quite true. maybe he's secretly a little ashamed of being so clingy. either way, he wants (or needs) you to be close to him.

it doesn't really matter to him how he achieves this either. whether it's his hand in yours, his arm around your shoulders, his hand resting on the small of your back, or his arm linked with yours— he's happy as ever. if you're a fast walker and by some miracle, you weren't already holding hands, dick's not beyond tugging your shirt from behind to reel you back in.

"are you trying to escape me? i'm wounded." dramatic.

▸ JASON loves helping you run errands. to be completely honest, he would be content doing just about anything as long as you're around, but there's something special about being the one that you drag around for mundane things like buying groceries or getting gas.

he also loves to be helpful to you. always offering to get the things off higher shelves that you just can't reach, always getting out the car first to pump your gas— there's just something about that shy but pleased smile of yours that makes doing little things for you so much more rewarding. and, yeah, it's silly but jason's heart practically leaps out his chest when you thank him by planting a little kiss on his cheek.

▸ TIM loves to take naps with you. he values the time that he has with you, and of course, would much rather spend it conscious— but there's something particularly special about being able to rest at your side. it's a declaration of trust from him— and there's an undeniable tenderness he feels when he realizes that he's able to let his guard down for once.

except... tim doesn't notice how frequent this habit has become. he's gotten so used to napping with you, that if he's feeling like he's been awake for too long, he'll hunt you down just to get some rest. your plans of reading peacefully on the couch are thwarted— prepare for him to wrap his arms around you while he shifts to lay his head on your chest. no words, no questions— guess you'll have to set aside whatever you're doing now.

— reblogs always appreciated!

[pshbites]

GIVE ME ONE MORE KISS, KISS, KISS ━ sjy

pairing : bf!jake x fem!reader genre : fluff, est relationship warnings : none! synopsis : just before you can leave for a girls night out your clingy boyfriend tries to hold you captive with kisses wc : 0.7k a/n : YES this is inspo off of no doubt and YES i know its unoriginal but these lyrics scream clingy!jake ;)

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is always appreciated!!

jake pouted, watching you do your makeup. “okay but why can’t i come!” he whined for nth time, making you laugh. “baby for the last time, it’s a girls night there isn’t gonna be any guys there” you shook your head, applying your blush. “c'mon baby you know i don’t care about other guys, i wanna go with you” he frowned, clutching your pink pillow tighter in his chest. 

jake was.. a clingy boyfriend in the most loving way possible. he was never jealous or insanely overprotective, he was just a little clingy! you couldn’t say much because the two of you were as equally as clingy with one another but you hadn’t seen your girlfriends in so long that you were yearning to go out with them. jake would never stop you from seeing your friends but he would whine and pout about it as he was doing now. 

“baby if the other girls were bringing their boyfriends i would! but they aren’t. plus it’ll only be a couple hours” you reassured him, not knowing he would only react bigger. “hours?!?” he groaned out, still clutching the same pillow. you laughed a little, finishing up your makeup. “don’t laugh! you look so good just stay with me!!” jake whined, watching you turn around in your vanity chair. “you’ll live baby i promise” he pouted once more, shifting so he could sit criss-cross on your bed. ”can i just come with? i swear i’ll mind my own business please” he said again, watching you make your way over to your full length mirror. 

you looked at his reflection in the mirror and smiled, laughing softly. “for the last time baby its a girls night!” you replied, jake now getting up to lean against the wall next to the mirror. “yeah but it’s like i wont be there! cmon please” he flashed you his puppy eye which would’ve worked but you were already ready to leave! its not like you could just change and then stay home but jake sure seemed to think that was the solution to his problem. you laughed, pushing his shoulder away slightly. 

many people would be annoyed to have a boyfriend that was as clingy as jake was but you knew it was out of love, and to be fair you had no room to judge because just last week you made him get off of his game to watch a show you wanted to watch with him. so you didn’t mind that jake was now in the state that you were in that night.

“baby for the last time, i can’t just bail on them and you can’t come with! i promise next time i’ll convince them to include our boyfriends, okay?” you looked at jake, looking his big doe eyes and he sighed out, admitting defeat. “fine.. text me everything okay! and whatever pictures you take, send them to me like the second you take them!” he said, now a bit more serious and a little sad. “of course i will baby, walk me out?” you held out your hand in front of him and he grabbed it, the two of you walking out of your room and to the front door. 

at the front door, jake let go of your hand to let you put on your shoes and jacket as he leaned against the wall, watching you. more like admiring you but you weren’t paying attention to him looking at you. you looked up and saw him smiling. “can i get a goodbye kiss since you’re leaving me for hours.” you rolled your eyes playfully at his dramatics and walked over, placing a peck on his lips. “that good?” you mumbled, smiling at him. jake pondered for a second then shook his head ‘no’. “one more” he said, angling his head so his cheek was facing you, you smiled and kissed his cheek. “ah you have to do the other one too” he turned his head the other way so the other side of his face was facing you. you kissed his cheek once more and leaned back. 

“that good now?” you said, hoping he would agree but as you expected he shook his head, making you laugh. “jake i really gotta go” you whined out, hoping he would just let you go. he sighed and groaned. “fine fine, go have fun” he spoke out, shutting his eyes in a playful manner. you laughed, shoving his shoulder and heading to the door. “bye bye baby” you waved and jake kept on waving until you shut the door, making you smile at his silly antics. 

taglist : @cupidhoons @leeechin @chobunz @wensurr @ja4hyvn @kozumesphone @17ericas @suneng @hyunnies-world @kiss4noo @jellyluv4eva @heelariously @laylasbunbunny @silquids @squiishymeow @heeambi @yourmomssneakylink @rriribelle @srehyaps @bubblytaetae @t1iqaa @en-heedeungie @wintertxt @sweettaitea @beatrizmel-472 @i03jae @jakef3ver @mamuljji @coqhee @luvyou2ooo @thedemonriot @justalittle-hee @jjongsaengzz @beigerin @mariahxrrera @cherrybeomm @vveebee @mitmit01 @blockbusterhee @yeehawnana @mochamvgz @livelaughluvryanreynolds @ami-soph @sunghoonsperfume @tzyunaes @cripplinghooman @sunooblitz @kolawnk @ningningiloveumarryme @m1kkso @ronniee-26 @wavetokgv @baerinaa @laylasbunbunny (bold cannot be tagged)

enha taglist

© all rights to pshbites 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost my works

[softness-and-shattering]

It would be wonderful if someone could please add an image description for me as I cant rn.

The thing is, if theyre gonna be absurd in legal situations, they cant do the "go silent dodge the question, make you look like a fool to still be arguing". Well they cant without withdrawing whay theyre trying to do, and admit defeat.

So they stay stupid shit, you have hound them about stupid and nonsensical and absurd they are - and also predatory when it comes to sports bans and verifying kids genitalia - because they dont have a defence because it *is* bizarre and unconscionable, theres no defence, so make them eat their words till they give up. If you let it through without comment youre effectively agreeing that it makes sense and is a sound precedent to kay new orders and laws on top of. Dont let them get so much as a toehold.

*Im not USian and idk how this all works exactly legally. But I do know some things about how people argue and try make points about ideology and that kind of thing, and you cannot give them an inch. Theres no compromising with people who dont want you to exist, they will not.stop until you cease to be, there is no middle ground to find. These people are nkt your personal friends and family you can i fluence - if they literally are thrn do your best as is safe - but for almost everyonr they are public figures and people working behind the scenes. Not people you can personally influence. Instead you do have to fight, and you cannot cede an inch. Argue that nothing they declare makes any sense, theyre basically saying all people are female, "larger sex cell" or whatever is not a recognised term with a recognised definition what are they even talking about? How can they say what someones sex is as though sex is immutable when transition - and detransition - medically is literally changing ones sex.

Dont agree to live in their world where their definitions make sense. Dont comply in advance. Use their bullshit to slow them down and or stop them if possible. At least slow them down, make it so much work to get anything done that they dont want to bother. Join other people and divide + conquer the load, much more efficient than individually trying to do everything. Work together. Organise. Tie them up in their own red tape.

“This thing is legally dubious and therefore technically unenforceable.” Is not a “useless liberal gotcha” it’s how legalism works in this country. Tying up stupidly worded EOs in court is the quickest way to keep them from being implemented. It is the definition of “doing something.” But it doesn’t usually involve much tweeting so of course a certain type of leftist feels obligated to mock it.

[yandereforme]

That non-neglected reader thing you reblogged... like what I really want to see is a bio kid reader whose mom is actually the shitty one so when her mom conveniently dies and she gets sent to Bruce she goes from being ignored to having a family that's a little too involved with her.

Like can you imagine going from being largely independent with no supervision to having 10+ people always wanting to be with you, know what you're doing, where you're going, and actually care about you? The sheer whiplash alone... plus, reader would have no idea its not normal for a loving family to install cameras in her room and make her wear a tracker. Just trying to tell her friends a funny story and then go "why are they looking at me like that?"

And Bruce would totally be yandere right from the get go with an abused bio kid cause what do you mean he missed out on holding his baby when she was born and her 1st steps and other milestones just like he did with all of his other kids just for her to be abused by the person who kept her from him!!

I just want more neglected but not by the batfam bio kid reader, but I'm not talented to write something like this myself yet... 😭

- 🔷️

First off, this is super cool, and I am in awe of your brain! Secondly, this is very well articulated.

No, but I also think about this sometimes because you also have to think of the fact that this reader would definitely cling to the affection.

Human beings need connections. It’s literally hardwired into our brain, and that coupled with the touch starvation would definitely lead to you also being very attached. Not Yandere, not anywhere close to the extent of your brothers and father, but enough that you overlook stuff that your friends might say are red flags because you have longed for that sort of companionship for years, and you are finally getting it.

About Bruce, it would arguably be worse for him mentally because the reader is a civilian. Damien was probably mistreated, that’s Cannon, but at least Talia was training. Damien came to him angry and ready to fight just like the other kids.

You on the other hand, come to him bruised and clingy with desperation in your eyes. You don’t want to fight, you are the innocent person he couldn’t protect. He wouldn’t break his no kill, not unless your mother approached you again after he took custody and attempted to take you back. As long as you are in his arms and away from your mother, he can convince himself that he managed to save you, even if it was far too late for his taste.

If your mother tries to come back, though, claiming that she’s changed or even just trying to take you away, he might not kill her himself but he would definitely let Jason kill your mother while he coddles you.

I will probably add more to this concept later because I really like this concept but that’s all I have for now. Thank you for requesting! Please send more of these, I might not have any motivation for my big series, but I do enjoy getting prompts like this. 

[genderqueerdykes]

For the transmasc voices: (tw suicidal thoughts, transandrophobia)

I'm messaging on behalf of my son. I'm NB, wife is transfem, our child is transmasc. He's only 11. He came out a few years ago, is allowed to freely explore and express, and at home he has a great support system.

But he has ALREADY struggled with suicidal thoughts, anxiety, and stress, not just from cishet classmates but from queer peers. He has ALREADY tried to APOLOGIZE for IDing as masc, due to intracommunity reactionary hate. We are ALREADY doing damage control, we have him in therapy, we make sure to celebrate him and lift him up at every opportunity.

He's fucking ELEVEN YEARS OLD and is already being heavily negatively stressed by our own fucking community. His PEERS are also, only 11-13 years old.

This intracommunity bullshit, this deliberate misandry and transandrophobia, is contagious. The children are ALWAYS watching and the vast majority of them do NOT have parents 'in the know' or even supportive, let alone any kind of digital supervision; they SEE YOU. They INTERNALIZE WHAT YOU SAY. They SPREAD IT and they are MIMICKING YOUR FIGHTS.

And when our community screams 'fuck men' 'men are trash' 'yes all men' 'they deserve this' those little caveats of 'oh but not trans men!!' don't actually do shit for anyone except make y'all pat yourselves on the back for being soooo progressive and inclusive. Worse still when they don't even bother with the caveats and just straight up refuse to ever consider nor allow anyone ELSE to consider the unique intersection (yes!! Intersectional fucking theory have y'all heard of it!!!) of both privilege and oppression experienced by transmascs, which is different from the unique *intersection* of oppressions experienced by transfems, which is still different from the unique *intersectional experiences* of still others, and insist no, actually, they're all only the same and actually only transfems can speak at all about any of this and trans men don't have unique experiences and can't have their own language and blah blah blah blah fucking blah.

I can literally see (and foot the bill for!) the harm y'all are doing to yourselves, each other, and to the next generation of queer kids and allies and I am so fucking tired of it. Reactionary hate is communal fucking poison and it ALWAYS involves friendly fire.

oh my god i am mortified but thank you so much for sending this. first of all, i wanted to deeply apologize for what is happening to your son, i have more to say about and to him later, but i want you to know i am very glad you chose to reach out. this affected me in a very real way. i'm not being funny here. a lot of asks don't really get to me, but this struck me like an arrow to the heart and i seriously need people to very carefully read this ask and internalize it. im serious. even if it makes you cry, please re-read it a couple of times. even if you seriously think it's okay to hate men. read this.

men don't just pop into the world men. they're boys first a lot of the time. would you people seriously fucking rather see dead trans boys than living trans men? because that is what you're doing. your incessant gender essentialist bullshit is legitimately getting trans CHILDREN scarred for fucking life and potentially killed. you are potentially actually for real taking a life when you say these things- but are you so happy knowing that there's childrens' blood on your hands?

your son deserves so much better than this holy SHIT. an 11 year old should NOT be having suicidal thoughts, especially over their GENDER. this is not petty internet drama anymore. this is affecting the real world. this is affecting real people. y'all seem to forget that there's a living, breathing person behind every single account you interact with (aside from obvious bots). there are people behind these posts. and you are genuinely affecting them. sure it sounds like a quirky clapback to say "all men should die" or whatever but what about when you say that to someone and it actually kills a man? what about when you're genuinely responsible for ending a life by what you've said and done?

are you prepared to console that man's family? are you prepared to apologize for what you did? are you prepared to understand that this has real life consequences and can literally tear families apart? are you prepared to understand that many parents, including mothers, love their sons? that many people love their relatives who are men? that many people love their husbands and partners? that this would hurt women in a very real way? whether or not you hate all men doesn't matter, but not all women think like this, and this can and will devastate real people in real time. this will hurt women way more than you think.

i wanted to say that i'm glad he has a good support system with you. it must be very comforting to know he has a NB parent to help advocate for him as a trans child. a child. i can't get over that. he should be living his life carefree. he should be playing with other kids, discovering new hobbies, learning about how other people go about their lives, and having fun, but instead he's getting tortured and mocked? for what reason? he's not a tyrant now. he's a boy. boys don't have any power in society. children are not an oppressive class. holy shit

you are doing a great thing by advocating for him. i will do my best to make sure i can, too. i don't need to know your or his name for right now, but i will make sure that i tell his story, because this is beyond fucked up. people need to understand this isn't about views on tiktok and likes on instagram. this is about real people who are hurting. you don't deserve to have to see your child go through all of this intense therapy and pain and suffering. this needs to come to an end.

if you want to share this part of the message with him, i'd like to address him directly. i just wanted to say, that i'm 32 years old, and i realized i was a trans man when i was about 20. i didn't learn the word transgender until i was 19 years old. if i had an awesome NB parent who helped me learn about it at your age, i would've been out as transmasculine, too! i was scared for a while, but some of the happiest years of my life have been while i've been out as a trans guy. i wear what i want now, i talk how i want to, i present how i want to, i love who i want to, and i don't let any of this invalidate me for who i am as a man. i only talk to people who respect me, and there are tons of people out there who love us and see us for who we really are

you're not going to deal with this forever. people are being really, really mean right now, but it's not going to be like this forever. there are a lot of other transmascs out there. if you find other trans boys around your age, do your best to stick with them if they're good to you. it's okay to be a trans boy and its okay to want to be friends with other trans boys. you're not a bad person. you're not mean. you're an awesome kid who's taking the time to explore gender now that it's something you can understand. that's really cool, why wouldn't that be cool?

try not to let them get to you. they are not confident in how they identify and how they feel about themselves. they're taking it out on you. your life matters, it matters so much. other trans boys out there will be so happy to know you exist. you deserve a long, happy life. there's nothing wrong with being a boy or man. we're not bad people. we're capable and deserving of love just like everyone else. your gender isn't anyone else's business. chase your happiness.

[inkandapex]

In the Slopes

Lando Norris x Reader

Chapter Summary: Lando and Y/N have always been inseparable, but during a snowy getaway with friends, their usual dynamic starts to shift. Unspoken feelings begin to resurface.

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: some swearing angst & fluff

Winter isn’t exactly Y/N’s favourite season; she’d much rather be lounging under the warm sun, with her feet in the water and sand tangled in her hair. But alas, Quadrant's annual team-building getaway was set in the snowy slopes of Whistler.

"What could you possibly need this for?" Lando pauses his game and turns in his seat as he hears Max hysterically laughing at the whistle he found in Y/N's luggage.

"Give me that! Why are you two even here? Don't you have to pack your own stuff or something" Y/N whines and snatches the whistle from Max, tossing it across her bedroom.

"Max, be nice. It took a lot of grovelling to get her to agree to be in the video, let alone come with us," Lando laughs, turning back around to focus on his game.

"You better not be messing with my sims Lando, I spent hours building that house from scratch" Y/N sighs as she sits on the floor with a pile of clothes in her arms

"I don't know what you're so worried about Y/N, I'm not the best at skiing either. You'll pick it up quick" Max says as he sits on the floor helping her fold the clothes

"Yeah, remember you did so well when we did that karting video. You even ended up liking it more than you thought you would"

"Alright enough pep talk, i'm not used to you muppets acting so nice. Pizza's here. Norris get your ass off my computer and help me fit all of these into my bag" Y/N stands up as she receives a notification on her phone

Lando sits across from Max as Y/N leaves the room. Max watches his friend attempt to tidily fold a shirt before he lets off a scoff.

"What?"

"Please tell me you're finally telling her this week, I can't keep a secret any longer. P is starting to notice"

"Keep you voice down! And what do you mean P's starting to notice" Lando hisses, leaning back to peek out the door checking if Y/n was anywhere within earshot

"Mate, I get so nervous when she asks about you two! The other day, she asked if you two were together, and I just got all weird and defensive, trying to explain why you'd be hanging out together, when she was clearly just asking cause you both played padel that morning and she needed to ask Y/n about a dress" Max explains, almost out of breath, running his hand across his hair

"You're acting like it's so easy for me. Oh, thanks for being such a great friend for the decade I’ve known you, Y/N. By the way, I have feelings for you—no, scratch that—I’m in love with you." Lando chucks the shirt at Max, rolling his eyes as he lies back on the floor.

"That works"

"Shut up.... I just— its y/n, you know? I fuck this up, everything changes. Its not just about me and her"

"Look, I don’t want to get in your head, but I honestly think she might feel the same way. She shows up to races, she’s there for you whenever you need her, shit your family loves her. You're overthinking this, tell her how you feel. That's a good start"

Lando sits up, propping himself on his elbows, a defeated look crossing his face. "Exactly, she might feel the same way... if she doesn’t, it’s gonna get weird. I can't ruin our friendship like that"

"I can meddle"

"No! No meddling! This ski trip is for the team. When I find the courage to tell her, i will"

"More like when you find your balls..."

"Foods here! Come out here, no eating in my bedroom!" Lando kicks Max's leg just in time for Y/N to announce her return, pizza boxes in hand.

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After a long day of skiing and filming, the group made their way back to the cabin just before sunset, just enough time to unwind before dinner. Y/N sank into the plush sofa by the crackling fireplace, the warmth from the flames making her sigh in relief. Wrapped up in a thick, soft blanket, she leaned back, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone.

"Wanna grab a little snack before dinner? I saw this cute cafe near by" Pietra plops down beside her, laying her head on her lap

Y/N lets out a groan, putting her phone away "P, please i'm so sore. I honestly think you'd have to drag me by my feet for dinner tonight"

"Oh but you did great today. You should've seen Max his first time on the slopes, it was almost sad." P sits up to give y/n some relief

"Where is he anyways? Go ask him to go to the cafe with you- bring me back a muffin while you're at it"

"He’s with his boyfriend, going over clips from today…" Pietra pauses, crossing her legs and narrowing her eyes at Y/N, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Speaking of my boyfriend’s boyfriend—what’s going on between you and Lando?" She leans forward slightly, her gaze sharp and accusing, as if she’s piecing something together.

This makes y/n frown, confusion spreading across her face "Me and Lando? What do you mean?"

"Come on, Y/N," Pietra says with a playful grin, leaning in as she pokes Y/N’s arm. "Ever since the season ended, you two have been hanging out way more. And didn’t you spend Christmas with his family? Oh, and let’s not forget today! On the slopes, he was literally stuck by your side the entire time—he’s usually off showing off or racing with the guys." She wiggles her eyebrows, clearly enjoying the tease, her gaze never leaving Y/N as if waiting for some kind of confession.

Y/N laughs, giving Pietra a gentle shove. "Did you hit your head out there?" she teases.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Lando and I hang out all the time, it’s just that we’ve had more time recently. Plus, it’s not the first time I’ve spent Christmas with the Norris family." She shrugs casually, then continues, her tone softening slightly as she recalls the day. "And as for today, well, it was my first time skiing, and Lando insisted I join the trip to begin with. I guess he just wanted to make sure someone was there to keep me from falling on my face the whole time." She laughs again, shaking her head, clearly not fazed by the teasing, but her explanation still carries a hint of warmth.

"Huh... I could've sworn you were hiding something. I mean even Max acts all weird whenever I bring the two of you up"

"Max? What? About Lando and I?"

"Yeah, he gets all defensive whenever I bring up the two of you," Pietra says with a shrug, her eyes narrowing playfully. "I thought you two finally sucked it up and acted on whatever’s going on between you."

"Whatever's going on?"

"Come on y/n. You clearly have feelings for Lando. You may lie to everyone else but I see through you" Pietra laughs

"I’m— no. Me? Feelings for Lando?" Y/N stutters, her voice faltering as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, suddenly feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. She tugs at the edge of her blanket, avoiding Pietra's gaze.

She forces a nervous laugh, but it sounds hollow, the tension in the room thickening. "Yeah, right. No— no, that’s not…" Her sentence fizzles out, her mind racing, but she can’t quite find the right words.

Pietra's jaw drops, her eyes widening in surprise before a sly grin slowly spreads across her face. "Oh my gosh..." she murmurs, her voice rising with the realization. "I was just messing with you, but—" She leans in closer, her smile growing wider as she watches Y/N squirm. "You do have feelings for him!"

Y/N's heart skips a beat, the words hitting her harder than expected. Was it that obvious? Did everyone see it? The weight of it all settles heavily on her, her stomach flipping in a way that both unsettles and excites her. "No, I—" she starts, but her voice is barely a whisper, unsure of what to say next.

"Y/N!" Pietra exclaims, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and excitement. "He obviously feels the same way. Why else would Max be acting like that whenever I ask about you two?"

Y/N's stomach tightens, a wave of nervous energy making her insides churn. Could it be? Was it really possible that Lando felt the same way about her? Her heart skips at the thought, but then the doubts creep in, drowning out any sense of hope. No, he couldn’t possibly... Lando was Lando, the guy who was always surrounded by people, always the center of attention, effortlessly charming everyone around him. And she... she was just Y/N. Just a friend.

He only sees me as a friend. The words loop in her mind. Nothing more than that. They’d always been friends, nothing had ever suggested anything different, right? She feels a strange tightness in her throat, as if even acknowledging the possibility of something more would shatter the delicate balance they’d always had.

"Oh, honey, I’m sorry," Pietra says softly, her tone shifting as she notices the distant look in Y/N's eyes.

"I didn’t mean to make it weird," she adds, her voice softening. "But you know, everyone’s been kind of... wondering." Her eyes meet Y/N’s, a mix of empathy and understanding in them, as if offering a lifeline in the middle of the uncertainty.

Y/N lets out a laugh, shaking her head as she looks at Pietra. "You're just saying that to make the voices go away," she teases, trying to deflect, though her tone carries an edge of nervousness.

Pietra grins, unfazed. "No, seriously! A few of the newer people on the team genuinely thought you two were a thing when they first joined Quadrant." She leans back, raising an eyebrow as she watches Y/N's reaction, knowing full well that the thought might have crossed her mind too. The comment lingers, like an unspoken truth that makes the room feel a little smaller.

The sound of footsteps coming from the stairs behind them makes both Y/N and Pietra turn their heads in sync.

"You're not getting ready yet?" Max says, his voice teasing but with a hint of impatience. "Our reservation's in an hour, and we're starving. We can't be late."

He walks down the stairs with Lando trailing just behind him, moving toward the two on the sofa. Max leans down, planting a gentle kiss on Pietra's head as he passes, a small smile tugging at his lips. Lando follows closely, his gaze briefly flickering to Y/N before he glances away, his expression unreadable. The atmosphere shifts again, subtle but charged, as everyone feels the undercurrent of what’s unspoken.

"We might have to drag Y/N by her feet to the restaurant—her words, not mine," Pietra laughs softly, her voice playful as Max sits beside her, pulling her closer for a quick cuddle.

This catches Lando’s attention, and he pushes away from the counter in the kitchen, his footsteps quick and purposeful as he strides across the room toward the couch. He stops just short of them, his eyes narrowing slightly with concern. "Why? What’s wrong? You feeling okay?" he asks, his tone laced with genuine care, though his usual confident swagger seems a little softer.

"No—yeah, I’m okay, just sore, really," Y/N says, her voice a little shaky as she forces a smile at Lando. "I’ll be fine. P, we should get ready."

She stands up quickly, giving Lando a brief but reassuring smile before turning towards the stairs. As Y/N begins to head up, Pietra stands too, shooting Max a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed. Max raises an eyebrow, but Pietra simply follows Y/N up the stairs.

----------------------------------------------

Dinner went by smoothly, the lively chatter and laughter around the table giving Y/N the perfect distraction from the lingering thoughts she’d been trying to push away. Lando’s presence felt comforting, like a steady anchor, though she couldn’t help but notice the occasional glance he threw her way—just enough to keep the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, but not enough to make her feel overwhelmed. For now, she was content to enjoy the evening, letting the connection with her friends fill the space that her doubts had briefly occupied.

Y/N lies on her bed, the soft glow from her phone casts a faint light across the room, but her mind is still tangled in the conversation earlier. She barely notices the time passing until a soft knock at her door pulls her attention away.

She sits up quickly, smoothing her hair back, and calls out, "Come in."

Lando slips into her room quietly, a bottle of water in his hands. He stands at the foot of the bed "Hey, sorry, were you about to sleep?" he asks, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of concern.

"No, you're good," Y/N replies with a small laugh "Just on my phone... struggling to sleep, honestly." She smiles up at him, her eyes warm as she pats the space beside her. "What's up?"

Lando hesitates for just a moment, he crosses the room and sits down, the familiar weight of his presence settling next to her. He reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a small pill bottle, offering it to her along with the water bottle.

"Painkillers," he says, his tone casual but with an underlying kindness. "Thought you could use some if you want to be able to hit the slopes again tomorrow. We’re doing the sled race, remember?"

Y/N lets out a relieved sigh, her shoulders relaxing as she takes the pill from him, followed by a sip of water. "Thank you," she says, her voice soft. "I can’t believe I forgot to pack some."

Lando waves it off with a small grin. "All good," he says, his eyes meeting hers briefly. "Take one tomorrow before we head out too if you're still hurting."

She nods, feeling the knot in her shoulders start to loosen. The warmth of his presence is more comforting than she expected, and for a moment, the weight of everything else melts away.

"Do you fancy an ice cream?" Lando asks, a mischievous smirk creeping across his face as he nudges Y/N gently with his elbow.

Y/N raises an eyebrow at him, laughter bubbling up in her chest. "Ice cream? It’s almost midnight— and, uhmm... oh right, it's freezing outside," she says, her voice light with amusement. She shakes her head, grinning at his antics, but the playful glint in his eyes makes it clear he’s not giving up on the idea so easily.

Lando shrugs dramatically, the smirk never leaving his face. "Who says you can’t have ice cream in the middle of the night?" he teases, nudging her again as if trying to convince her to join his impromptu late-night mission.

-----------------------------------------------------------

The two walk back to the cabin, their laughter echoing in the crisp night air as they reminisce about the day’s adventures. Every so often, their arms gently brush against each other, the shared warmth a quiet comfort between them.

"Aren’t you glad I made you come up here?" Lando says, a playful gleam in his eye. "Next year, you could even try snowboarding" He wiggles his brows at Y/N, his voice teasing as if he’s already picturing her falling all over again.

Y/N groans dramatically, her breath visible in the cold night. "Can't we just go to the beach or somewhere warm that doesn’t require me to fight for my life and fall on my ass every couple of meters?" She stops walking, planting her feet firmly in protest, her face scrunched in exaggerated annoyance.

Lando laughs, his eyes twinkling as he glances at her. "Come on, you big baby," he teases, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently toward the cabin. "Let’s get inside. Your nose is so red."

Y/N huffs but lets him pull her along, the warmth of his hand in hers making her forget the cold. She can’t help but smile, even if she’d never admit how much she enjoyed their little banter.

They stand just outside Y/N's door, Y/N looks up at him with a playful smirk, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. "Thank you for tonight," she says with a hint of warmth in her voice. "Though if I wake up with a cold tomorrow, I’m blaming you and your ice cream escapade."

Lando chuckles, his eyes softening as he leans against the doorframe, his smile lazy but genuine. "I’ll be sure to nurse you back to health," he says, his voice low and easy, but with an undertone of sincerity. "I’ll be across the hall if you need me."

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Silence hangs in the air, a tension growing, subtle but undeniable. Their eyes meet and linger, flicking back and forth between each other's lips, the space between them feeling smaller with every passing second.

Lando’s breath catches slightly as he notices the way her lips part just a fraction, and Y/N, almost without realizing, shifts a little closer, the energy between them thickening.

Y/N takes a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket as she glances at Lando. “Lando... I— I’ve been thinking about us—” Her voice is quieter than she meant it to be.

Lando’s eyes widen in a split-second of panic, and he quickly cuts her off, almost too quickly. “Us? About us?” His tone is a little too sharp, his expression tight, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Y/N freezes, but then gathers her thoughts, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Yes, our relationship—” She bites her lip, her heart pounding in her chest as she takes a step forward.

Lando blinks rapidly, trying to process her words. “—our relationship?” His voice cracks slightly, and his gaze shifts to the floor before quickly snapping back to hers.

Y/N nods, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. “Yes, well, no, I mean, our relationship as friends, of course!” She laughs nervously, her voice trailing off, trying to downplay the growing knot in her stomach.

Lando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah, of course... uhmm, what about it?”

Y/N’s heart sinks a little, but she tries to push through the discomfort. “I just… I don’t know, Lando. I’ve been wondering if maybe we’re both feeling the same thing, you know? About... more than just friendship?” Her voice falters at the end, uncertainty creeping in.

Lando’s face flushes slightly, and he takes a step back, a defensive edge to his tone. “Oh well I mean, yeah we’re good friends, right? Best friends even, you and Max.” He says it quickly, almost too quickly, his words stumbling over themselves as if he's trying to convince himself just as much as her.

The silence that follows feels like an eternity. Y/N looks away, her stomach sinking, the words she was about to say hanging heavy in the air between them. She clears her throat, trying to force a smile, but it feels like it’s made of glass, fragile and thin. “Right,” she says softly, her voice almost too quiet. “I get it.”

Lando stands there for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between relief and regret. He can feel the weight of the situation, but he’s not sure what to say next. He couldn't bring himself to tell her how he really felt. "You... feel that way right? I mean you see me as your best friend?" he says quickly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but stopping short when he realizes how awkward it feels. "Maybe even your bestest friend, even over Max or P" Lando lets out a nervous chuckle in the attempt to ease the uneasiness filling the air.

Y/N nods, her eyes not meeting his. “Yeah, of course. Max isn't even top 3. Hey, I’m gonna head in and get some rest.” y/n attempts to return the banter as she turns slightly, her hand already on the doorknob, her pulse still racing from the conversation.

She pauses at the door, giving him a quick glance over her shoulder, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Goodnight, Lando," she says softly before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Lando stands there for a moment, his hand still lingering in the air, unsure of whether he should follow her or just walk away. After a few moments, he sighs, shaking his head as he walks back toward his own room, the unspoken tension lingering in the silence of the hallway.

-------------------------------------------------

Lando laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the thoughts of the conversation with Y/N replaying over and over in his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling of regret, the missed opportunity to tell her how he really felt. Every time he closed his eyes, her face kept coming back to him, the look in her eyes that made him realize he might have just ruined everything by not saying what he’d wanted to say.

The sun was barely up when Lando found himself standing in the hallway, his heart racing as he made his way to Max and P's room.

"Max, you've got to get up, mate," Lando whispered urgently, his voice low but insistent, shaking Max awake.

Max let out a groan, his eyes barely open as he tried to make out his friend’s figure in the dim light of the room, the sun just starting to peek through the closed curtains. "What? Lando. What time is it?" His voice was thick with sleep.

"It’s... it’s early, I know. But I need to talk. I can’t stop thinking about it, mate. I messed up."

Max rubbed his eyes, finally managing to sit up, his confusion turning into concern. "Wait, what happened?" He yawned and stretched, still groggy but fully aware that Lando was rarely this urgent unless something serious was going on.

Lando ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little as he tried to find the words. "I didn’t tell her how I really feel, Max. And now I’m just stuck. I can’t stop thinking about it. I— I think I might’ve blown it." His voice was strained, frustration seeping through every word.

Max sat up straighter now, fully awake as he processed his friend's words. “Wait you’re talking about Y/N, right?” He rubbed his face, trying to make sense of Lando’s sudden shift in mood.

Lando paused, looking at Max, his face tight with the weight of everything. “She brought it up, she asked about us- our friendship and I just froze. I panicked, Max. I said I think she's my best friend, my closest friend and if you could've seen the look on her face... now I don’t know what to do. It’s messing with me."

"You idiot" a sharp toned voice makes the two look to the other side of the bed, a once sleeping P has now pulled her eye mask off, a dissatisfied look on her face. "She obviously likes you too Lando. You two are just too scared of actually facing how you truly feel. I literally had her confess to me last night before dinner"

Lando blinked in surprise, the realization hitting him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Max, on the other hand, sat back with an amused expression, taking in the scene unfolding before him.

"Wait—what?" Lando managed after a beat, completely caught off guard.

Max let out a heavy sigh, his tone softening. "Lando, you’ve been dodging it for how long now? What did you expect? That she’d just magically figure it out? You’ve got to be honest with her, mate. If you really feel something for her, you can’t just pretend it’s nothing. You owe her the truth".

Lando nodded, taking in his friend’s words. "Yeah, you're right. I just... don’t want to mess things up more than I already have."

Max shook his head, a knowing look on his face. “You’ve got to take the chance, mate. Just... talk to her. Don’t wait any longer. I can't even begin to think about whats going on in her head right now- you pretty much shut her down”

Lando sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t know what to say. What if she doesn't believe me— I don't want her to think i'm playing with her feelings on purpose, it was a genuine lapse of judgement I panicked.”

"Well, that’s the risk, isn’t it?" Max replied, his voice matter-of-fact. "But at least you’ll know for sure. The worst thing you can do is keep holding back. You’re already in deep, mate. Just go for it."

Lando sat silently for a moment, taking in Max’s advice, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety swirling inside him. He knew Max was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. With a long sigh, he stood up from the bed, a new sense of determination in his steps.

“Alright,” Lando said, giving Max a look of appreciation.

Max gave him a reassuring nod. "Just don’t overthink it."

Lando nodded, heading for the door. Before he left, he turned back to P speaking up as she put her eye mask back on. “You know, if it goes horribly wrong, I’m gonna kick your ass for hurting her.”

Max chuckled, leaning back into the pillows. “Yeah, i'd take that as motivation to fix this. Go get her, Lando.”

As Lando walked down the hallway, his mind was set. He couldn’t let another day go by without telling Y/N how he felt. It was now or never.

---------------------

Lando had been pacing around the kitchen for what felt like hours, trying to gather his thoughts. Max and P walk towards him, the nervous energy was starting to crawl back under his skin.

"Have you guys seen—" he started, but P immediately cut him off, her tone firm yet surprisingly quiet.

"What did you do?" she asked, a knowing look in her eyes as she crossed her arms. "I thought you left our room this morning ready to fix things between the two of you."

Lando's mouth went dry, his words caught in his throat. He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly feeling like he was fifteen again and in trouble with his parents. "I tried, I peeked in her room and she was sleeping and I felt bad i didn't want to wake her. I came back a few hours later she wasn't in her room" His voice was a little shaky, and his hands fumbled with the sleeve of his jacket as he tried to avoid their eyes.

P raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. "So you didn’t do it? That's why she won't leave her room" crossing her arms even tighter, clearly not buying his half-hearted excuse. "You’re seriously going to stand there and tell me you didn’t even try again?"

Lando swallowed hard, the weight of the situation settling in. "I... I didn't know she was back. I don't even know where she went this morning— wait she won't leave her room?"

"She said she's feeling sick and that she caught a cold but she's clearly been crying. Lando she won't even tell me about what happened last night, she's hurting"

Max, who had been listening quietly. "Mate, you’re a mess," he said, sitting down on the counter with his arms crossed, his tone matter-of-fact. "You’ve been overthinking this for months now. It’s honestly exhausting. Now you've managed to drag her into this mess."

Lando exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration clear.

Max gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Mate, you’re already screwing it up by not talking to her. Go up there and fix it"

P stepped forward, her voice a little gentler now, but still firm. "Just go talk to her. Tell her exactly how you feel. You’ll either get your answer, or you won’t. But you can’t keep pretending like nothing’s going on."

With a deep breath, he nodded. "I’ll go talk to her. Try to occupy the rest of the team while we're gone" He straightened up, trying to shake off the nervousness that had settled in his stomach like a knot.

Max smiled, though there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Don't worry, we'll figure something out. And Lando?" he called as he started to head for the door.

"Yeah?" he turned back, his mind already racing with what to say to her.

"Don’t come back until you’ve told her. And if you screw it up, you’re buying us dinner for a week" Max said with a wink.

Lando shot him a look, but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "I’ll keep that in mind," he muttered, and with one final deep breath, he turned to head toward Y/N’s room.

This time, there was no turning back.

--------------------------

Another knock echoes through the room, causing Y/N to stir in her blanket cocoon. She sniffles and clears her throat, trying to hide the evidence of a long night’s worth of tears.

"P, I told you I’ll be fine. I don’t want anyone catching my cold. You guys go have fun," she calls out, her voice thick with exhaustion.

"It’s me," Lando’s voice filters through the door, catching Y/N off guard. She sits up quickly, her heart racing—what on earth could he want now?

Y/N hurriedly wipes at her face, but the mirror doesn’t lie. Her eyes are swollen, her cheeks streaked with dried tears, and her nose is a fiery red. She exhales in defeat.

With a soft groan, she cracks the door open "I already told Max and P I won’t be joining you guys," she says quietly, her voice heavy with guilt. "I’m really sorry, Lando. You should go... Everyone else is probably waiting."

Lando’s gaze softens, his brow furrowing as he steps closer, his tone gentle but knowing. "You’re upset about last night."

"I don’t know why I said what I said, but that’s not how I really feel," Lando insists, his voice laced with frustration, but the sight of the frown etched on Y/N’s face only deepens his anxiety.

Y/N’s gaze drops to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper, soft and tinged with hurt. "She told you, didn’t she?" The words feel like a weight she can’t shake off. She never imagined P would share something so personal, and now, she feels more exposed than ever.

Lando hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, well… technically, she overheard me talking to Max about last night and—"

"You told Max about last night?" Y/N interrupts. She lifts her gaze, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What, me trying to confess my feelings for you and you immediately dismissing it wasn’t embarrassing enough? You had to go tell Max?"

“Y/N, no! That’s not what I—" Lando stammers. He takes a breath, gathering his courage. "I like you. I’ve liked you for months now. Max was the only person I’ve told.” The confession spills out before he can stop it, and for the first time, a sense of relief washes over him.

Y/N’s expression falters, a deep frown settling on her face as she tries to process his words. "Don't do that... please," she says softly, almost pleading. Her voice cracks slightly as she shakes her head. "You don’t have to lie to make me feel better about this." She struggles to fully comprehend what he’s just said.

"But I'm not lying!" Lando insists, his voice filled with urgency. His hands shake as he tries to convey the truth, the weight of his feelings finally spilling out. "For months, I’ve been debating whether or not to act on it. I didn’t know if you felt the same way... I didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t." He reaches out, his hand trembling as he gently tries to take hers, hoping for a sign that she might believe him.

Y/N is still caught in the confusion of it all, but as his hand brushes against hers, something settles in her chest. The warmth of his touch brings a surprising sense of comfort, and she swallows back the confusion that’s been choking her. "But... last night?" she asks quietly, her voice shaky.

Lando’s eyes soften, and he looks down, clearly conflicted. "I panicked," he admits, his words coming out in a rush. "You bringing up how we might feel about each other was the last thing on my mind. Fuck, I didn’t even think it was possible. All the scenarios I made in my head were about how I’d finally tell you... how much I wanted to be with you." He looks up at her then, vulnerable and raw, his expression filled with regret. "I was just so scared you wouldn’t feel the same."

Y/N takes a deep breath, her chest tight with emotion. She finally meets Lando's gaze, and the moment their eyes lock, it’s as if time slows. The words that have been tangled in her mind for so long finally slip free, and she whispers, "I do... feel the same way."

A small, almost hesitant smile begins to form on Lando’s face. It’s the kind of smile that tells her he’s been holding his breath, waiting for this moment, unsure if he’d ever hear the words he desperately needed to hear. His eyes soften as he takes a step closer, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s falling into place.

Lando’s hands gently cup her face, his touch tender and careful, as if she’s something precious he’s afraid of breaking. His thumbs lightly brush against her cheeks before he reaches up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. He lets his fingers linger there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin under his touch, before his hand gently rests on the side of her neck.

There’s a quiet intensity in the air now, a shared understanding that neither of them wants to break.

Lando’s smile widens ever so slightly, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone in a way that sends a warm shiver down her spine. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that," he says softly, his voice still tinged with disbelief, as though he can’t quite believe this is happening.

Lando leans in, his forehead gently resting against hers, as if allowing the moment to sink in. There’s no rush, no need to fill the space with words anymore. All that’s left is the feeling between them—a feeling that says more than words ever could.

Lando’s breath catches as he hovers just inches from her face, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips. In a voice barely above a whisper, he murmurs, “I’m going to kiss you now.” his breath warm against her skin.

Y/N’s lips curl into a soft smirk, her eyes glinting with a mix of playfulness and something deeper. “About time,” she teases, her voice light, but there's a knowing edge to it. “For an F1 driver, you're quite slow.”

Lando’s eyes flash with amusement, a soft laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “You’re lucky I really like you,” he responds, his voice warm with affection and the lingering hint of a smile. Before she can say another word, he closes the gap between them, his lips brushing gently against hers.

The kiss is slow at first, a gentle exploration, as if both of them are savouring the moment that’s been so long in the making. Lando’s hand moves to the back of her neck, pulling her a little closer as the kiss deepens, a surge of relief and longing finally being released between them. For all the uncertainty, the teasing, the games—they’re here now, and everything else fades away.

[juyeoz]

I-N-L-O-V-E LIKE THE MOVIES — 017 : we failed (0.5k words)

In all honesty, Jaehyun loved his life at the moment. He was happy. Way happier than he was before. 

“And then what?” He asked intently as he waited for you to continue your story. You always had a smile on your face when you were near him. It was one of his favourite sights ever.

He hummed in response to everything you said, fighting back many smiles in the process. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t like you a lot. 

“Then, I unlocked my phone and saw a picture of her staring right at me. She really tried to make it seem like she didn’t take any too.” You said while laughing. 

The smile he tried to fight back many times broke through his weakened barrier, causing him to bashfully look down. There was no doubt about it, everything about you made him feel more flustered than ever. 

Though this wasn’t the first time he felt this way, it was for sure the most. 

“Jaehyun,” you called, nudging his arm to gain his attention. “Someone’s calling for you.” 

Jaehyun looked up in confusion. He already told his friends his plans for today, so who else could it be?

“Oh.” His voice came out as a mere whisper. It was breathless.

“Do you know her?” You asked, confused by his sudden shift in moods. In silence, Jaehyun nodded. His eyes were slightly widened at the sight before him—Jane.

He hated the fact that he knew who she was. He hated the past they had together. He hated everything about her. However, that was only how his mind felt. His heart felt other things, lingering feelings he pushed down.

Jane smiled at Jaehyun, a big grin. One that she always flashed him when they hung out together. 

“Hold on.” Jaehyun mumbled and walked towards the girl who stood at the front gates. You whispered an ‘okay’ in response and watched him leave. You couldn’t do anything else but ponder on who that girl could’ve been. 

Who was she to Jaehyun for him to react in such a way?

“Why are you here?” He asked, staring into Jane’s eyes. She had a scarf wrapped around her neck, adjusting it to cover her grin.

“Did you miss me? Look, I brought you this—” 

“Why are you here?” Jaehyun repeated, rudely interrupting her. She paused her hand movements in her side bag and looked over at Jaehyun. 

“You didn’t reply to my text,” she said with a soft laugh. “I wanted to say hi and see how you were doing. Is that a problem?” 

“Why can’t you leave me alone? It’s been 7 months since we last spoke.”

“Don’t know.” Jane said with a smile. In the past, such a thing would leave Jaehyun a flustered mess, however now, it left him aggravated.

“Let’s be honest, Jaehyun, you and I both know you can’t survive without me. Eventually, you’ll come back without me even needing to try.” 

“Don’t keep your hopes up. Please, from now on, leave me alone. I don’t see you that way anymore.” Jaehyun felt offended by her words. It wasn’t a lie, it was something he constantly did in the past. He hoped to leave it there and start anew with you, his current crush.

However, that would have to wait, especially since you weren’t standing in the same spot he told you to wait before he left.

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NOTE — the way i found out illtm and gg ends on the same thursday next week like ohh… ok…

BOYNEXTDOOR PERM TAGLIST — @ancnymcnzjy @miumura @ilovedallywinston @i03jae @leehanwish @borednia

ILLTM TAGLIST — @shotaddicted @molensworld @jvngw0nlvr @livibbu @saritahwang @squiishymeow @veerooniicaa @iamsimplyasimp @s0shroe @kazemiya @rihaee @luceyyy2 @skuyafj @tkooooop @unhakki @dylanobr1ens @heewrld @stvrriki @aimonou @ellezra @peanutbutterjam505 @moonhuiz @cherrytaesan @hollxe1 @enzstr @ktzuki @heeheesang @httpenhoon @letwiiparkjay @elegancefr @woorcve @miyawwn @soobiverse @lynnimini @dorritoni @tanghuyuj @somber-reads @tadadw @beomgyus-right-eyelash @heegyuworld @sol3chu @cl4ir0l0v3r @bunnyeonny @itsactuallylina @ribbeoms

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