#seeing the little things in every day life

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[theonottsbxtch]

MY PEACE | MV1

an: this was a request from a lovely first time requester ( @pinkinternetstarlight )i had so much fun with this except i probably went about this differently than was expected maybe? i don’t know but i hope everyone enjoys it

wc: 1.9k

THE MONACO SKYLINE GLITTERED outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s apartment, but the man inside couldn’t see it. Not really. He was slumped on the sofa, his head buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, still dressed in the sweat-soaked polo and race trousers he hadn’t bothered to peel off since getting home. The hollow thrum of the media circus still echoed in his ears—reporters’ voices, headlines dissecting every moment of his race, every mistake, every edge of aggression they couldn’t wait to sharpen into a weapon.

The living room was dim, the only light a faint glow from the kitchen where she stood, stacking plates from his barely-touched dinner into the dishwasher. He hadn’t asked her to come over; he never had to. She just… knew. She always knew.

She moved with quiet purpose, tying her hair back with a loose band, sleeves rolled up as she made her way around his space—tidying up the chaos he left in his wake. To anyone else, it might have seemed like she was cleaning for the sake of it, but he recognised it for what it was: her way of looking after him, of making sure that when the noise of the world threatened to cave him in, the corners of his life she touched felt a little less sharp.

He glanced up when she wandered back into the room, her bare feet soft against the wooden floor, carrying a folded blanket. She sat beside him without a word, the way she always did, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. Without asking, she unfolded the blanket and draped it over his lap, tucking it in just so.

His breath hitched—he didn’t mean it to, but there it was, like a crack in a dam he spent his whole life patching up. He turned his head slightly, enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume, and for the first time all day, the ache behind his ribs quietened.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

She turned to him, one corner of her mouth lifting in a small, knowing smile. “I know I don’t.”

He let his head fall back, tipping to the side until it came to rest against her lap. His body felt too heavy to hold up anymore, but here—here was lightness. Her fingers slid through his hair, slow and deliberate, untangling the knots the day had left behind.

The monster inside him, the one he kept chained under the weight of the world’s expectations, fell silent.

“Dinner’s in the fridge for tomorrow,” she said softly. “And I’ll stay the night if you want.”

He shut his eyes. He wanted to say he didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve her—but the words wouldn’t come. All he managed was a nod, and when she leaned back against the cushions, her hands still in his hair, he let himself breathe.

The silence between them stretched on, but it wasn’t heavy. It was soft, the kind that let him loosen the grip on his thoughts, if only a little. He stared at the darkened skyline, the city lights casting faint patterns on the walls, and tried not to get lost in his head. But it was a losing battle. It always was.

The thought crept in before he could stop it. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her.

The words sounded like his own, but the voice behind them wasn’t. It was his father’s, sharp and clipped, laced with that same cold disdain that had haunted his childhood. His dad had always seen her as a weakness, a threat to his focus and discipline. How many times had he warned Max about letting anyone get too close? About “wasting energy” on things that didn’t matter?

And yet, here she was, the only person who’d stayed. The only one who’d made it through the wreckage of his life without turning away.

Her hand was still in his hair, her fingers slow and soothing, but he could feel the faint shift of her breathing as she glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Max,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the noise in his head. “You’ve got a flight tomorrow morning. You should shower and get some sleep.”

He opened his eyes, the weight of the day still pressing down on him, and turned to look at her. “I’ll sleep on the plane,” he mumbled, though he didn’t move.

“Shower first,” she said, firm but kind. “You’ll feel better.”

He didn’t argue. He never could, not with her. With a quiet sigh, he sat up, the blanket slipping to the floor, and dragged himself to his feet. The thought of standing under hot water—letting it wash away the grease and grime and whatever else the day had left on him—wasn’t as bad as he let on.

By the time he stepped into the shower, he could hear her moving about in the kitchen again. He let the water beat against his skin, his hands braced against the tiled wall as the heat loosened the tension in his shoulders. Still, his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the same loop: his dad’s voice, the doubt, the sense of never being enough.

When he finally emerged, towel slung around his waist, the smell of something warm and sweet drifted through the apartment. He found her in the bedroom, already curled up against the pillows, a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. On the bedside table sat another mug—tea, the way she always made it for him, a perfect balance of strong and soothing.

She didn’t look up as he walked in, her nose buried in a book, the soft glow of the bedside lamp making the room feel impossibly safe.

He took the mug and sat on the other side of the bed, cradling it in his hands as the steam curled up around his face. For a while, they didn’t speak. She kept reading, and he let himself lean back against the headboard, the warmth of the tea spreading through him.

It wasn’t until he was ready—until the words that had been choking him all day finally loosened—that he spoke.

“They hate me,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a rasp.

She looked up from her book, closing it without a hint of impatience, and turned her full attention to him. “Who?”

“Everyone,” he said. “The media. The fans. Hell, even Checo, sometimes.” He laughed bitterly. “They don’t even know me, but they’ve already decided I’m the villain. And the worst part is… I think they’re right.”

Her brows knitted together, and she set her mug down on the table. “Max,” she said, her voice steady, her gaze unflinching, “you’re not a villain.”

He shook his head, staring into his tea. “I don’t know how you can say that. You’ve seen it—how I am on the track, how I am off it. I push people away, I—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat.

“You’re human,” she said simply. “You’re not perfect, but no one is. And everything they say about you? That’s noise. It’s not who you are.”

His hands tightened around the mug, and he looked at her, his expression raw, like he was seeing her for the first time.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said, his voice breaking. “You could’ve left a long time ago. Sometimes I think you should’ve.”

She held his gaze, her eyes calm but fierce. “And sometimes I think you forget that I get to make my own choices,” she said softly. “I’m here because I want to be, Max. Not because I feel sorry for you. Not because you owe me anything. Just because you’re you.”

The weight in his chest shifted, just a fraction, but enough. He didn’t know how to respond to that—not yet—but when she picked up her book again, leaning against his shoulder as if nothing had changed, he let himself close his eyes and breathe.

For tonight, it was enough.

The tea was long forgotten on the bedside table, the room quiet save for the faint rustle of her turning a page and the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. Max shifted under the duvet, his body still heavy with exhaustion, but the ache behind his ribs had eased, just enough to let him breathe.

She lay beside him, her book propped against her knees, the light from the lamp catching the soft curve of her face. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to ignore the pang of something sharp and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but tonight it seemed impossible to ignore.

He adjusted his pillow and turned on his side, facing her. “You’re going to read all night, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low, teasing.

She glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not if you need to sleep.”

“I always need sleep is what you say, no?.”

She laughed softly, her head tipping to the side as she closed her book, slipping it onto the nightstand. “Alright, I’m done.” She reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into comfortable darkness.

He shifted closer instinctively, the warmth of her presence drawing him in. They’d done this a hundred times before—falling asleep in the same bed, his arm slung over her waist or her head tucked against his chest—but tonight felt different. The space between them was charged with something unspoken, a tension he didn’t have the courage to name.

She settled into the pillows, her back facing him, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into him without a second thought.

“Goodnight, Max,” she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy.

He rested his chin lightly against the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. “Goodnight,” he said, though his mind was far from quiet.

The weight of the day, the weight of everything, seemed to dissipate as he held her. She didn’t demand anything of him, didn’t ask him to explain himself or prove that he was more than what the world saw. She just… was. And somehow, that was enough to quiet the storm inside him.

His eyes fluttered shut, the warmth of her body lulling him into something close to peace. And before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, barely more than a whisper, lost to the dark.

“I love you.”

She didn’t stir. Didn’t react.

For a moment, panic flared in his chest—what if she’d heard him? What if she didn’t feel the same? But as her breathing deepened, slow and steady in the quiet of the room, he realised she was already asleep.

Relief swept over him, and he tightened his hold on her just a fraction, burying his face in her hair. It was better this way, he told himself. She didn’t need to know. He didn’t need to ruin what they had, didn’t need to drag her into the mess of his life any more than she already was.

For tonight, it was enough to hold her. To let the monster in him fall silent, just for a little while.

And as sleep finally pulled him under, he couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that maybe someday, he’d find the courage to say it again.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby

[rosenclaws]

Birds of a Feather || Old Man!Logan x Reader x Worst!Logan

summary: Logan loves you even if he can't say it but he knows that given his old age he's been lacking in the intimacy area. When a strange portal opens up and another Logan tumbles out of it, things get a little messy. (Or Worst Logan cucks Old Man Logan)

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, fem!reader, cucking, fingering, rough sex, cum eating, masturbation, thigh riding, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, mating press, doggy style, dirty talk, kinda mean!worst logan (he taunts old man logan a lot), slight pain kink (Logan), ass play, nipple play, breast play. Also neither logan ever interact with each other beyond talking.

a/n: Soooo Merry Christmas!! Here is my gift to all of you lmao. So to set a few things up, At the start both men are called Logan but a couple paragraphs in is when I separate them into James and Logan. I really hope it doesn't get confusing but I did my best lol. I really hope this lives up to peoples expectations im kinda nervous lol. Anyways happy holidays and I hope u love it!!!

Logan was an old man now. The adamantium was seeping itself into his blood. Killing him. It had been for years but with his healing factor starting to fail him the poisoning was truly taking its effect. He was weaker, tired. His heart was touched by a poison and it was turning him cold. There's only one good thing in his life now and it's you.

You're too kind. He tried to keep you away from his fucked up life but you were relentless. You were an experienced nurse who could take care of Charles. Free of charge. He fought you at every step of the way. Not wanting your pity. But he caved. 

Eventually you started taking care of him too. You were just too pretty, too charming. He couldn't stay away. This old man doesn't believe he gets to be happy and you try to change his mind every day. He did his best to take care of you too but the one area he knows he's lacking is the sex life. He tries, he really does. But he's old and while you're the sexiest thing on the planet, sometimes he just can't keep it up or he just can't finish.

It's embarrassing. Humiliating. You wave him off, telling him that it's not a big deal. That he still pleases you in a million other ways. Riding his face, his big fingers, you don't need his cock to know that he can take care of you. But it still bothers him. Still you lived your lives and things were fine. Until something weird happened. Really fucking weird. A large yellow portal opened up in your house. Logan bared his claws and pushed you behind him, ready to fight whatever the hell stepped out of it. 

To both of your shock another...him? 

Beaten up and bruised but its him. He looked younger but his hair was in these little tuffs and he was wearing a god awful yellow suit. He was kind of cute. Is this what your Logan would have looked like when he was younger? You snap out of your thinking, this is another man. It's Logan but not Logan. 

"Fucking shit!" The other Logan yells as the yellow door closes behind him. 

"Wade you dumb motherfucker I'm going to rip your head off!" He roars. He turns around, wiping the blood from his face. His eyes go wide when he sees you. He calls your name and steps towards you. Your Logan growls, putting up his claws. 

"Back the fuck up bub." The other Logan looks between the two of you and just narrows his eyes. Both their shiny claws come out to threaten the other. 

"Logan?" You call softly. Both of the men turn to you. 

"Can we just talk?" They look at each other and slowly retract their claws. 

After getting both of them to calm down the other guy explains exactly how he got there. He's from another universe, another time. He was pulled from his world into this one by an asshole with a stupid face and red suit. His stupid friend was messing with a little time machine thingy he stole and now he's here. That was his summary of things. You...tried to grasp it. You live in a world with mutants so time travel and universe hopping wasn't exactly strange. But to see another Logan. He also keeps glancing at you. 

Every time he does James, you've decided to start calling your Logan by his childhood name to make it easier, James tightens his grip on your hand. The way this other Logan looks at you, they're such sad eyes. He must have had a you in the other universe. 

"You can stay with us for a while, until you can get back to your time." You offer sweetly. 

"Thank you sweetheart." Logan's hands twitch, like he wants to reach out for you but he doesn't. James reluctantly gets up, pointing to the spare room and keeping his eyes on Logan's every move. 

"Don't drink my liquor." James mumbles as he heads to your bedroom. 

"He's the anchor being, really?" Logan whispers but you catch him. 

"What was that?" Logan freezes and turns to you.

"Nothing sweets," He flashes a smile you know he's lying. This Logan has the same tell as your own. 

"Who am I? In your world?" You ask curiously. Logan's face drops and he seems to close up. 

"No one, just a friend." He stalks to his room and closes the door behind you. Sighing you wonder what you've got yourself into now.

Living with two wolverines was not easy. Especially for you. They didn't get along and you had to play peacemaker. It was exhausting. Logan was nice enough to you but closed off and James was pissed off and protective. You were worried they'd slit each other's throats.

Plus...it was hard living with two Logan's when they were both ridiculously attractive. You never wanted anyone else but James. But this was just confusing. He was James but he wasn't but he looked like him and fuck he was ripped. James had a body to envy but so did Logan.

You were ashamed to admit you thought about Logan, just a little bit. You never let it go far but your dreams ran wild. They were hot and dirty and you woke up feeling soaked and guilty. You didn't say a word to James or Logan. What good could come of that? But they're perceptive men and you could feel Logan's eyes on you in the mornings. James' too. You couldn't escape them forever.

You should have known something was up the moment you walked through the front door and saw both boys sitting together in the living room. Normally they'd stay far away from each other.

"Hi..." You say suspiciously as you set down the grocery bags. 

"Come here." James pats his lap and you walk over. He pulls you down onto his knee and smashes his lips onto yours. You can't help but moan as his hand squeezes your ass. 

"James!" You moan as you try to push him away. You look over at Logan who was watching with hungry eyes. Licking his lips as his eyes trail up and down your body. 

"We had a talk sweetheart," Logan's voice is deep and primal as he stands up and grabs your chin.

"We both know what you want. The old man over here can't fuck you the way you want to be fucked." James tightens his grip on your waist as Logan flirts up a storm. 

"I...James I-" You look at James with a guilty look on your face. 

"It's okay honey, I want you to feel good." He says while glaring at Logan. He isn't going to just hand you over, but he knows you crave to be destroyed, ruined and he can't do that for you anymore. So reluctantly, he's going to let his other self fuck you. 

"Rule one. You don't get to come inside." James situates you on his thigh. Slowly rocking you on it until you're squirming. 

"Rule two. She says stop, you stop." Logan eyes your cleavage with a hungry look. 

"And rule three. You don't get to kiss her." He says possessively. 

Logan rolls his eyes but agrees to the terms. The three of you head to the bedroom. James sits on a chair facing the bed. He groans as his bones creak. You shoot him a worried look but he waves you off. Unbuttoning his pants and letting his cock free. Logan pulls your focus as he leaves hickeys up your shoulder, sucking on a particular spot on your neck. 

"Shit.." You groan. How did he know that was your sweet spot? You don't have much time to think as you hear a claw come out. Logan waits and you nod your head. He cuts through your clothes and they fall to the floor in shreds.

"Fuck." Logan groans as his hands trail up your body. Your bare skin drives him nuts. He closes his eyes as he takes his time exploring. Committing your body to memory, each curve and dip. 

"Missed this." He whispers softly for only him to hear. 

"Lay down sweetheart." Logan hums and you obey. Crawling onto the bed as Logan sheds his yellow suit. Your eyes trail down his built chest to his already hard cock. 

"Damn." 

"As big as your boyfriends over there?" Logan says with a smirk. 

He kneels onto the bed and grabs your legs, putting them around his waist as he bends down and goes back to biting your neck. Your nails dig into his biceps as you buck your hips. His cock presses against your thigh as he moves down your body. Stopping at your breasts, squeezing and teasing one of your nipples while sucking on the other. You whine when he bites down. Licking over the spot he bit. 

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself." He smiles through his apology. He moves down your stomach and rests himself in between your legs. 

"Let's see how sweet you taste." You gasp as he buries himself into your cunt. His hands locking you in place, not letting you move against his pleasurable assault. 

"Logan!" You moan as you claw at his hair. Raking your hands through it until you find a grip. Pulling on it only eggs him on. His tongue moves against your clit over and over again. He refuses to let up as your moans get louder. You try to move but Logan growls like an animal. 

"Don't fucking move." He licks his lips as he raises his head. He looks over to James and smirks. 

"I see why you're so protective, wouldn't want to share a girl as sweet as this either." You look over to James who was slowly stroking his cock. It was painful watching another man feast on his cunt but he can see how much you're loving it. 

"Play with your tits." James commands as Logan goes back down. 

You listen and slowly play with your nipples. Squeezing your breasts and arching your back when Logan sticks his tongue into your cunt. Fuck he knows what he's doing.

"I can't- fuck! I-" Your back arches high as Logan sucks on your clit. 

He doesn't let up. One of his hands lets go of your thigh and his thumb presses on your clit. His tongue is now moving to your cunt. You roll your hips as Logan fucks you with his tongue and rubs your clit with his thumb.

It's a deadly combination that leaves you helpless. You come around his tongue hard. He groans as you leak around him. Licking up the sweet taste until he's satisfied. As you start to relax you feel Logan's tongue back on your clit. 

"Fuck!" You gasp in surprise as he places himself back on your cunt. 

"Too much! Can't take it!" You claw at the sheets but Logan pays no mind. 

"You can take it, always have you crying on my face." James says huskily. 

He wants a taste, mouth watering at the sinful sounds of your went pussy. Tears threaten to fall as Logan shoves two fingers into your cunt. He fucks you like he knows you, curling his fingers just how you like it. The sounds of your cunt get louder as he roughly fingers you. 

"One more come on, fuck give me one more." Logan props himself on his elbow as he pistons his fingers into you. 

"No No I can't." You cry. You don't want him to stop but it's so overwhelming. It's too much pleasure. 

"Yes you can." Logan cups your cheek and wipes away a stray tear. 

"I got you," Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you come again. Your cunt clenching around his fingers as soak his hand. Both of them watch in awe as you make a mess. 

"Knew you could take it." Logan takes his fingers out and sucks them clean. He eyes James who hasn't taken his eyes off your cunt. 

"Want a taste old man?" You look over with pleading eyes at your boyfriend. You need him too. He winces as he stands up but leans down and gets between your legs. 

"Shh baby, just want a taste." James squeezes your thighs softly.

Your cunt twitches as he leans down and takes a fat lick up. You're on edge from your previous orgasms and it's borderline painful. Both men look up at you when you gasp. 

"I'm okay, just please be gentle." Your lips form into a small pout and James melts. 

"Course baby," He takes a few soft licks and you sigh as Logan strokes his cock. 

He takes your hand and wraps it around his cock. Fuck he's big and hard and leaking over your hand. You can't help but notice it's different from your Logan too. But you keep that thought to yourself. James grunts as he gets back to his feet. His beard slick with your juices. He slips two fingers into your cunt and pumps them slowly. 

"Did so good, baby." He praises and you smile. You bite your lip and close your eyes as you take in James' thick fingers. They work you like magic, he knows you inside and out. 

"Are you gonna take my cock now sweetheart?" Logan purrs in your ear. 

"Tell me, what dirty fantasies do you have up there." Your breath catches in your throat as he cups your breasts in his hands. 

"Any positions you want to try? Face down ass up is always a favorite of mine, or I can put your legs on my shoulders and press you into the mattress." You moan just picturing each scenario in your head. 

"I can hold you against the wall. Bounce you on my cock so you're forced to take every inch of me.

"Even better, we can do all three." Logan lets go of you and nods his head, telling James to go sit down. James takes his fingers out and brings them to your lips, pushing them into your mouth as you suck on them like he trained you to do. 

"You okay?" James asks and you nod. 

"M'alright baby, are you okay?" You reach up and grab his hand, squeezing it gently. Is he still okay with this? If he's too uncomfortable you'd stop but he just smiles. He leans down and kisses your head, then moves to sit back down. 

"You've been talking a lot of shit bub." James says gruffly as Logan nudges his cock at your cunt. You're on your back with Logan pressing your hands into the mattress. 

"Don't worry old man, I'll take care of her." He slides in and you moan. He's going too slow, relishing with every inch.

"Faster!" You beg but Logan doesn't listen. Instead he pushes all the way in, balls deep and throbbing just being in your sweet cunt. 

"Oh fuck yeah." Logan purrs as he draws his hips back, slamming them back into you.

His pace is slow and hard. He watches your breasts bounce with each thrust, enjoying the way they move because of him. He's still got you pinned down and you want to move, you want to hold onto him as he fucks you but he won't let you. Logan's got stamina and it's clear as he doesn't let up. 

"Logan I-" He growls and pulls out much to your dismay. Manhandling you to your knees, grabbing your neck and forcing you to look right at James. You couldn't meet his eyes as Logan sinks back into you. 

"Ah ah, don't you want him to see how good you feel?" Logan says in a mocking tone. Smirking as he sees the fire lit in James' eyes.

"It's okay baby." James says as your head falls down to the comforter. Logan's just so big. He's overpowering all of your senses. He just keeps going and going. Logan tilts his head back as he digs his fingers into your hips. 

"Such a tight fucking cunt." He presses your face into the bed and grabs a handful of your ass. Pounding his hips into your pussy and loving every little noise he's fucking out of you. 

"She likes it when you choke her." James says, his breath ragged as he watches you get fucked. Logan chuckles and puts his hand around your neck.

"Of course she does, such a dirty little whore you got on your hands." His mouth is filthy, the degradation pouring from his mouth with ease.

James mixes his praise with his meanness but Logan is pure filth. The pressure on your throat sends you into fucking orbit. A fat cock pounding your sweet spot and rough hand on your throat is lethally delicious. You could die happy. 

"That's it, just let me use you sweetheart. Doesn't that sound fun? Being my little toy? Our little toy?" You look at James who's perked up at the mention of him, your cunt clenching around Logan's cock. 

"Oh that got you interested huh?" Logan teases. 

"You can be our plaything sweetheart, just nothing but a couple holes for us to use. Big man over here can stick his cock down your throat while I get the back." Logan rubs his hand along your ass, his thumb trailing down until its teasing your asshole. 

"He ever been in here before?" 

"O-Once." You mewl as he presses his thumb, not breeching you yet but knowing he could if he wanted to. 

"Is it as tight as her cunt?" He asks James. 

"Even tighter." James spreads his legs, he was getting hot. He sheds his jacket and unbuttons his white button up. Being this old and still ripped was so fucking unfair. His pants were already at his ankles and his cock was stirring just remembering that day.

How you cried and whined as he prepped you with his fingers. How fucking tight you felt when he slid his cock in. You were a mess, babbling and whining and begging to be ruined. James opens his eyes and sees you staring at him. Hunger in your eyes as you take in your handsome boyfriend. You may be getting fucked by another man but you only ever want James. 

“Maybe next time." Logan moves his hands back up your body.

He sits back on his knees. His hands come to your breasts and pull you up so your back is against his chest. His cock somehow sits deeper as he bounces his hips up and down, spearing his cock deeper and deeper. One of his arms wraps around your waist while the other plays with your breasts. 

"Logan!" You chant over and over. He's grunting in your ear whispering dirty things that only you can hear. 

"I know you're loving this sweetheart, you may love the old man but you love my cock more." You whine, words failing you as you try and talk. You start to go limp in Logan's grasp so he tightens his hold. 

"Come for me sweetheart, go on." He purrs as he lets go of your breasts to pleasure your clit. Rubbing small circles until you're squirming out of his grip, or trying to.

"It's okay, I got you." Logan whispers as you tilt your head back into his shoulder. 

Eyes rolling back as you fully submit to the man. Your legs shake uncontrollably as you come harder than you have in a while. He holds you up as you melt, your vision blurring as you're sent to cloud nine. You were clawing at his arms, digging your nails into him until he bleed which only made things better for Logan as he humps you like a crazed animal. Grunting and groaning. 

"Fuck!" He lets go of you to pull out, whimpering at the loss of your wet cunt.

He's rough with his hand as he jerks himself until he comes all over your back. Hot cum spurting from his cock and drenching itself on your skin. Your eyelids are heavy as you collapse into the bed, your body aches with a delicious sort of pain. With all the energy you could muster you glance over at James. He had cum staining his chest, breath ragged. He was worn out just from watching. 

"I love you." You say softly, reaching out for him. Your hand doesn't make it very far so he meets you halfway. His pants pulled up and cum still on his stomach. 

"Feel good baby?" He pets your head and you nod sleepily. Logan has gone off to take care of himself. Redressing into that god awful suit and coming back with a towel. 

"Can I?" He looks over at James who nods. Gently he wipes his cum off your back, cooing when he accidently stimulates your clit again. 

"Sorry sweetheart, just gotta get you nice and clean." Logan looks at James before leaning down and kissing your forehead.

James doesn't argue. Once you're cleaned up James tucks you into bed. He sits on the edge as you curl into his lap. Logan comes back with water and a towel for James. You're sound asleep by the time he's back. Logan smiles at you with a fondness that James can only recognize as love. 

"You know her." Logan looks up and shrugs. "Heard her say she was just a friend. You were lying." James continues. He knows Logan was lying because they're one in the same. They may not like each other but they knew each other better than anyone ever could, even you. 

"Look. You may think your life is fucking miserable but you had your family, you have her. You don't know how lucky you have it." Logan growls. 

"Lucky? You think becoming a shell of who we were is lucky?" James feels the anger surging inside of him. 

"At least she's alive in your world." Logan hisses. The truth comes out. Why Logan worked you like he already knew you, why he looked at you with such sad eyes. Why he listened to you. James caught all of it from the start but you never did. He looks down at you and you barely stir. 

"What happens to us, in the future?" James asks while staring at you. Timelines don't need two of the same man and he knows that. He just needs to hear it. "I don't think I'm supposed to say." Logan mumbles. 

"Who fucking cares?" Sighing Logan looks over at you before revealing the truth. 

"You die and your world starts to fall apart, that's why I got pulled into it."

James knew that death was coming. He could feel it. He had been slowly dying his whole life. That's not what bothers him. There's only one thing holding him back in being ready for the end. You. He can't leave you alone but it sounds like he does anyway. Failing you once again. 

"What about her? Is she okay?" 

"Yes.” James nods, he doesn’t ask what happens. He doesn’t want to know. As long as you’re okay then that’s all that matters. 

“Take care of her. Please.” James asks, for once letting Logan see his gruff façade break. 

It feels like an odd request. Both of them know it, but he wants you to be safe and protected and no one will love you more than him. In any timeline, any universe, he loves you. 

“I will.” Logan promises.

The two of them don’t share many words after that. It’s not like they’re suddenly friends now but they’re less hostile towards each other.

Eventually the strange yellow portal appears once again and Logan leaves. The time he spent here feels like a fever dream. Maybe it was? But you notice that James holds you a little tighter for a little longer now. He also rests a little easier. He knows where he’s headed, what’s to come.

But its a little easier knowing that no matter what, you’ll always have him. 

[gurugirl]

Quiet Xmas Morning blurb | bfd!harry

⋆꙳•❅‧ ☃️‧❆ ₊⋆

Summary: Your heart is full and you have so much to be thankful for on Christmas.

A/n: I know it's not very long but there's a lot of new things in this one. If you haven't already, I'd suggest reading the previous part before you read this.

Word Count: 1,507

Warning: soft fluffy cuteness - no warnings!

best friend's dad!harry masterlist

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

The house was warm and quiet as you sat in the glider chair with your newborn in your arms. She was falling asleep slowly. She'd suckle and then her eyes would lull shut before she'd startle herself awake and start to pull at your nipple like a ravenous animal again. You smiled and smoothed your fingers over the soft hair on her head. It'd only been a week and a half since she was born but you already felt like she was your everything. It surprised you how deeply you already loved her.

Elara came a little early but you were ready for her. Harry said she wanted to make it in time for Christmas. She had to be monitored for a few extra days but she was healthy and she was perfect.

You saw the glow from the Christmas tree lights filtering into her room from downstairs and then heard a little rustling. Harry must have also been up. He was sleeping when you got up to feed the baby but he often would wake up when you'd get up. It was still something to get used to. You were more exhausted than you'd ever been in your life but maybe that explained why you were so deliriously in love with her.

Her suckling grew weak again, little eyes closed, and then… she was fast asleep. After waiting a few minutes, just in case, you carefully and gently got up from the chair and tiptoed to her crib to lower her down all without waking her.

She was perfect. Yes. That was true. But she was easy to wake and she'd cry for hours if she was woken up before she was ready.

Harry stood behind you and placed a hand on your shoulder as he looked down at your little creation with you. He knew better than to even whisper so you both just smiled at one another before quietly padding out of her room and closing the door behind you.

Your body was still sore. You knew it would take time to get back to feeling like yourself. Even walking downstairs felt like something was going to knock loose and fall out of your body. Harry held your hand.

"Merry Christmas, Mama," he kissed your lips softly when you got to the first floor.

The living room was dark except for the soft golden lights wrapped around the faux Christmas tree. You preferred a real one normally but it was too much work that year. Plus the smell bothered you when you and Harry had gone to check out the tree farm weeks earlier.

"Got your gift under the tree," he motioned.

You looked under the tree to see one small box with a bow. You hadn't wrapped any of Harry's and they were all tucked away, hidden in the closet in the basement.

"I didn't wrap yours. I'm sorry," you reached up to cup his face and he brought an arm around your back.

"You already gave me the best present I could ever ask for."

You grinned, "That I did. But you played a major role in that gift. So technically I could consider that a gift from you as well."

He grinned and pressed his lips to yours, "I'd say my role was very minor. All I had to do was get off a few times. You did all the hard work. All the stuff that counts."

A laugh puffed from your lips, "Okay. That I agree with."

You smelled coffee suddenly and realized Harry was making a pot.

"Decaf." He raised his brows at you. You were staying away from caffeine since you were breastfeeding. The doctor said you could have a little bit every day but Elara was fussy enough as it was. The last thing you wanted was a grouchy, angry baby hocked up on traces of caffeine.

"My mouth is watering," you spoke with a smile.

"Why don't you sit down and I'll get your coffee. Then we can open up your Christmas present."

Harry frothed a little milk for you while he took his coffee black. Even he was drinking decaf when he could have just had regular. He walked back into the living quietly, two steaming mugs in hand before handing you yours and sitting his down on the coffee table.

You took a sip as he reached under the tree to pull out the small red box. It had a small golden ribbon tied around it.

"What is it?" You held your palm out as he placed the box down into your hand.

"Well, you have to open it up first."

Taking another quick sip of your coffee before you leaned forward to place the ceramic mug down you looked at Harry with a big grin. The glittering lights from the tree were twinkling off his eyes as he looked down at the box and then up at your face.

You pulled at the ribbon and then paused when he sat up, about to push himself off the cushion, "What are you doing?"

He swallowed and you noticed that he suddenly seemed nervous, anxious. He shook his head and shrugged, "Nothing. Was just getting comfortable is all."

You squinted at him as he looked down at your hand. Then it was your turn for the nerves to take over. You couldn't be sure what was in the box but something told you that it was going to change everything. You knew Harry very well and his sudden excitement had your heart pounding in your chest. And given the size of the box…

"Harry…" you blinked your eyes and placed your hand over the lid as you swallowed.

"Just open it, baby. See what it is." He was still sitting at the edge of the cushion, watching you as you pulled the lid off. Inside was another, smaller box—a jewelry box.

You inhaled and looked up at him. He wore a soft smile on his face as he tensed his arms, like he was about to spring from the couch.

The moment you placed your fingers on the velvet-hinged top to lift it, he pushed himself onto his knees and scooted in between your thighs as the beautiful little shining diamond glinted from inside the box. A ring. But not just any ring.

He waited for a beat, his eyes on yours as your jaw dropped and you covered your mouth before looking at him in surprise.

Harry took the ring out of the box and held it between his thumb and pointer finger, "I love you. I want forever with you, Y/n. I know we're not in a rush but I couldn't wait another moment to put a ring on your finger. Tell the whole world you're mine."

You gasped out a quiet sob and just as he was about to continue you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his neck to kiss him hard. You never imagined that you'd cry when he finally proposed but of course, your hormones were all out of whack and you'd been finding yourself crying for the smallest things lately.

He laughed when you pecked kisses over his cheek, "Yes, Harry…"

"Baby, I didn't even finish th—"

You smushed your lips over his again, swallowing his words as he pulled you into his arms until you were in his lap on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

"I love you, Harry…" You smeared your lips down to his jaw and he chuckled quietly.

"Gonna put it on?"

Pulling away from him, you looked down at his hand and spread your fingers out for him to slip the ring onto your finger. It was dainty and perfect—one small diamond at the top, set in white gold. You held your hand up, and you admired the way it looked on your hand for a moment.

Harry wrapped his big palm around yours and pulled your hand up to his mouth, "That's a yes? You'll marry me?"

You sputtered a laugh and nodded, "Of course I will."

He kissed your knuckles and grinned at you before you pulled your hand away and wrapped your arms around his neck to squeeze him tight. Harry tucked his face into your hair and put his arms around your back.

It was going to be the best Christmas day ever. Fae would be coming by for a couple of hours and then your parents later in the evening. Telling everyone you were finally engaged would be exciting but the best part was that you and Harry had the most precious gift lying upstairs sleeping already.

You placed your hand over his chest and ran your nose against his, "I'm so happy, Harry. I love you so much."

He shifted his legs and ran a big palm up your back, "That's all I want, for you to be happy, Y/n."

Harry got exactly what he wanted because you'd never been as happy as you were in that moment.

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[windvexer]

I actually do think that doing magic takes a lot of work and is kinda hard and there aren't very many good shortcuts, and many modern shortcuts actually just amount to leaving out steps, which means you either have to be powerful enough to brute-force it or it fizzles.

Look, I know some people are just much better at magic and witchcraft; anything they do works with little effort, and the lengths some of us have to go to accomplish magic seems bizarre to them. Those people are cool and I wish I was like them but I'm not.

But I also think some of the truth of how to work effective sorcery gets paved over by these "witchcraft has no rules, do anything you want" support posts.

Because A) that is not true, I believe that witchcraft has lots and lots of rules (it's just that nobody else can tell you what they are), and B) I think do anything you want is taken to mean anything you do should work, which is also not true.

I feel like I always see advice given that you don't need to do things (like use physical tools, or cast circles, or whatever). But I never see anyone explaining the techniques and paths of power that are supposed to replace them.

Let's just imagine for a moment that clear quartz really is a universal substitute. Discordians would say that it totally is. So does that mean all you have to do to sub out clear quartz is to just put it on the altar and do the ritual as if it's something else?

Or do you have to do something more?

Do you have to consecrate the stone as being something other than what it is? Do you have to ritually birth it into a new life and baptize it like a baby? Do you have to spend weeks or months honing your technique of focus and beliefs so that you can mentally shift from consensus reality to a personal reality where there is literally no difference between clear quartz and sodalite?

Do you have to raise energies of sodalite and imprint them into the quartz crystal, perhaps working over it for an extended period of time? Do you have to use energy work to tie the clear quartz into Ideal Sodalite so that it becomes like an avatar?

No, you don't have to use physical tools if you don't want to. But that shouldn't be taken to imply that tools are useless or can be replaced in a way that matters by just visualizing that you have them.

A witch spends six months propitiating a tree, ingratiating themselves with the land, offerings and acts of fealty to the tree, a week-long branch harvesting ritual, blood offerings at midnight on a holy day, then another year curing the wood and crafting a wand. Big effort, right?

And you don't need to do that. But if you want that power, what are you going to do instead?

Same with circle-casting. Same with magic on the full moon. No, you don't have to wait until the full moon. You don't have to wait until the moon is in Libra. But there's a really good reason people do those things. So if you want those effects, what actions can replace those effects?

You literally could not do the spell while the full moon is in Libra. That's fine. But then what will bridge the gap? Will you have to raise more energy somewhere else? Include a new aspect? Modify the spell for the moon you can work with?

"You don't have to follow the moon phase for magic" doesn't mean the moon phase is irrelevant and some witches just like to inconvenience themselves for no reason. But it does mean that you can probably adapt your working to overcome the moon being in the inopportune phase.

Every time I talk about how much time, energy, and effort magic can be I feel like someone always replies, "well, it's just not that hard for me! I do what I want with what I have when I need it and it always just works, with very little effort."

Which I think is very great for them, but I also don't think that most people can get results with such low effort.

So anyway my entire point is that I think sometimes the reason people struggle with getting witchcraft to work is because they are operating off of out-of-context soundbites that make it sound like you can just completely cut out some of these foundational concepts of witchcraft.

Maybe you don't have to accomplish those steps in traditional ways. Maybe you don't need all of those steps for every spell you're doing.

But if you've just cut out swaths of steps only because you heard someone say you don't need them (not because of your own experiments working with magic and determining what works best for you), then is there enough left to constitute a functional system of magic?

[keferon]

These days, Blurr feels like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, when his legs can barely even support his own weight.  And in a sense, he knows he is.

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

Swindle described it as Blurr being the social shield keeping mecha from being influenced into moving in worse directions.  Blurr…hadn't exactly liked what Swindle was describing.  But, he also understood the necessity of it all.

Only, the problem with shields is that they get hit.  And a good shield has to keep deflecting those blows to do its job – to protect and keep safe.  But for Blurr, it's getting harder and harder to keep up the pretense -- keep up the fight.  Because every time he walks into a board meeting or a press conference these days, it's Shockwave that he comes face to face with. 

The man's relentless.  Eloquent.  Persuasive.  And Blurr has to admit it's wearing him down.

Shockwave's wearing Blurr down with every confrontation – every time he describes how life changing his theories could be if only they could be tested.  The promise that it would change Blurr's life – take things back to the way they were.

And there are days Blurr wishes that were true.  Because these days, Blurr feels like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, when his legs can barely even support his own weight.  And in a sense, he knows he is. 

Blurr is the shield.  Swindle has said it.  Blurr can see it in the way Shockwave's demeanor shifts every time they're in the same room.  If Shockwave prevails, Blurr might get his old body – his old life – back, but countless mecha pilots will be subjected to unimaginable costs.  

The promise of the mecha program will fail.  And mecha is the primary force standing against the aliens' invasion.  If mecha fails – if the efficacy of the program is brought into question…. 

Blurr knows that most people have little idea how fragile the balance is in being able to go about their day-to-day lives, how much mecha does to maintain that balance.  Without mecha, the aliens will gain that much more ground.  Earth, life as they know it may be lost.  And it all rests on him. 

These are the thoughts that spiral around Blurr's head in the quiet moments when he's alone back in the hospital – when he should be resting, recovering. 

Most days, Blurr wishes he didn't know.  Wishes Swindle hadn't felt he had to tell Blurr.  Because the truth is a heavy weight to carry.  Because it was that much easier to stand in front of the crowds when it had just been about him and his face and his fame.  Doing it when he knows the lives of every mecha pilot, possibly the lives of every human on Earth depend on how well he can convince everyone…is hard.  Nearly dying a hero's death pulling people from the crumbling mecha headquarters had been easy in comparison.

Blurr knows what's at stake, so he carries on the fight Swindle's outlined even though it's hard.  But Blurr's not a soldier.  He's used to solving his problems by outpacing them, only there's no getting ahead of this.  There's only the constant grind of meetings and publicity stunts just to keep from losing any more ground than they've already lost.

This -- the lack of progress, the constant work with no motion…Blurr genuinely doesn't know how much longer he can keep up the appearance.  Because that's all it is in the end.  Shockwave's offer – the idea that the appearance could be made reality is taunting him the longer the charade goes on. 

Blurr knows that what Shockwave is promising is likely too good to be true and comes with far too high a price.  Knows that logically there is no magically going back to the way things were as though the crash had never happened – that's just not how life works.

He knows the hope Shockwave's offering is false.  But it's hope nonetheless, and tantalizing because there's a glaring absence of hope from the medical reports he's received.  The doctors had been clear from the start that even with the best possible treatments and outcomes, Blurr would never race again – not in a car, not in a mech.  Life without that feeling seems inconceivable.  As though a very part of what makes him himself had been cut away – lost irretrievably.

Blurr had thought he had come to terms with it.  Because there had been no other choice.  No choice but to stay stuck in the moment of the crash or to find a way to move forward.  And Blurr has always preferred to move.

Now though, constantly presented with the possibility that there could be a third option?  Now he's not so sure whether he has accepted it or whether he's still looking for a way out – looking for somewhere to run.

"Only, the problem with shields is that they get hit."

See?? See this tiny crumbling thing on the floor?? This is me right now. THIS IS WHAT YOU MADE TO ME ARE YOU PROUD

[leona-hawthorne]

FICMAS #8— HE’S MINE! / mattheo riddle

december 23rd

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: it seems to be a little hard to get into the christmas spirit when your little sister is hogging your boyfriend!

warnings: fluff, established relationship

words: 1.4k

a/n: i love this one tbh :)

navigation ficmas masterlist

It had been your idea to bring Mattheo home for Christmas. Of course it had. You’d argued for it, certain your parents wouldn’t mind—and they didn’t. In fact, they’d been surprisingly enthusiastic about it. They liked Mattheo, for one, and they knew enough about his home life—or lack thereof—to see why he might need an escape for the holidays. Besides, the thought of leaving him behind in that cold, empty manor while you went off to bake cookies and trim trees with your family felt unbearable.  

What you hadn’t planned for was your little sister.  

The moment she saw Mattheo, her eyes went wide, her lips parted in a tiny gasp, and for once, she didn’t have a single smart remark. You’d expected her usual groaning protest of Ew, boys are gross or Whatever, he’s probably boring. But instead, she just stood there staring up at him, as though he were some sort of fairy tale prince who’d stepped straight out of one of her bedtime stories.  

“Hey,” Mattheo had said gently, crouching down to her level. He had that rare, soft smile on his face—the one he reserved only for you, and apparently now, six-year-old girls. “You must be the famous little sister. I’ve heard all about you.”  

Her face had turned scarlet, and she’d ducked behind your leg, clutching your jeans for dear life. You’d raised an eyebrow at Mattheo, trying to stifle a laugh. Well, this is new. 

From then on, it was as though she’d claimed him. Every time you turned around, there she was, dragging him off for some new adventure. At first, it was cute. Endearing, even. She’d taken him by the hand to show him the ornaments she’d made for the tree, chattering on about how she’d painted the reindeer one herself. He’d listened patiently, nodding and smiling as though her ramblings were the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.  

But then it escalated.  

By the second day, you found them at her little pink tea table, tiny porcelain cups in hand. Mattheo’s long legs were awkwardly folded beneath him as he pretended to sip imaginary tea. You’d leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, biting your lip to keep from laughing.  

“Really?” you’d asked, grinning. “A tea party?”  

“She made me a very convincing argument,” Mattheo replied, deadpan, though the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “Also, I think this is her way of letting me know who’s in charge here.”  

You’d laughed then, shaking your head, but something about the way your sister beamed up at him had made you pause.  

It wasn’t long before her demands grew bolder. She’d roped him into baking cookies—flour dusted all over his dark jumper—and insisted he give her a piggyback ride around the house. And though Mattheo obliged her every request with good-natured patience, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance.

Because every time you tried to steal a moment alone with him, she was already there, wedged firmly between the two of you.  

On the third day, you figured maybe it was time to steal back your boyfriend.

“Where is he?” you muttered, stalking through the house. The smell of gingerbread lingered in the air, and somewhere, you could hear your sister’s giggles echoing down the hall.  

You found them in the living room. She was perched on Mattheo’s back, her little arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he crawled on all fours, pretending to be a dragon.  

“Really?” you said, crossing your arms as you stood in the doorway.  

Mattheo glanced up at you, his curls falling into his eyes. He was grinning. “What?”  

“She’s hogging you,” you said, your voice teetering on the edge of a whine.  

“She’s six,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “You jealous of a six-year-old?”  

“What? No, I just– you know what? You two have fun, I’m gonna go help my mom with wrapping.”

And by the fourth day, you’d had enough.  

You didn’t know whether to scoff or to smile as you watched Mattheo from the doorway of the kitchen. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting his dark shirt as he helped your little sister roll out sugar cookie dough. His hands were comically large compared to hers, yet he moved with such careful precision, as if afraid to crush her tiny fingers by accident.

Your sister giggled, a sound that echoed through the space like a bell, and your chest tightened at how easily Mattheo coaxed that sound from her. It was endearing—no, more than endearing. It was heartwarming. But also…infuriating.

You stepped into the room, leaning against the counter as you folded your arms. “How’s it going in here?”

Mattheo glanced up at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s going great. We’re making masterpieces, aren’t we, kid?”

Your sister nodded vigorously, her pigtails bouncing as she beamed up at him. “Mattheo says my snowman looks perfect!”

You raised a brow, biting back a smile. “Perfect, huh? Even though his head is sliding off his body?”

Mattheo chuckled, brushing a streak of flour off his arm. “It’s an abstract snowman,” he said smoothly, turning back to the dough. “He’s got character.”

Your sister giggled again, clearly thrilled by his attention, and you felt the beginnings of that familiar pang of annoyance. You’d invited Mattheo here for you, not so he could spend every waking moment entertaining your sister.

“Right,” you said, stepping closer and nudging him lightly with your hip. “Well, I’m stealing him now. We were supposed to watch a movie, remember?”

Mattheo looked over at you, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “Baby, are you jealous of a six-year-old?”

Your mouth opened, indignation flaring to life, but before you could respond, your sister tugged on his sleeve. “Wait! We still have to make the reindeer cookies! You promised!”

Mattheo crouched slightly, bringing himself to her level as he smiled at her. “And we’ll make those, I swear. But your big sister’s giving me that look, and I think I’d better listen to her before she drags me out of here.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched upward. “I’m not giving you a look.”

“Oh, you’re giving me a look,” he teased, standing to his full height and brushing his hands off on a towel. He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “You’re practically glaring at me. I’d almost say it’s cute.”

“Don’t push your luck, Riddle,” you muttered, though your cheeks burned at the way his breath ghosted against your skin.

Your sister pouted, crossing her arms. “But Mattheo—”

“I’ll be back,” he promised her, giving her a playful wink. “And when I am, we’ll make the best reindeer cookies anyone’s ever seen. Deal?”

She huffed, clearly not pleased, but she nodded anyway, her pout softening.

You grabbed Mattheo’s wrist, tugging him toward the living room before your sister could protest again. “Come on. You’re mine, remember?”

He let you pull him away, laughing softly under his breath. Once you reached the living room, you rounded on him, poking a finger at his chest. “You’re supposed to be spending time with me. Me, Mattheo. Not my sister. Me.”

“Is this really happening right now?” he asked, smirking down at you. “You’re actually jealous of a six-year-old.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not jealous,” you shot back, though your words sounded more defensive than you intended. “I just don’t like sharing, especially when it’s you. And second, it’s not my fault she suddenly decided she loves boys after swearing for years that they had cooties!”

Mattheo grinned, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. “So what you’re saying is…I’m irresistible.”

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me anyway.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, finding his gaze soft and affectionate, his smirk less teasing now and more genuine. Your frustration melted away as quickly as it had come, replaced by a warm, fluttery feeling in your chest.

“Yeah,” you admitted, dropping your hands and stepping closer to him. “I do.”

“And for the record,” he murmured, leaning down until his lips brushed your temple, “I’m yours. Always.”

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

[v1rtualsalvat10n]

𓆩♡𓆪 how to tell you goodbye

— weeks after his mysterious disappearance, lu shows up at your door with a message for you.

notes :: TW FOR DUBCON. uh yeah I find the idea of him apologizing for doing what he has to do very hot. f!reader sorry guys this is self indulgent

You don't remember how long it's been.

But you know it'd been long enough for you to stop wondering if he was actually coming back or not, and try to cope with that fact. He was gone - there was very little doubt in your mind about that. He'd stopped responding to calls and messages, his socials went cold, his friends, at least the ones you knew, hadn't heard anything either.

He disappeared. And the last thing you ever heard from him was that he was planning on doing something... real. But he never told you what. He could be dead for all you know, and there was nothing you could do about it.

It took a pretty big toll on you. He was one of the few friends you had, and just like that he was gone. Just when things were looking up for you, your support system just had to vanish into thin air. You missed him, fuck, you missed him more than anything. You missed your little coffee shop dates, the weekend parties, playing games in your apartment when it was lonely, sitting in the park together just talking for hours.

You miss those little looks he gave you when he thought you weren't looking, the way that some of your mannerisms made him smile, the nights where your conversations would get real and you'd cry on his shoulder when it was too much for you. You miss how he'd let you.

You missed the moment when he made you look at him, and wiped your tears with his thumb, letting the tension between you two linger for longer than it should. You missed his warm, shaky breath against your cheek. But you missed the most that moment when you felt his lips on yours, just for that few seconds.

You didn't miss the way he seemed to have regretted it after.

But you remembered that the clearest of all... watching the guilt in his eyes set in as he moved away from you, standing from your couch and rushing for his bags, saying that "it was getting late" or some lie like that. You remembered how he didn't even look back at you as he walked out of your door.

And that was the last day you saw him. He texted you the next morning.

"Hey, I probably won't be able to see you for a while. Working on stuff. Gonna do something real with my life."

What the fuck did that even mean? It made you angry, irrationally so. It probably only made you angry because you thought it was your fault. But god dammit, that felt valid! You felt like you had a fair reason to be pissed. It was no secret you liked him - it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out either! He'd do something like that so carelessly, and then just throw you out?

You hated it. Maybe you'd feel better with an explanation, but the truth of the matter is that he kissed you and then mysteriously disappeared, not to be seen again. And how were you not supposed to make assumptions in that situation?

And so you'd spend your days by yourself. With no more Luigi to rely on to keep you from spiraling, you'd been curled up in your room by yourself, scrolling through his social media posts, rereading your message logs to see if there's something you'd missed.

You had a jacket of his he left at your place, and every night you'd wrap a pillow in it and breathe in the mix of cologne and his natural scent until it lulled you to sleep.

It wasn't enough. You wish he'd come back, but even if he did, what was there to say? Even if he apologized, you didn't know that you'd forgive him.

That is, until he actually did come back.

No, surely that was just wishful thinking - that knock was probably a salesman or someone stupid like that coming to bother you. You dragged yourself up from your bed and slowly approached the door, groaning to yourself before putting on a fake smile to answer it.

And sure enough, there he was. Cold and scruffy looking, his clothes ruffled and his hair matted, bags under his eyes. He pushed you inside, and slammed the door behind himself.

He kissed you again. But this time he didn't hesitate, and he wasn't gentle - he threw himself onto you, your lips messily colliding with his as he leaned into it, diving his tongue into your mouth. His hands slid down to your hips, grabbing the waistband of your sweatpants so tight it was like he might fall off the Earth if he let go.

The kiss was sloppy and desperate, and he hungrily pushed it as far as you'd let it go, which was admittedly pretty far. But then the shock faded, and you pressed your hands to his chest, shoving him back. He was weak enough that he fell back into the door, leaning against it to prevent from fully toppling over.

"What the fuck?!"

You'd never yelled at him before. Never even thought about getting upset with him. His face turned fearful, as he steadied himself and tried to walk forwards again. You took a step back for the one he took forwards.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Who do you think you are, fucking with me like this?!"

His expression shifted. He just stared at you, blankly, either too tired or too numb to show any emotion anymore. And fuck, that only made you angrier. "You think this is funny? I was worried you could be dead, and now you just- show up, months later, looking like this? Why didn't you say something? You just- just-"

"I'll explain everything. Just... I really... missed you."

"Yeah? You didn't miss me enough to at least give me a heads up that you were alive!" You hid your face in your hands, sighing deeply trying to contain yourself. What reasonable explanation could there possibly be? You couldn't reason with him surely.

You hear him step forwards, and he places his hands on your hips again. You reach down to pull him off of you, but the moment you move your hands away from your face, he's pressing more kisses to your lips. He holds you tighter, his arms wrapping around you. "Get off me," you growl, but he doesn't listen.

He kisses your neck, his warm breath shaking profusely. "Luigi," you say, and he can't even look up at you. You yank one of his hands off, only for him to put it back on you with more force than the last time. "I said get off!"

"Let me make it up to you," he begs you, his gaze meeting yours as he walked you forwards, pushing you onto the couch. You try to stand, but he's quicker, and he straddles you, hovering over you and pushing you down by your shoulders. He stops looking you in the eyes, too embarrassed at what he was doing.

"Luigi, stop! I'm trying to talk to you, god dammit!" He doesn't listen. He can't. He's already straining his jeans, grinding his hips into yours. It's warm. He's warm, and fuck, you can't lie to yourself. You missed this feeling. You missed the feeling of something real being there with you. You missed him.

Your body betrays you, and you softly rock your hips forwards into his, swearing under your breath. He smiles softly, cupping one of your hips in his hand. "It's okay. I know you missed this." He looked at you, a weird sincerity in his eyes, considering what he was actually doing.

"I'm not messing around. This- this isn't funny. Let go of me." At some point you had stopped struggling without noticing, and you squirmed again, causing him to push more of his weight down onto you. He spoke softly to you. "Shh, it's okay... It's okay, I promise I won't take long. Promise, promise."

He muttered some words in Italian, something that sounded along the lines of a prayer as he rutted into you, yanking your hips up to get more friction. "Stop it," you say again, covering your face with one of your hands.

The truth is that you'd dreamed of this moment for so long. So very long. You'd dreamed of what it would feel like when he finally touched you, his skin on yours, giving you all he had to give. But fuck, not like this, not like this-

He finished with whatever he was reciting, and slipped his fingers under your waistband, along with the one of your panties and tugged them down. You pressed your thighs together, but he was stronger than you and pushed them apart, leaving you exposed for him.

"You're beautiful..." He stared down at you, leaving a crimson shade on your cheeks. "I'm sorry, I just... I felt like I had to tell you goodbye." Your eyes widened as he said that, and you shook your head. "What are you talking about? Luigi, I'm not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere either. You don't have to do this, please-"

By the time you finished, he was already unbuckling his belt, the sound of the buckle clinking against itself making you shiver. He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down, rubbing himself against your folds. He was big. Bigger than you expected. Big enough that it looked like this might leave you sore.

You tried to scoot back, but he reached for you and pulled you closer than you were before, gasping at the feeling of your wetness against his cock. He'd longed for this forever, maybe even since the moment he'd first laid eyes on you. It felt like heaven to him, despite how dirty he felt - despite the fact that he knew it was wrong.

Something about you looking down on him for this only made him harder.

He lined himself up with your entrance and parted you with just his tip, his nails sinking into your hips as he did. "Fuck," he whimpered, "I'm so sorry, amore."

And with that, he slid into you slowly. You sighed in relief, only to cry out when he was so overwhelmed by pleasure that he slammed himself into you as deep as he could manage, rolling his hips into you.

Fuck. You could feel him pressing against your cervix. His breath shook as he panted heavily, shutting his eyes tightly as he pulled out nearly all the way, only to slam back into you. He swore, leaving bruises on your sides from how hard he was holding you. It hurt but you didn't care.

He kept up this brutal force, moving all the way out just so he could thrust deep into you again. It took him a while to speed up just because he was so overstimulated by it. But when he did, he fucked you like a wild animal, slamming his hips into yours, the obscene sound of his skin hitting yours filling your apartment.

You looked up at him, who still had his eyes closed out of shame. You couldn't help but imagine what he saw behind his eyelids, what he was imagining as he fucked you in earnest. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he fought against them. "I'm sorry," he muttered, over and over again. He couldn't stop apologizing.

"It's- it's okay, it's okay... fuck-! I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you... oh god..."

That was too much for him. Your acceptance, that unconditional love of yours, the fact that he could do this, and you would still understand, pushed him over, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

His hands frantically slid up your sides as he leaned down onto you, both your chests pressed together, getting as much of his skin on yours as possible. He ran his fingers up and down you, committing every hill and valley to memory. "I'm sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you. I promise you. I promise."

He kept mindlessly apologizing as he used you, controlled by his own need. There was no stopping him now, and you didn't want to. He was beautiful even like this, even at his lowest point. You knew that you loved him in this moment.

"I'm gonna cum, please, please... I'm sorry, I need it, please, baby-" He kept babbling through his tears, which fell onto your cheeks. You closed your eyes softly, leaning into his touch, pressing your lips to his.

He devoured you in an instant, the kiss deeper than before, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his release. "Perdonami, ti prego," he begged, speaking inbetween breaths.

"Lu," you cooed. "Go ahead. It's alright."

As soon as you commanded him, his eyes shot open and he threw his head back as he rammed into your cervix, spilling himself deep inside of you, his body shaking as he did. You tightened around him, the feeling of him finally letting himself go enough to make you cum too, as you called out his name.

He stayed tensed up over you for a moment, his arms struggling to hold his weight as his eyes shut, and he collapsed on top of you, his face in your chest. He started to sob, gripping you tight, one of his hands going down to entangle with yours. "I'm so sorry, amore," he repeated, over and over, "I'm sorry"s falling from his lips.

You pressed him closer, free hand stroking his hair softly as he crumbled in your arms. "It's okay. I forgive you."

"Please don't hold it against me."

"We'll figure it out, okay, Lu? We'll figure it out, together. Me and you. Because I love you."

"I love you too.... No matter what happens, remember that I love you."

[woso-story]

The Weight Of Love And Loss- Part Five

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Part One Two Three Four Six

The apartment felt unbearable. Alexia had barely lasted two days after your conversation in the café before she packed a small bag and left for Mapi and Ingrid’s. The weight of the emptiness, the silence, and the memories crushed her. Every corner of the space carried a piece of you: your favorite blanket draped over the couch, the little succulent you insisted on keeping in the kitchen, the faint smell of your perfume lingering in the hallway.

But what hurt the most was the bedroom. The space that had once been filled with whispered laughter and quiet intimacy now felt cold and sterile. She hadn’t been able to sleep in the bed after you left, curling up instead on the couch, hoping exhaustion would eventually overtake her.

It never did.

“I can’t do it,” Alexia had admitted to Mapi when she arrived at their doorstep. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her eyes were rimmed red from days of crying. “I can’t stay there.”

Mapi had simply pulled her into a hug, murmuring, “You don’t have to. Stay as long as you need.”

Ingrid prepared the guest room for her, making it as comfortable as possible. Alexia spent her first night at their place sitting by the window, staring out into the city lights, wondering how things had spiraled so far out of control.

---

The first few days at Mapi and Ingrid’s were a blur. Alexia felt like a shadow of herself, existing but not living. Mapi tried her best to cheer her up, dragging her to brunches with teammates or movie nights in the living room. But no matter how much Alexia tried to participate, the ache in her chest never went away.

One evening, Alexia was scrolling through her phone when she stumbled upon an old photo of the two of you. It was from a lazy Sunday morning, your hair tousled from sleep as you grinned at the camera, Alexia’s arm wrapped around you. The caption read: My favorite mornings.

Her chest tightened as tears welled in her eyes. She quickly put the phone down and buried her face in her hands.

Mapi found her like that, sitting at the dining table with silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

“You have to stop torturing yourself, Ale,” Mapi said softly, sitting beside her.

“I can’t help it,” Alexia whispered. “I miss her. And it’s my fault she’s gone.”

“You can’t change the past,” Mapi replied. “But you can work on the future. You’ve already taken the first step by recognizing what went wrong. Now you have to keep going.

It was easier said than done.

---

At Mapi’s insistence, Alexia made an appointment with a psychologist. It wasn’t an easy decision—Alexia had always prided herself on being strong, someone who could handle anything life threw at her. Admitting that she needed help felt like admitting defeat.

Her first session was stiff and uncomfortable. She answered the psychologist’s questions with short, guarded responses, unwilling to let her walls down. But something shifted in the second session.

“I lost her,” Alexia found herself saying, her voice breaking. “Because I couldn’t see what I was doing. I thought I was protecting her by not letting her in, but I was just pushing her away.”

For the first time, she spoke openly about the pressure she’d felt after her injury—the fear of being forgotten, of losing her place on the team, of failing to live up to everyone’s expectations. And slowly, session by session, she began to unravel the tangle of emotions she’d been carrying for months.

---

Alexia threw herself into her recovery, but this time, she approached it differently. Instead of overtraining to the point of exhaustion, she followed her physio’s advice to the letter, focusing on both her physical and mental well-being.

Her days became a balance of rehab sessions, therapy, and spending time with her teammates. She started journaling, pouring her thoughts and feelings onto paper. She even picked up a new hobby—painting—which helped her quiet her restless mind.

Mapi and Ingrid noticed the change almost immediately.

“She’s getting better,” Ingrid remarked one evening as she and Mapi watched Alexia paint in the living room.

“Yeah,” Mapi agreed. “But she still misses her.”

They weren’t wrong. Even as Alexia started to find her footing again, there was a part of her that still ached for you. She often wondered what you were doing, whether you were as okay as you seemed during that last conversation.

There were nights when she wanted to call you, to tell you about her progress and promise that things could be different. But she held back. She knew you needed time, and so did she.

---

While Alexia was rebuilding herself, you were rediscovering who you were.

Your new apartment became a haven, a space that was entirely yours. The freedom to decorate it however you wanted, to come and go as you pleased, felt liberating. You spent your weekends exploring the park nearby, taking long walks by the lake and watching the world go by.

Work became your escape, and your dedication didn’t go unnoticed. The promotion you’d been working toward for years finally became a reality, and it felt like validation for all your hard work.

But it wasn’t just your career that flourished. You started reconnecting with friends, saying yes to dinner invites and weekend trips. On a whim, you adopted a small Maltese puppy named Mylo, who quickly became your constant companion.

For the first time in a long time, you felt like yourself again.

---

One evening, you were scrolling through TikTok when a familiar face appeared on your screen. It was Alexia, walking onto the pitch, the caption reading: La Reina is back.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Without thinking, you opened Instagram and went straight to Alexia’s account. There it was—a photo of her being subbed on, her face glowing with a smile that looked real, not forced.

You couldn’t stop yourself from double-tapping the photo and leaving a comment: Proud of you.

It was a simple gesture, but you meant it with all your heart. No matter how things had ended between you, you couldn’t deny how much you admired her strength and determination.

---

On the other side of the city, Alexia sat in bed scrolling through her phone. Normally, she didn’t read the comments under her posts, but something compelled her to that night.

And then she saw it.

Proud of you.

Her breath hitched, her fingers hovering over the screen. It wasn’t much, but it meant everything. After all the mistakes she’d made, after all the pain she’d caused, you were still proud of her.

She set her phone down and lay back, a small smile spreading across her face. For the first time in months, she felt a glimmer of hope.

If she kept working on herself, if she continued to heal, maybe—just maybe—there was still a chance for the two of you.

But for now, she would focus on the present, knowing that if it was meant to be, your paths would cross again.

---

And so, while you curled up on your couch with Mylo by your side, and Alexia drifted off to sleep with a rare sense of peace, the future remained unwritten. Both of you were healing, slowly but surely, and perhaps that was the most important step of all.

[guiltyc0nscience]

⋆˙⟡ lacy, oh, lacy, matt sturniolo

ex!matt sturniolo x ex!fem reader

synopsis. in which your ex boyfriend matt gets a new girlfriend and you envy her.

warnings. angst, self comparison, ex!matt, jealousy.

word count. 700 words.

authors note. this is my fav song on guts :(

you were scrolling mindlessly through instagram, half-distracted by the show playing in the background, when it hits you like a punch in the gut.

matt’s name.

you almost swipe past it, the little blue checkmark drawing your attention before your brain has time to catch up. the first photo in the carousel is enough to make your chest tighten; matt’s unmistakable smile, wild and carefree, his arm slung casually around the waist of a girl who is undeniably beautiful.

she’s perfect in a way that feels cruel. her hair is shiny and soft, her skin glowing like she exists in some perpetually golden hour. she’s wearing a baby pink skirt and a white tank top, that made you second-guess every piece of clothing you ever owned. and matt—he’s looking at her like she’s the only thing that matters, his gaze full of that rare blend of comfort and adoration that used to be reserved for you.

your fingers hovered over the screen, but the curiosity wins. you click on her profile—never a good idea.

her name is lacy, a name as delicate and ethereal as she looks. her bio is full of cute emojis, and her feed is an endless stream of photos that make her seem both unreachable heartbreakingly real. there are candids of her laughing with friends, aesthetic shots of iced-lattes and sunsets, flawless photos of her, and of course, more pictures of her with matt.

each photo was a dagger.

you scroll further, unable to stop yourself. there’s a photo of her in a bikini that hugged her perfect body in all the right ways, standing on the beach, her arms wrapped around matt as he leans down to kiss her forehead. the stunning sunset in the background really setting the scene.

you hate her. you hate how easily she seems to slot into the life that used to be yours. you hate the way she seems so effortlessly happy, like she’s never had to sit in her room crying after seeing someone else post photos like this. most of all, you hate how much she reminds you of everything you’re not.

lacy was kind. you could tell by the way people commented under her posts, by the stories where she’s tagged with the captions like “the sweetest person alive” and “my literal angel.” she’s funny, too, with captions that actually made you laugh even though you resented her for it. and then there’s the way she looks at matt in every picture. it’s the kind of look you recognised because it used to be yours.

and matt—he’s happy. he looks like he’s found the thing he’s been searching for.

it feels like a slap in the face.

you tell yourself to stop. to close the app, put your phone down, and do literally anything else. but instead, you go back to his post, lingering on the comment section. the flood of heart emojis and “you two are perfect” messages like tiny arrows, each one reminding you that this is his life now.

he doesn’t think about you anymore.

the realisation hits harder than you expect. it’s not like you thought he was still pining for you, but seeing it laid out in front of you—proof that he’s moved on, that he’s happy—makes your stomach churn.

you close instagram and toss your phone onto your bed next to you, but the damage is done. lacy is burned into your mind now, an image you can’t shake. you think about her at random moments, comparing yourself to her in ways that feel pathetic but impossible to stop.

would matt have loved you more if you’d been more like her? if you’d laughed more or dressed better or been softer around the edges?

you hate how much you care.

it’s not just jealousy—it’s grief. for what you had with matt, for the person you were when you were with him. for the version of you that thought she was enough.

you try to tell yourself it’s just a passing feeling, that in a few days this ache will dull into something manageable. but tonight, it’s sharp and all-consuming, and it’s hard not to feel like lacy has taken more than matt from you.

she’s taken the version of yourself that felt loved.

and you can’t stop wondering if you’ll ever get her back.

[taojjang]

𐙚 riize reactions: i want to marry you .ᐟ

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ advent calendar, day twenty-two! pairing: fiance!riize x reader, genre: fluff! warnings: pure love <3

synopsis: there's no better time to confess your never-ending love for someone than the holidays!

note: we're on the final four! ty guys sm for enjoying the advent calendar series i appreciate it so so so much :( i hope you guys are looking forward to the holidays coming up!! this one is kinda longgg i was feeling a bit too romantic so i hope you have the time and patience for this

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ˚ ۪ ⋆ ୨୧

shotaro . . .

since the beginning of november, shotaro had planned a romantic getaway for the holidays. he booked the resort the second you agreed to his idea. from then until the day he drove you to the resort, he wouldn't stop talking about how excited he was. on christmas night, you finally realized why he was so excited.

taro knew you wanted to try ice skating. every time you'd open instagram, you'd watch reels about cute winter date ideas, and somehow ice skating was always a suggestion. you've been bugging taro to take you ice skating. the two of you got ready together in your fancy hotel room, taro letting you pick out your matching outfits. after you got all dolled up for the date, you were on your way to the skii resort.

taro held your hand as you entered the skii lift, reassuring you everything would be fun. but you were terrified. the lift seemed to be going way faster than you anticipated, causing your anxiety to palpitate in your chest. but once you entered the skii lift, your every thought was clouded by the breathtaking view ahead of you. but within seconds of reaching the mountain peak, you felt a tap on your shoulder. as you turned to face your boyfriend, your gaze was stolen by a glistening ring in taro's hand. your heart grew lighter as you looked down into taro's doting eyes.

"you've made every day of my life feel like a dream. would you let me live in your fairytale for the rest of our lives?"

the two of you held hands and explored the snowy mountain together, not being able to stop giggling as the idea of being with each other for the rest of your lives sank in.

eunseok . . .

eunseok is truly the most nurturing boyfriend you could ask for. no matter how busy or tired he is, he'd drop anything and come running to you the second you call his name. but with such a caring boyfriend comes so much nagging. eunseok is always complaining about how you spend too much money ordering food when he could just cook for you, or how you need to prioritize paying bills before buying new clothes. so of course it shocked you when he suddenly told you he was taking you to a tropical resort for christmas.

but of course, you couldn't complain. you were already envisioning so many cute things to do with eunseok on the vacation. you were a bit too excited, packing your things the same night although you had two more weeks until your flight. but it was all worth it. the resort he booked was absolutely stunning. you had your own little house on the beach and you bedroom had a window view of the deep turquoise waves.

the next few days, eunseok would take you on fancy tours of the island and luxurious dinner dates every night. you felt a bit emotional when things were coming to an end. the amount of beautiful memories you made with eunseok this week was all starting to overwhelm you. you felt like your love for him was at its capacity. seeing how sentimental you were, eunseok decided to lift your spirits by taking you on the final activity he had booked: a romantic ride on a yacht. it was absolutely lovely sitting beside eunseok with a glass of champagne in your hand. the wind breezed through your hair, refreshing every lingering thought in your mind. as you soaked in the tropical sun, eunseok called from behind you. "i think you'll like this view more." your heart stilled in your chest as you turned to eunseok, who was on one knee with the most stunning diamond ring you've ever seen

"you're the only person i'd wish to share the rest of my memories with. darling, will you marry me?"

sungchan . . .

every date with sungchan is typically organized by you. sungchan is quite clumsy and unorganized, so whenever he plans something it usually goes wrong. though you don't mind it and enjoy the thrill of how unpredictable his dates are, he's too insecure to plan dates. after all, sungchan wants the best for you.

but he knew you couldn't plan his proposal. he wanted it to be a complete surprise, which he succeeded in. you were shocked by how beautiful the house looked when you got home from spending time with your family for christmas. there was a romantic trail of rose petals leading you from the entrance to the dinner table, which was prettily decorated with fancy candles and flowers. though sungchan was such a klutz, you were proud of him for how luxurious he made the house.

everything was going as planned: he cooked up his best dish and it turned out delicious having you get up for seconds. you even complimented how well he planned out this date. to finish off the night, sungchan poured you a glass of pink champagne and served two slices of your favorite cake. the two of you were eating cake by the fireplace and sharing affectionate words with one another until suddenly, sungchan winced in pain and he covered his mouth with his hand. concerned and panicked, you put down your plate and leaned closer asking him what was wrong. you were surprised to see sungchan pull out a small object from his mouth. it was a diamond ring. you could see the embarrassment rise to his face as he looked down at the ring. "well, that wasn't supposed to be there..." as you realized what had just happened, you bursted out into laughter and took sungchan into your arms. "oh my gosh, sungchan, you're the cutest!" sungchan whined and threw his head into his hands crying, "it was going so well!" you smiled and left a doting kiss on sungchan's lips. "it's alright baby, now's your chance." sungchan sat up and cleared his throat, taking your hands into his and looking into your eyes.

"i know that was so stupid of me, but i promise to take you on countless more dates even better than this one. would you be my wife?"

wonbin . . .

wonbin loves home dates. whenever wonbin is in the mood to take you on a date, the destination is almost always his living room. something about the intimacy of being alone in such a comfortable space makes him so much sweeter than usual. but the christmas spirit makes wonbin even sweeter.

the two of you have a holiday tradition of going on a date to the annual christmas light festival at the nearby park. after walking around and taking cute pictures of every display, you would both find a seat in front of the frozen lake and share one early christmas gift.

but this year, wonbin forgot all about your gift. you stood in front of him with a blue gift bag in your hands, staring at him in disbelief as he stood empty-handed. you were furious. you'd been keeping up this tradition for five years, how could he forget? wonbin had even been bragging endlessly about how amazing your gift is, yet he conveniently forgot to bring it with him. you sat down on the bench and crossed your arms, not daring to look at him. all you could do was sulk as he cooed apologies. but your tough demeanor was soon cracked when wonbin sang, "listen baby, i can make it up to you, hm? look at me." finally giving in and turning to face him, your heart dropped to your stomach. wonbin got on one knee ahead of you, pulling out a small black velvet case from his pocket.

"you're the best gift i could ever receive. i'd never trade you for anything else in the world. will you marry me?"

seunghan . . .

seunghan spoils you rotten all throughout the year. you're having a hard day? dinner date! you just got a promotion? shopping spree! you gave him a few extra kisses that morning? flowers at your doorstep! after all, you're his entire world. what better way to show you that than giving you everything you could possibly ask for?

christmas is your favorite time of the year. you love going on all of the winter dates seunghan plans and enjoying the christmas spirit with him. but it gets a bit stressful sometimes. every day, there's at least two more gifts under the christmas tree despite not asking for a single thing this year. since seunghan spends so much money on you, you told him not to fret about christmas gifts this year and to focus on his family and friends. but its obvious those words didn't stick with him. by the time christmas eve came, more than half of the gifts under the tree were for you. you went to bed that night excited to open all of the gifts he'd gotten for you.

but you woke up to a christmas tree with no gifts beneath it. the tree skirt was bare with no boxes in sight. instead, four bouquets of flowers were sitting where the gifts usually were. confused, you called for seunghan in hopes he could explain what happened. but he never answered. as you investigated further, you noticed a single gift sitting on the branches of the tree. your eyes welled with tears as it revealed a silver ring with a stunning blue diamond. you turned around to see seunghan standing at the doorway with all of your gifts and another bouquet.

"what do you say, angel? would you take my hand in marriage?"

sohee . . .

as much as sohee loves you, it's rare for him to express said love through physical touch. here and there, he'd hold your hand as you walk beside each other or he'd brush your hair behind your ear when you're resting against his shoulder. but typically, he struggles to openly express his affection.

so of course you suspected something was off when he awkwardly held your hand for days straight. since the day before christmas eve, sohee's been so much more cuddly than you're used to. after spending the holidays together for the nth time, he wouldn't leave your side. he was practically clinging onto you from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep in your arms. though you loved every second of it, you began to worry.

to end off christmas day on a cozy note, you put on your coziest sweater and got comfortable in front of the fireplace. not even a few seconds later, sohee hesitantly sat beside you, linking his arm around yours and resting against your shoulder. you pulled the blanket over the two of you and looked down at the clingy boy beside you. resting your hand on his cheek and stroking his soft skin, you asked out of pure concern, "sohee baby, is something wrong? is there something from your christmas list that i missed?" sohee chuckled and shook his head, snuggling closer to you. "what? of course not. i just... have a lot on my mind." even the slightest pout on sohee's face caused you immense discomfort and pain. you couldn't stand hearing he was stressed. "tell me about it, what's upsetting you?" sohee took a few seconds to simply breathe and take in your presence. swallowing back all of his fear, he looked up at you and let everything fall from his lips. "i think... i think i wanna marry you." your heart stood completely still. not a single breath escaped your lips. it was as if your entire world had froze. your love for sohee began overflowing in the form of tears.

"i've never felt so much love for someone as long as i've lived. i want to marry you, y/n."

anton . . .

christmas is always so serious for anton. he does not play when it comes to the holiday festivities. from november 1st all the way through january 31st, your house is full of the prettiest christmas decorations and even gifts. anton buys tons and tons of gifts for you that could last even past christmas. all year round, he takes notes on what items you express a desire for and he brings home all of those gifts on christmas. he just wants nothing but the best for you.

you're far too precious to anton. everything you do makes him feel so overwhelmingly in love with you. no matter how cranky you are, anton will always spoil you with snacks and affection every night. so of course he goes above and beyond for christmas, seizing the opportunity to spoil you rotten.

but you didn't expect there to be this many presents under the tree. you shook your head in both disbelief and astonishment. after eating a fancy breakfast anton had prepared, he urged you to open all of your gifts. you were more than touched to see all of the things you've mentioned to him sitting under the tree. from new clothes to fancy jewelry, anton covered everything you wished for. just when you thought things couldn't get any better, you opened the final box. inside lied a white teddy bear and a pink book sitting beneath it. you wound emotional flipping through the pages and seeing all of the prettiest photos he's taken with you, from the lowest times to the happiest memories you could recall. lying in the center of the last page was a gift you've been waiting for since the moment you met anton. it was a promise ring. looking up at anton with love flowing down your cheeks, you couldn't help but cry out of pure happiness.

"the happiest moments of my life were spent with you, y/n, and i want nothing more than to make even more with you. may i be your husband?"

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[moosesarecute]

December 23rd

December Masterlist

Masterlist

Azriel had moved you to his bedroom in the House of Wind after you had fallen asleep. You remembered being picked up and shushed back to sleep, but you don’t remember being brought to his room.

He slept soundly beside him. He snored a little. Azriel only snored when he felt exhausted, so you decided to let him sleep for as long as he needed.

You got his shadows to help you out of his arms so that he didn’t wake up, before you moved into the kitchen.

It was cookie time.

With the help of the shadows you first mixed sugar and brown sugar, before you added flour, vanilla and eggs. In the end you mixed in chopped hazelnuts and dark chocolate.

You scooped out over 50 small cookies and baked them in the oven. In the meanwhile, you started on the presents.

Rhys had given you one of Feyre’s favorite dresses. It had three small holes. It didn’t take you long to saw all of them. It looked good as new.

You remembered the dress the second you saw it. Rhys’ mother had used you as a model to make it.

After that, you moved on to an apron. It was Elain’s and you decided to embroider flowers on it. Just like the flowers of you made on the dresses of the dolls Nick and his elves made.

That’s what you were doing when Nesta walked in.

“You’ve been busy,” she said. “Can I try one?”

You picked up one of the cookies that had cooled down and gave it to her. She took a bite and smiled.

“These are so good! You know, the boys tried to make these. They weren’t half as good as yours.”

You could imagine Azriel and Cassian baking together and the mess they would make. The thought made you happy.

“What’s the deal with the cookies? I’ve heard you’re very set on making these all of December.”

You smiles again as memories of your mother filled your mind.

“I grew up in Windhaven too. We weren’t very well off. I was lucky enough to be able to eat dinner with Rhys and his mother most days, but I remember going to bed hungry often. However, in the month of December my mother had been saving for many months to make sure be had money for sugar, eggs, nuts and chocolate. We would make cookies on the 1st of December. The recipe made about 20 cookies, but we made them so small that he had at least 42. Then, we would eat one each every day until Winter Solstice. And if we had more than 42, my father would get the rest.”

It was your fondest memory from your mother. That was one of the many reasons to why you loved Winter Solstice.

“You really loved your mother, didn’t you?”

“Yes, she was the best. She always supported me.”

“She died when you were young, didn’t she? Do you mind me asking what happened?”

“Unlike most fae, my mother didn’t have the best health. She was sick from a very young age. She got worse and worse from the time I turned sixteen. She passed as I turned 19. She got a very short life for fae standards, as she was only 64 as she died. But she got to meet Azriel and that means a lot.”

You and Nesta ended up speaking for quite a while. You spoke about everything: mates, food, books and training.

“Ooo, it smells sooo good,” Cassian’s strong voice boomed through the kitchen as he walked in.

He stumped towards the cookies, but you slapped his hand away before he managed to touch one.

“Cauldron, Cass. You have to wash your hands first!”

He turned to you and you expected to see his annoyed face, but he only smiled at you. He threw himself on you with a hug.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” he said.

You gave him a cookie and he and Nesta went out to train.

You had finished presents for Feyre and Elain and moved on to Amren and Nesta. You were going to make two different things, but the way to make them were similar. You needed to knit a rectangle and fold it into a book cover for Nesta and a jewelry holder for Amren.

You picked a thicker yarn so that the knitting would be quicker. Then you would sew a piece of fabric on the inside of both of them.

You had just begun when you were covered in shadows. You almost expected Azriel to arrive soon after, but the humming feeling in your chest told you he was still sleeping. The shadows had been following you the entire morning, but right now they were actually holding your entire body.

So you decided to put the shadows to work.

“So you push that needle into this hoop, then you twist the yarn around and flip up the hoop over the yarn twisted around the needle,” you said as you showed the shadows how to knit.

You sat together and knitted and it was surprisingly fun. They would pull your hair once a while because they had lost a stitch or done something else wrong, but they did a great job.

Azriel woke up and was ready to pull you tighter towards him.

But you weren’t there.

Panic immediately filled his chest. Had he been dreaming? Why weren’t you there? He looked at the time. It was eleven. He must have been sick or hurt.

“Kitchen,” his shadows told him.

Azriel threw on a shirt and ran to the kitchen. Relief filled his body as he saw you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and took in your scent.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” you told him.

You must have felt his emotions through the bond.

“It’s okay, just, please wake me next time,” he said and kissed your head.

That’s when he noticed his shadows. His shadows were feared creatures. They often killed or tortured with him. And people ran away in fear from just a sight of them.

But now, they were knitting.

“You taught them to knit?”

“Of course!”

Azriel couldn’t help all the emotions that filled his heart. It was ridiculous, but very cute at the same time.

“You’re cute,” he told you with a new kiss.

The two of you had moved into the living room. Azriel sat and read some reports, while you sewed with your legs in his lap. It was fire in the fireplace and hot chocolate stood on the table.

It was so calm and peaceful.

You were working on sewing the jewelry holder for Amren, when you pricked your finger with the needle.

“Ouch,” you said softly and put your thumb into your mouth. The metallic taste of blood hit your tongue.

You had pricked yourself with needles extremely many times. It became something you almost didn’t notice happened. So you started sewing again.

However, you were filled with a bunch of anxiety. As you looked up at Azriel he looked extremely worried.

He reached for your hand and brushed carefully over your thumb.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. His eyebrows were furrowed.

“Az,” you said. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

You moved away your sewing and held Azriel into your chest. His shaky breath told you he was crying. You realized that your blood definitely had triggered something.

“Shhh,” you kissed his head. “I’m here, my shadow. I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe. It was just a small needle. I’m safe in your protection.”

He calmed down more and more the more you spoke. He looked up at you with eyes that were just a little puffier than before. You kissed his forehead and held him a little longer.

Eventually, he started reading again and you moved over to Cassian’s present. You repaired some of his leathers. You finished both his pants and shirt and made sure they were sturdy enough to last him a long time.

For Mor, you begun making a fabric purse with a smaller compartment for makeup, a place holder for a drink and a bigger compartment for anything. The bad was almost finished when you started. You had started it before you got kidnapped. Picking it up again felt bittersweet. Let just say that both you and Azriel crying once again when you brought it out.

“It’s getting quite late, dear,” Azriel said as he held his hand out. He pulled you out of the couch and made the way to the bedroom.

His shadows were swirling lazily around you, but not in a sleepy manner. You moved your hand over to his back and drew a line down his entire back. His wing twitched just a little.

You knew very well what you were doing.

As you closed the door to the bedroom, you kissed him passionately. You moved to kiss down to his neck and ear. He let out a soft sigh. You locked eyes with his gentle hazel eyes and suddenly all you could think of was him.

Taglist: @prettylittlewrites @hailqueenconquer @onebadassunicorn @mich0731 @tele86 @mellowmusings @anarchiii @anainkandpaper @donnadiddadog @atomictyphoonkitten @annablack @graciepies @salvatoresister1 @nastylicious @plants-w0rld @stqrgirlies-blog @scoliobean @kbear8863

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[kurokawaia]

DAY TWENTY THREE - BABY TRAPPING 彡 Aizen Sosuke

WARNINGS :: x fem reader, afab, yandere, coercion, manipulation, baby trapping, no protection, missionary, fingering, cervix kissing, NC cumming inside, + more

| WC :: 2.8k+ | MDNI | 18+ | kinkmas m.list

You knew about Aizen, what he wanted to achieve-you were the only person he had told apart from three others. You were going to go ahead and help him make this dream a reality. To be in the company of Aizen was to be with a God-the level of control he had, it scared you, couldn't tell if you felt safe too. He's always there to protect you, keeps you hidden away so you can't get hurt. Still, something has always been a bit off about him; you noticed it, how his eyes would follow your every move, every breath. It started innocently enough with Aizen as a perfect gentleman, never forcing and yet giving you just enough space to feel independent. Subtle changes began to happen over time. "Are you going out again?" Aizen's voice came out soft, he is masking his disapproval, he's waiting for the right moment to force you to stay with him. You lifted your gaze from the mirror in front of you and finished styling out your hair. "Just for a little while. Soon I will be back." His eyes stayed on you a moment, his smile false as he stared at you. "I worry about you," he said, moving in behind you and setting his hands on your shoulders before trailing off down to your hands. "The world is a dangerous place, and I'm not always going to be here to protect you. You're only a healer, you can't do much, my love." Comforting, even, his words were sweet. You think. A lump, tense feeling began to grow in your stomach but you laughed it off, brushing his hands with a soft touch. "I'll be fine, Sosuke! I can take care of myself." But the seed had been sown. Over weeks, he came further into your life, and what you used to decide for yourself would, it seemed henceforth, have first to pass through him. And he keeps reminding you so often with a soft chuckle that he wants nothing but the best for you. "You know, you need to take more rest," Aizen said to you one night while doing reports. He leaned over you with his hand tucked in the back of your nemaki, drawing circles, almost to sooth you. "All this stress isn't good for your health." You faltered, words caught in your throat. "I need to finish this." "You don't," he returned smoothly. His fingers closed over your shoulder, tightening just a fraction. "What you need is to unwind. I don't like seeing you overexerting yourself." Before he could object further, he leaned forward and rolled the scroll shut before taking it in his hands. "I'll take care of everything," he whispered. "Just trust me." At first, it was very easy to confuse his overprotectiveness with care. He was attentive, loving in his own peculiar way. Before long, the control started to become more evident with each passing day. 

He never raised his voice nor did he yell. He didn't have to. His words had been enough to lead you to wherever he wanted you to go. And they were so gradual besides, too slight, almost imperceptible. He started taking you away from your friends, from your captain, your lieutenant, subtly making you feel they were not people you should trust. "They don't understand you the way I do," he'd say stroking your hair as you lay in his arms. "They'll only hold you back." And when you fell, he'd lift your chin so it faced his eyes, the skin of your forehead grazing his lips in a feather-soft touch. "I only want what's best for you." You had begun to lean on him, questioning your choices, and if indeed you really knew what was best for you. Then you went to Aizen to see if it was okay-the things you were doing. Aizen had this way of speaking, as though he was the only one who knew you. Lying beside him in bed, as night fell, you said what was pent up inside your mind, "Aizen, am I the only one who thinks this all went a bit too fast? I feel like... I'm losing myself." His response was immediate. "You aren't losing yourself, my love, you're finding who you're really supposed to be. With me, you don't have to worry about a thing. Always, I will take care of you," he says with a softness, but his words are like honey. Still, with those words somehow, it sent shivers down your spine. That was when the future conversations started, light at first, talks about what life could be if you stayed together. A house, peaceful life, children. "You'd make a great mother," he said one afternoon as his eyes latched onto yours. "Can't you imagine building a life with me?" Your heart had skipped a beat, but there was a growing discomfort. "Perhaps someday, but I don't know if I'm ready for that as yet." Aizen didn't press the issue then, but the subject kept coming up. He'd casually touch your belly, remark on how ideal it would be to have a family, how complete your bond would be if you were tied together in every possible way. "It's natural to be wary," Aizen told you one evening while you sat before the fireplace. His hand lay limply on your thigh, his thumb tracing soft patterns. "But do think about it. A child would only strengthen our love. We'd be forever bound." You laughed a little nervously and brushed the suggestion aside. "That's a big step, Aizen. I'm just not sure I'm ready." He smiled gently, his eyes concealing something, something that you don't notice. "You will see, in time, it is the best thing that can happen to us." You didn't know that in his mind, a decision was already made.

Aizen and you have had sex multiple times, so it isn't a rare occurrence for the two of you to have sex at least once a day, at the least, it would be once every two days. But, Aizen makes sure to leave you every night, making sure that you are so fucked out due to pleasure that you forget to notice particular things. 

Specifically, something that is about to happen tonight. 

Your arms are pinned above your head, as Aizen's fingers experimentally push past your slick folds, his fingers pressing past your clit, and a surge of pleasure courses through you, leaving you breathless and desperate for more.

 A moan left your mouth as your back arched to his touch. Your reaction made Aizen press down slightly more, and your legs squeezed around his waist, moans stringing out your mouth.

You felt his fingers slide down, and he found your seeping hols drenched with arousal. A finger slowly slid inside your heat, a whimper leaving your mouth. "Does this feel good?" Aizen asked, and you nodded frantically.

"F-Fuck... feels so good, Sosuke," you whimpered as he started to slowly pump in and out your soaked walls.

"Really?" He asked and you moaned as he inserted another finger into your walls.

Overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and intensity, it leaves you unable to hold back your moans. You lean your lips against his shoulder, muffling those sounds that burst from deep inside you. His fingers delve deep inside your core, firing a flame that engulfs every thought. Every movement, every curl sends shockwaves of pleasure across your body.

You let go and surrender to his intoxicating rhythm of touches. The junction of his skilled fingers with the intensity of our connection cossets you closer to the edge and teetering on the precipice of release. It was just a pure moment of bliss, where time seemed to stand still, filled completely with an overwhelming pleasure that coursed through the veins.

With Aizen's fingers pumping in and out of your seeping hole relentlessly, there was a familiar tightness growing in your lower abdomen, and pleasure that had tightened inside your stomach. You wrap your shaking legs around him, trying to hold on to him as the pleasure overflows. Anticipation ripples your body, reacting to every single one of his touches and movements.

You chant his name into his neck as praises leave your mouth, your voice filled with desire and need. The tears welling in your eyes are not from pain but from the overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you whole.

At your pleading, sucks the skin around your neck once more, groaning against your neck, his voice husky with desire. His thumb starts pressing your clit with its fleshy pad, another layer added onto the sensations that are already so intense. The touch is electrifying, your back arches in response.

"Please, Sosuke," you sob. "I need to..."

"Let your body take over for you, you want this and I've got you," Aizen reassured, intertwining your mouths together, his mouth swallowing the moans that slipped out your mouth.

Waves of ecstasy wash over you, leaving your legs trembling and weak from the intensity of the sensations. He slips his fingers from your hole and you continue to tremble from the aftermath of the orgasm. You managed to release myself from Aizen's neck and move away from his hold.

"Feeling alright?" Aizen asks cupping my cheeks.

"...yeah..." you breath out slowly while looking into his eyes. Aizen makes you feel so good, all the time, always focusing n your own pleasure, it's like he's trying to win you over for something, to distract you from something-

"There is more coming," Aizen said slowly, his brown eyes piercing into your own and they widened.

"More?" you tease, "What possibly could you give me more of?"

"So much, my love," Aizen hums. "Just let yourself loose, don't focus on anything, just on the pleasure I will give."

He delicately bites the shell of your ear making you let out a quiet whimper. you could feel him smile against your ear at your reaction. Aizen's touch caused you to dig your nails slightly into his chest leaving light crescent marks causing more deep exhales of breaths to get caught in your ear.

Aizen moved his head and his body suddenly firmly pressed against yours and you whimpered at the feeling of his dick pressing up agasint your stomach. His lips mingled with yours his minty taste and smell overflowed your senses making it a complete euphoria for you. you cupped the back of his neck to create a deeper angle for him to go explore deeper into your mouth with our tongues continuing to entangle with each other.

Aizen groans into your mouth, the hand that was trailing down your thigh moved swiftly back to your waist and the other intertwined with your hair at the base of your neck, pulling you closer to him. you let out breathy sighs into him as your own hand interlaced with his chocolte and your other wrapped around behind his neck.

His other hand moved its way down to tightly lift your thigh up which made his body mould closer to mine making you feel his dick press up against your soaked core. The kiss slows down and turns soft and almost desperate it's as if he wants to take his time with you, savouring every inch of your taste, to take his sweet time to memorise you.

"Look at you," he teases. "Trembling under my touch."

Aizen pants against your lips and you didn't have time to reply as he pressed them against you once more. "Please," I whimper out.

"Hmm?"

"I want you...." you mumble. "Stop teasing me."

Aizen kissing your forehead like you were a child who listened to their parent. "Good girl."

He presses his lips against mine to take your mind off. you feel a hard tip get lubricated at your entrance making your back arch into him as you let out a strangled moan of pleasure into his mouth. He continues to push further into you making your eyebrows furrow together in pain but the pleasure is still overwhelming your senses making tears prick at your eyes.

"Oh, you feel so good," Aizen whimpers into your neck. "You're so perfect."

You moan. The feeling of pure ecstasy of him fully entered you, the pain gone.

You feel his dick scraping across your plush walls in all the right places as he slowly exited your cunt, but not fully. Your moans and whimpers get swallowed by each other. you feel his thrusts speed up and you moan in response, your walls clenching around him causing the grip Aizen held on your thigh and waist to tighten.

The coil in your stomach getting tighter and your moans slightly became higher. Aizen continued to groan into your neck after he pulled away from the heated kiss.

"You make- me feel so goo- d," you say moaning throughout your sentence, "Feels so good-" you felt the coil in your stomach snap as your back arched painfully into Aizen's bare chest causing Aizen to groan and his arms moved to wrap tightly around you.

You arched your back heavily, able at last to sink further into his embrace. Aizen leaned over, drawing you near to him and initiating a messy, moist kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth, letting out grunts as he absorbed your sounds of pleasure. 

Effectively distracting you as he cums half in your cunt and the rest all over your stomach. He mimics that he's pulled out when in reality, he's got you filled with his seed, ready for you to bare his child.

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

 Aizen watched you from his chair.. "You're shaking, dear. What's going through your mind?" His voice was smooth, treacherous in a way that completely made it impossible for you to feel anything but relaxed and on edge all at once.

"I-I just don't understand...," you stammered, your hand falling to rest on your stomach, that for the last couple of weeks had started to show the signs of the life growing inside you. "How could this have happened? We were careful..."

Aizen chuckled low in his throat. "Oh, my love. Did you truly think I would leave something so important to chance? This was always a part of the plan."

You froze, your mind racing. "Wha... what do you mean?"

He stood, moving towards you with the grace of a predator stalking his prey. His hand cupped your cheek as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, "I made it happen. I want you bound to me in every way possible. You're mine now-mind, body, and soul."

It swept over you, you realise everything now. Every sweet word, every tender touch, was all an act to trap you. And in one swell, tears began to well within your eyes, but a gentle smiling Aizen wiped them away.

"There is no reason to cry, dear, this is for the best. Now you shall never leave me. You shall carry my child, and we will be bound together, forever." His lips pressed against your forehead. Your breath hitched as his hand slipped into your stomach. How had you not seen this all along? All those nights he had held you close, whispering sweet promises to your ear-all part of his carefully designed trap. He straightened, watching your. "You're too precious to let slip away. You see that, don't you?" His fingers brushed your skin. "You planned this," I whispered, more for my benefit than his. "You wanted this all along..."

Aizen smiled. "Of course. You really didn't think I'd leave a thing like that to chance, did you? I have always had a vision for us-a future wherein you would be mine-completely." You took another step backward, feeling the beating of your heart within your chest, but there was nowhere to go. "What if I don't want it?" you whispered almost soundlessly. "You are emotional now. Understandably so. But time will let you see this as precisely what you need." His voice was coaxing, speaking as he would to a frightened child. You shook your head, fighting down the panic rising into your throat. "I don't want to be trapped like this, Aizen. You can't just take away my choices." Aizen's hand rose to your chin, the pad of his thumb tipping your face upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Oh my love, I have not taken anything from you. I've simply... ensured that we shall never again be parted. Is it not what you wanted, deep down?" "I... I don't know," you said, voice shaking. "Shhh," Aizen cooed, pressing a strand of hair behind your ear. "You are overwhelmed now. But in time, you shall see: our child will bind us together, and you shall understand that was the only way. You shall thank me for protecting our future. "Why?" one finally asked, barely above a whisper. "Why go to such an extent? Aizen's smile pulled taut over his lips, never quite reaching his eyes. "Because I love you. And when I love someone, I make sure they can never leave me." Aizen leaned down until his lips brushed against your ear. "There's no escape, my dear. Not now, not ever."

Do not steal, copy, modify, translate or use for ai Reblogs only!

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[jmdbjk]

Jungkook telling it like it is...

He did tell Spotify that he'd use the blanket they gave him. Just not the way they probably thought he would: Jungkook's glossy black marble floor shows his bare feet prints on it and he used his Spotify blanket to clean the floor. He says he'll have to always wear socks or slippers. I can see him leaving a pile of toe socks at the door just for him to put on when he's in that room...

He says he briefly and unseriously considered quitting the business to be a full time cook. (JK, you can't do that, you have to make enough money to pay for the utilities and property taxes on your new fortress...) But that's his introvert kicking in, the routine, the comfort zone, the way his job holds his interest enough to make him want to keep doing it. But he is aware and he knows this about himself and knows he has to return to his "spot" as he called it.

He seems to accept the fact his place of residence is going to be known by the fans just like many other aspects of his life such as details of his military service. He seems to take it in stride but he also sets boundaries by asking fans to not come to his house and do not send packages, not only to his house but to his army base. He explains why, that he cannot accept them and that packages containing food are restricted. He clearly instructs to send letters to the company.

How do people know where he lives? Here's the answer, or at least part of it:

We all know if you spend time on Youtube the algorithm will feed you videos and channels similar to what you've watched. If you are restrained enough to limit your viewing to only BangtanTV I applaud you. But if you watch anything else, youtube will serve you similar. We all know that through the anecdotes of Armys talking about being flooded with edited, slo-mo shipping videos.

Personally, I like watching youtube channels that show walking tours of Seoul. The city captured my attention and I've learned so much about it. But because of this interest I have in Seoul and Korea, more "walking tour" and Korean travel type channels are suggested to me. Some are better than others. Some are actually run by K-Army. I am very interested in K-Armys' perspective about life in Seoul so I watch. We get to see the birthday cafe events and such that I'm probably never going to experience.

Inevitably one of these channels is going to walk by the members' homes... because they are Army and can. Streets are public. And this is how other people find out where the members live. The videos show that none of the homes are accessible. They are all behind walls and gates. None of the videos show hoards of fans congregated in front of the homes. The only place you ever see that is in front of the Hybe building.

Yes, it is controversial knowing these things but it is also one of those things that is almost unavoidable. What do I do with the information I gain by watching? Nothing. I satisfy my curiosity and move on.

Jungkook knows we are curious. He knows with his position in life there are things he cannot control and he's aware of it. It's pointless for him to pretend he isn't aware of this. That's why he sets boundaries. And he's very kind about it when he does set boundaries.

Are there bad actors out there who will take advantage of the knowledge? Of course. But that's on them. Are there people who will post every detail they learn? Of course. That's how the information spreads to other social media platforms.

Anyway... the Weverse translations are sort of skimming over what he says. There's a little bit of nuance being left out sometimes.

The Weverse English subs say "We'd sing it every day while taking showers." But Jungkook more accurately said: "We always sing together while taking a shower." (begins at 1:00:00)

The Weverse English subs say "Recently, with Jimin, now during our clean up time I finished up in the kitchen and came back up we talked a lot about music and we'd always be humming (he hums) and I'd go far away and sing songs (he gestures away from him). I'll try to practice more when I have time." But more accurately he said: "So these days I'm with Jimin and now when its personal maintenance time I go upstairs after finishing kitchen work. We talk a lot about singing and we're humming along to each other all the time (he hums) like that and we go far away and sing and stuff (he gestures away from him). I'll practice more in my spare time." (begins at 36:48)

The Weverse English subs say "I've been doing well with Jimin in my military life. I've been well." More accurately he said: "I'm/we are working hard and doing well in military life together with Jiminie-hyung. I'm doing well." (at 8:18)

He showed us his entertainment room, he clearly states he can't show us the upstairs but he does not give a reason why but as he talks he explains he has not "organized" his house. Maybe he won't show it because he doesn't want to or maybe he won't show it because in his opinion, its a mess right now. Regardless, its his choice what he wants to show us and we are privileged when he does so. I'd bet that at some point, we'll see his kitchen because he's Jungkook.

He talked about his job as a cook in the Army. He said he prepares many Korean dishes and they are either boiled or braised. He mentions that they cannot grill food. He says its not easy making large amounts of food. He says he does his best to make them tasty. I've noticed on the timeline the accounts that post military menus that on most days, meals include stews and soups so he is definitely learning how to cook a wide variety of dishes.

He sang about 30 songs including several off Golden. He sounded really good singing Standing Next to You, in fact, his off the cuff live singing of all the songs from his album was pretty exquisite even if he didn't sing most of the songs to the end.

He spoke with a slight reverence regarding only singing BTS songs with the rest of the members. It gave me the impression he knows it will be a special moment for them as well as us.

He picked at his lip, bit his cuticles, touched his lips, scratched his head under his beanie and yawned many times before finally telling us good night. Until we see you again soon, Kookie! Be safe and keep practicing with Jimin!

[blxxdsex]

"The genius, Michael Gavey." - Michael Gavey x Reader.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, masturbation, foul language, loss of virginity, cum control.

English is not my first language, so I hope you will forgive me if there are any mistakes.

It’s not as if anyone’s queuing up to see what’s behind those smudged glasses or that same red sweater he pulls on every Monday. And that's fine. Honestly, it is. He's made peace with it. It’s their loss, isn’t it? That's the mantra he clings to, the thread keeping his fragile ego intact: They're the ones missing out. And God, doesn’t he need to believe it.

Michael’s good at a lot of things, and he knows it. Brilliant, really. Genius, if we're being honest. Maths? Please—he’s never even touched a calculator. Numbers are his domain, his sanctuary, the one place where he feels entirely at ease. Books too—though never fantasy; he’d rather lose himself in something real, something concrete. But everything else? Social skills? A complete disaster, really. Painful to watch.

When you arrived in Oxford, it hit him hard. Why? Because even when he was buried in the silence of the library, there you were, watching him. Always watching. Maybe intending to read a book—upside down, no less—or lounging with your legs thrown over a table, headphones blaring as if you couldn't care less about the world around you.

Michael Gavey isn't used to being seen. For fuck’s sake, he’s Michael Gavey. Nobody. Invisible, as he’s always preferred. But then you came along, and suddenly, invisibility wasn't an option. You became something else entirely: a problem, a distraction, a bloody nuisance he couldn’t seem to get rid of. And maybe, deep down, that’s what scared him most.

So, naturally, his response was to start staring back. Maybe if he leaned into being a proper weirdo, you’d back off. But no, of course not. You didn't flinch. You just stared right back, unwavering, unbothered. It didn't take long for one of the teachers to step in, warning him, of all people, to knock it off. And you? You just smiled. Smiled like you'd won some secret, twisted game, baring all your teeth like a predator who'd just cornered its prey.

When he squinted at you, furrowing his eyebrows in some attempt to decode whatever the hell was going on, you simply glanced at the table, still grinning like you had a secret you were dying to keep.

What was your problem? Were you planning something? Was there a game being played here, something sinister he couldn’t quite see? The questions clawed at him, gnawed at his focus, and yet, no answers came. Only that smile. God, he hated it.

Things weren't improving, no, they were deteriorating rather quickly. And it all took a turn for the bizarre when, in the dead of night, he awoke still half hard, with his shorts drenched in cum and his mind? Cluttered with vivid memories of a particular dream from the previous night. Never had he scrubbed a piece of clothing with such fury in his life; this treacherous body was doing him in. And the most egregious part? His cock was a bloody jest, because even after such mortification, he had to wank off once more just to make the torment subside.

That day, the Oxford corridors felt like they were smoldering beneath him, each step fueling the inferno inside his chest. His sneakers might as well have been on fire for how much he burned with rage. And then he saw you, loitering by your locker, looking infuriatingly calm as always. It was like you wanted to drive him insane.

He stormed over, slamming your locker shut with a single hand, his nostrils flaring like he was ready to tear you apart—not literally, of course. Well, maybe a little. He was unraveled, utterly tormented, and you? You were only making it worse.

“Stop.” The word came out flat, almost pitiful, his voice cracking under the weight of his irritation. His blue eyes, usually so sharp, were clouded and bloodshot, as if they’d been scorched by his fury.

“With what?” you asked, tilting an eyebrow, that insufferable smirk tugging at your lips. Carefree. Effortless. It made his teeth grind in pure frustration. He didn’t even understand why he felt so unhinged—just that he did.

“What the hell do you want?” he barked, his voice echoing down the corridor. Heads turned, a few people pausing to glance at the scene, but you didn't so much as flinch. No fear, no embarrassment. You just leaned lazily against your locker, staring at him down like you had all the time in the world.

“Your number, to start with, would be great.” The words hit him like a physical blow. His pupils dilated so fast it felt like the world had tilted. If darkness swallowed everything right then and there, he was convinced he’d still see you.

And that’s when everything shifted. You weren’t messing with him—not in the way he’d thought. No, you were interested in him. The realisation hit Michael like a slap, and even then, his perpetually self-loathing brain struggled to piece it all together. For once, his stupid mind was just that: stupid.

But then the messages started, tentative at first, and something clicked. You actually got on—really got on. It was strange, almost unnerving, how much you seemed to have in common. You liked some of the same nerdy things as him, and he found himself listening to bands he’d previously written off because you mentioned them. Slowly, the conversations moved out of his phone and into the library, where you started sitting at the same table.

People noticed, of course. Curious glances trailed after the two of you, some even daring to linger when Michael—Michael Gavey, of all people—was caught smiling. Not a smirk or a grimace, but an actual smile, albeit half-hidden behind his hand. But it was there, and for once, he didn’t mind. Not entirely.

And then, on a Friday night when everything seemed eerily serene, the text message arrived. 'Do you want to come to my dorm?' Panic ensued. Perhaps it's a tad presumptuous to assume you want to fuck him, isn't it? Yet, he was presuming precisely that. But the truth is, Michael has only kissed one girl in his entire life; otherwise, his knowledge comes from pornography, books about the human anatomy, and the hushed conversations in the men's locker room. And it's not that he didn't want to; in fact, he wanted to, desperately so, but the truth was that no one seemed sufficiently captivated to offer him the chance. But you, you were offering. Maybe. What does one do with that?

He took a shower, donned his usual jeans and a white shirt, slipped on his sneakers, and even spent time before the mirror wrestling with his blond hair, to little avail, of course. He decided he wouldn't be a coward; he had this chance, maybe, and he wouldn't squander it with timidity. He made his way to the girls' dorm on campus, garnering more than a few disdainful looks from the passing girls. It was just because it was him; if it were Felix sneaking in, they'd be all smiles. But who cares? There was only one person he hoped would truly appreciate his presence. He reached your door, his breath caught in his throat, and knocked so feebly that perhaps he thought you wouldn't even hear. Pathetic, honestly.

But you heard him, and when you opened the door, he froze for a moment. You'd just taken a shower; your skin was still slightly flushed from the hot water, wearing an oversized shirt, once black but now faded to grey, and some pajama shorts that honestly looked more like his underwear than actual shorts. He swallowed hard, managing a crooked smile. You leaned against the doorframe, your smile much more genuine.

"You came." The words slipped from your lips with such ease, rolling off your tongue with a genuine satisfaction that straightened his crooked smile.

"Yeah, well. It's not like I have anything better to do, of course." His reply lacked the sharpness he'd rehearsed in his mind, accompanied by a glance at the floor and a stupid, silly smile.

"Yeah, of course." You laughed, rolling your eyes, and turned your body to give him space to enter, if he wanted to, though he looked as if he might bolt at any second.

But he didn't run away; no, he actually stepped inside. The room was like most others, yet he was struck by how orderly it was. Like any typical dorm, there was the TV, the two single beds, a small table, and in the corner of an adjacent smaller room, the bathroom. The scent of cleaning products lingered, indicating you'd taken the time to tidy up before inviting him over. This shouldn't have pleased him as much as it did, but it did.

"Just take off your sneakers before you lay on the bed," you said with that nonchalant tone of yours, picking up the TV remote from the table.

He glanced at the paused movie on the screen before turning his attention to the bed. His mind wasn't exactly racing as he sat down, beginning to untie his sneakers, but his focus soon shifted to the side of your face. He was transfixed by how your hair framed your features, how your lips were so perfectly shaped, and how your eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. He had to run a hand over his face, nearly knocking off his glasses, to bring himself back to reality, blinking several times to refocus on removing his sneakers.

"I chose 'Evil Dead,' but they didn't have the classics." Your voice drew his gaze upward again. You casually made your way to the bed beside him, practically throwing yourself down, causing the mattress to bounce. "Is that a problem for you?" you asked, turning to look at him, your eyes locking with his.

His throat visibly tightened as he swallowed, while you didn't even blink. For a moment, he found it a rather amusing jest. What could a girl like you, with the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, with lips that curved into the brightest smile he could imagine, possibly want with him? He was either the luckiest bastard in the world or the biggest delusional of the year. But that was fine, at least for now.

"No, it's not a problem at all," Michael mumbled, unsure if he was referring to the movie choice or something else entirely. But it would suffice either way.

He saw you smile widely, and you felt you should, noticing his blue eyes dilate behind his glasses. Looking down where you had crossed your legs beneath you, you tried to focus and simply pressed play on the movie. The low noise from the TV soon filled the room, the colors of the film painting your faces and reflecting in Michael's glasses. The silence was comfortable, as always. The sounds of calm breathing filled the space, but well, his eyes weren't really on the TV; they were on you. To the point where he had to rest his hand on his face, just to appreciate it, perhaps.

"You know, watching a movie works better when you're looking at the screen," you commented, your eyes still fixed on the screen, though you felt the heat from his gaze on your cheek.

"I prefer to watch you." His words were barely above a whisper, but they reached you, making your smile widen even more.

Your eyes flicked to him, while his remained steady, though he felt his palms sweating against his cheek. He was nervous, and his attempt at an impassive expression wasn't fooling you. The words that left his lips were just truths, and seeing you smile, it was good to see you smile, it brought a subtle curve to his own lips. Sighing, you drew your knees up to your chest, resting your chin there, unsure of what to make of his words or of him. Just as he was unsure of what to make of you or how much you unsettled him.

"I hate almost everyone here except you." Your words mirrored his in tone, quiet, perhaps too intimate to slip out.

They made him pause, just looking at you, wondering. Time seemed to stand still, the screams from the movie not reaching your ears; things were quiet, almost silent. And that's when his hand rose, wrapping around the back of your neck, perhaps with the most courage he'd ever mustered in his life. Your lips parted slightly when you noticed him shifting on the bed to get closer, and you responded in kind, leaning towards him, your hand hesitating before also reaching up to the back of his neck, slipping between the golden strands to hold him firmly. Bringing your faces close, your breaths began to mingle, and soon all that was reflected in his glasses were your lips, all his attention focused solely on them.

"You're trouble, and you want to know why?" Michael whispered, your gaze falling to his lips as they formed the words. They were thrown at your face, raw and direct. "Because it seems like after I met you, there's been something wrong with my brain." He lifted his thumb to trace your bottom lip, as if to commit it to memory.

"Yeah?" Your response lacked strength, not truly. "That's good, because it seems like after you I'll never be the same." Whispering another confession, now it seemed more than fitting, even with your breathing too rapid to say much more, or what you truly wanted to.

A faint smile touched Michael's lips, perhaps an attempt at composure before he leaned in closer. Tilting your heads in opposite directions, your noses brushed against each other, the taste of each other's breath mingling on your lips, shared. His lips were the first to part, capturing your lower one slowly, almost tentatively, until yours responded, capturing his upper lip. The kiss started slowly, your lips moving together with an unhurried grace, despite your quickening breaths at the contact. His free hand found your waist, attempting to pull you closer, while your hand tangled in his hair, gripping it almost in a fist.

But it wasn't enough, far from it. Leaning forward, Michael guided you both down onto the bed, supporting himself with each hand on either side of your head, positioning his body between your legs, which parted to welcome him. One of his hands slid down to your thigh, lifting it and pressing it against his side, your hips naturally seeking each other, and his already hardened cock brushed against your increasingly aroused intimacy. Sounds escaped between kisses, your hands sliding to grip his back, when Michael pressed your bodies together again, rolling his hips and drawing out a sly moan from his own lips, making it difficult to continue kissing you.

Your hands reached for the hem of his shirt, attempting to pull it up, but his hands caught yours, pinning them above your head, fingers intertwining there, as he pulled back just enough to look you squarely in the eye. His heavy breathing made his chest rise and fall, sweat causing his glasses to slide down his nose.

"I..." the words seemed reluctant to escape as he gazed down at you, your lips flushed and your chest heaving. He didn't want to dissuade you, but he had to say it. "I've never done that."

Your only response was to lift your head from the bed, seeking his lips and succeeding in a gentle capture, with him lowering himself to return the kiss. Though not deep, your teeth nipped at his lower lip, tugging gently, perhaps trying to draw him closer. Your fingers pressed against his above your head, yearning to be free, you just wanted to touch him, feel him, it didn't matter if he was inexperienced, if you had to guide him step by step, or if this was all you would have, feeling him like this above you.

"Just touch me, I don't care," you murmured against his lip, without the strength for more words, which in response prompted him to roll his hips against yours again, closing his eyes with a moan, just as your head tilted back, lifting your hips to meet his movement.

His hands released yours, and you quickly grabbed his shirt, pulling it up and off him, and he reciprocated, lifting yours inch by inch until he could pull it over your head. Without a bra, your breasts were bared to him, making him pause. His lips went dry as he took in the sight of your hardened nipples, ready for attention, despite his momentary hesitation. You saw it in his eyes, in how they flickered to meet yours, and your hand reached to caress his cheek before grabbing the back of his neck, gently guiding him toward your chest, arching off the bed to ensure he understood your consent.

And he understood more than clearly, leaning down to kiss the space between your breasts before moving to one, enveloping it with his mouth entirely, using his hand to squeeze it firmly. The sensation of your skin against his mouth elicited a low sound from him that vibrated through your body, prompting you to grind your hips against his already hard cock. His tongue followed, swirling around your nipple, sucking as if his life depended on it. His mouth salivated, saliva running down your chest, glistening your skin with his essence. His free hand went to your other breast, squeezing it tightly, his lips trailing kisses to the other side, his tongue sliding along until it reached your other nipple, circling it with fervent enthusiasm.

"Fuck," you murmured, your intimacy throbbing, squeezing as you leaned on the bed to create friction against his erection, making him to bite the nipple in his mouth to stifle a loud moan.

His lips left your chest, observing the glistening, swollen flesh from his attentions. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight, going straight to his core. He looked down to where his hardness met your shorts, stopping himself from climaxing right there, taking deep breaths.

"Tell me..." his words trailed off, his lips struggling to draw in breaths. "Tell me how to be good for you." His whisper was broken, he was too far gone to really care about it.

You smiled, even in the throes of your overwhelming need for him. One of your hands took one of his, slowly guiding it to your core, and he watched intently as you slipped it inside your shorts and soaked panties, biting his lip as his expression contorted with pleasure. Slowly, you positioned his fingers perfectly over your clit, starting to move them in circles, making your breathing quicken further. Fortunately, Michael was a quick learner, or perhaps just desperate enough. Your fingers left his as he took over, moving them faster, circling over your soaked clit. You tried to reach for his hardness in his pants, but with his free hand, he caught yours and pinned it to the bed.

"Don't." The words came out swiftly, a desperate command because he knew well that if you touched him, he would cum right then and there.

You accepted it, not attempting to touch him again. Feeling his fingers slide over and over your most sensitive spot, the sounds began to fill the room, the wetness so intense it seeped through your pajama shorts, and he could hardly believe his incredible luck. His eyes moved to your face, noticing your parted lips, your cheeks flushed red, and your breasts, still glistening from his saliva, seeming to beckon him. One of your hands gripped his wrist, and he could see from your expression how close you were. The hand that had been holding yours to the bed released it, moving to the back of your neck, lifting your head to make you look down.

"Watch," he murmured, sliding his thumb perfectly over your clit, and you felt like stars were bursting behind your eyes even as you complied and stared.

You saw his hand moving inside your shorts, the veins in his forearm pulsing with the effort, the muscles there flexing. His hand held you tightly, almost encompassing your neck. And when his fingers started moving side to side, you knew you were finished. Your lips parted completely, a groan trapped in your throat escaped, you tried to throw your head back but his grip prevented it, and then, your walls clenched, he could feel the pulsing around his fingers, your belly flexing as you reached your climax, clamping your legs around his forearm.

Your body goes limp on the bed, your thighs still trembling as his hands slide from your neck down to your thighs, smearing his taste there. He grips the hem of your shorts, pulling them down along with your panties. When his eyes meet your pulsing, glistening pussy, a sigh escapes him, eyes closing momentarily to regain control. You hear the sound of his pants being unzipped, him kicking them off along with his underwear. Your eyes open just in time to see him grip the base of his cock, bringing the head to your sensitive clit, eliciting a tight, desperate moan from you.

"You're so beautiful." he murmurs, dragging the precum-slick tip of his cock across your clit, making your walls clench as he watches. His free hand runs down the inside of your thighs, ensuring they're coated in your own wetness.

He squeezes his eyes shut in pure ecstasy, rubbing his cock from your clit to your entrance, gripping the base tightly to stave off his climax. Your thighs tremble, your hands gripping the sheets, but nothing seems to alleviate the intensity, there's no escape. You're consumed, completely. Your hips start to move desperately for contact, even as your body protests, your fingers threatening to tear the sheets apart. He rubs once more, the almost sinful sounds echoing off the walls, mingling with his low moans and the contractions of his stomach. You can tell he's doing everything in his power not to cum.

"Can I?" He opens his eyes to whisper, looking directly into yours, and with no strength left to speak, you simply nod.

He sighs deeply before positioning himself at your entrance and pushing inside, feeling your walls resist yet yield as he presses in until fully seated, your groins meeting. A drawn-out moan escapes your lips as his head falls back, a soft groan leaving his throat followed by a sequence of breaths that made his entire body tremble. Michael pauses, trying and failing to calm his racing heart and the overwhelming sensation of your hot, tight insides. Leaning forward, he rests one hand on the bed while the other removes his glasses, setting them aside. Your hands rise to the back of his neck, bringing his forehead to yours, holding it there as he makes the first thrust. Both of your lips part, your moans and breaths mingling.

His thrusts were deep, yet slow. He would withdraw almost completely before sliding back in, each time making your eyes squeeze shut tighter and your head press against his. The sweat on your foreheads seemed to meld you together, turning you into one entity. His eyes opened, burning into your face, and you met his gaze, your eyes filling with tears of pure pleasure as he thrust even deeper.

"I like you," he murmurs, cupping your cheek as his other hand grips the headboard, making the wood creak. A smile graces your lips, almost cut off by his cock sliding in deeper.

"I like you too," you manage to reply between ragged breaths, your fingers tightening around the back of his neck as if it's your lifeline.

He brings his lips to your forehead, giving you a long, lingering kiss, his breath warm against your skin. Then, he brings his hand to your mouth, and with that signal, he starts thrusting with all he has, making you scream into his hand, which hopefully muffles the sound. He rests his own mouth there to also muffle his moans, feeling sweat run down every part of his body, mixing with yours. The bed bangs against the wall, your eyes roll back when he hits that sweet spot inside you, your hands lifting to dig your nails into his back. As your walls clench around him, he feels your climax spill out, soaking the sheets and his lower abdomen. With a louder moan, he quickly pulls out, his cock spilling his cum over your belly.

He releases your mouth and the headboard, letting his full weight rest on you, his head finding solace in the crook of your neck. Your arms encircle his neck, keeping him close as your entire body trembles with the aftershocks of pleasure. Both of you are exhausted, both satisfied. Michael's thoughts drift back to the early weeks of knowing you, how he wished you would vanish, and now, how he dreads the thought of you leaving, like everyone else. The irony might have drawn a bitter laugh from him if he weren't so physically spent.

"I wasn't bluffing," you hear him murmur into your neck, capturing your attention amidst the sensations still coursing through your body. You slowly turn your head towards him.

"What?" you whisper, perhaps fearful that even a slight increase in volume might make this moment slip away, just as much as he is. His eyes, those blues that most people overlook, capture your senses.

"I really like you." Hearing those words again, this time not in the heat of the moment, did something different to you stomach, perhaps quickened your heart more than the entire act itself, burned your skin more than anything else.

Drawing him closer with your hand, you adjust his position so he lies on your chest, where he places a gentle kiss. Your fingers delve into his hair, and you cast a brief glance to the side where his glasses still rest. A smile graces your lips because the truth is, you are utterly and hopelessly in love with the genius Michael Gavey. The irony is that he doesn't seem genius enough to realize it.

[jburrgf]

About You — The Series.

“Do you think I have forgotten about you?”

◦pairing: ¡lsu joe burrow! x ¡ex situashionship reader!

◦summary: second change trope, college relationships, slow burn love, right person wrong time.

◦description: you and joe had a thing months before, but the things ended in a bad way. now, you see yourself stuck in something that requires you to be close to him every single day.

◦playlist: About You, Love Me Like You Do, Like Real People Do, I Bet You Think About Me, Called You Again, Tolerate It, ImGonnaGetYouBack, Clean

PART ONE: CLEAN.

There are certain moments in life that seem impossible to forget. The second I walked onto LSU’s campus, I knew my life was about to change. But not just because of the classes, the social scene, or the crazy football culture.

When I started in LSU, it was supposed to be a clean slate. A chance to focus on my career path and prove to myself that I could thrive in a bigger pond, surrounded by people just as driven as me. Advertising and Public Relations wasn’t just a degree—it was a strategy. A way to blend my creative instincts with a business-minded edge.

What I didn’t expect was LSU’s football program to be the centerpiece of everything.

LSU football wasn’t just a sport. It was culture, identity, and religion rolled into one. By my second semester, I was interning with the athletic department, brainstorming marketing campaigns and filming promos for the team. I was good at what I did—so good that I convinced myself it didn’t bother me when my work bled into my personal life.

Everything started to go wrong when I met him. Tall, blond, American aesthetic, and so, but so kind. That was Joe Burrow, the youngest transferred from Ohio State to the south. New just like me.

Joe was Joe —calm, collected, and infuriatingly charming. He wasn’t flashy like some of the other players, but the air shifted when he walked into a room. Everyone noticed him. And the first time we crossed paths, I did too.

We met my junior year at a party, back when he was just Joe—a talented quarterback with a quiet intensity and a way of looking at you like he could see straight through every mask you’d ever worn. I hadn’t planned on noticing him, but it was impossible not to.

And since then, I'm haunted by his face, his smile, his smell, his body. Every little thing that made him Joe, it was inside my head like a bad song that you can’t stop singing. I didn’t want that, not in the beginning.

And now, I'm running from him like the plague. Every place he might be, I'm not going. Every little encounter or party, or dinner, or what else, I wasn’t going.

It was a party I didn’t want to go to. Maddie had been bothering me for weeks to go to this party, and honestly, I didn't feel like going. Simply no desire.

"I'm serious, Y/N. You work too hard," Maddie, my best friend at LSU, said to me. We had just left one of our classes together, and were walking around the campus, heading towards Maddie's car. "You're missing the entire college experience."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m here to build my career, not get drunk at frat houses.”

“Even Beyoncé has to relax,” she shot back. “I’m picking you up at eight, tomorro, no excuses. But now, we’re going to Malone’s.”

[…]

I didn’t want to be here.

Malone’s was Maddie’s favorite spot, a college-town bar where everyone gathered on weekends to drink, laugh, and pretend their responsibilities didn’t exist. It was the kind of place where the sticky floors were part of the charm, and you couldn’t walk two feet without bumping into someone you knew. Normally, I’d avoid it like the plague—especially on a night like tonight, when Maddie’s sole mission was to convince me to go to that stupid party tomorrow.

“You’re being dramatic,” Maddie said as I slid into the booth across from her, the sound of the bar’s chatter and faint music drowning out half her words. “It’s just one party. What’s the worst that could happen?”

I rolled my eyes, pulling my coat tighter around me despite the warmth of the bar. “You say that like you don’t know me. I don’t do frat parties, Maddie. I don’t want to spend my Saturday night elbow-to-elbow with drunk people I barely know.”

“That’s the fun of it,” she countered, her grin far too smug for my liking.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, reaching for the drink she’d already ordered for me.

“I’m persistent,” she corrected. “And don’t think I didn't notice that you didn’t actually say no.”

I groaned, leaning back in the booth. Maddie had been trying to drag me to this party for days, claiming it was some can’t-miss event that would somehow make my life infinitely better. I wasn’t convinced, but I’d stopped arguing because, frankly, I didn’t have the energy.

I was checking on the bar from above my shoulders when It happened.

Joe Burrow.

The last person I ever expected to see here, especially tonight.

My chest tightened the moment I spotted him standing by the dartboard, his tall frame impossible to miss, his blond hair was slightly disheveled, and the faint scruff on his jaw made him look older than he had when we’d last spoken. Joe was dressed casually, jeans and a hoodie, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world, and was laughing at something one of his friends said, the sound cutting through the low hum of the bar like a knife.It wasn’t just the way he carried himself or the fact that he was Joe Burrow—LSU’s star quarterback—but the way my body reacted, as if it had its own memory of him.

I hadn’t seen him in months—not since we’d ended things without really ending them. And now, seeing him here, so casually present in my space, felt like a slap to the face. Work Out from J Cole was playing, and everything felt like a movie scene.

It wasn’t like we had history. At least not in the way most people assumed. We barely knew each other. But there had been that one night at a party a while back, and another one after a game, and another one at our friends house, and another one… and the tension between us had never fully died down. I could still remember the way his eyes had felt on me, like he was measuring me in some silent way I didn’t know how to interpret.

“Y/N.” Maddie’s voice snapped me out of my daze. She followed my line of sight and groaned. “Oh no.”

I shook my head, panic setting in. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t even know if he saw you.”

“I’m not sticking around to find out,” I said, already sliding out of the booth.

“Y/N—”

But I was gone, weaving through the crowd toward the back hallway where the bathrooms were. I needed to breathe, to get away from the overwhelming weight of his presence.

The bathroom at Malone’s was about as glamorous as you’d expect—a narrow space with flickering fluorescent lights and graffiti scrawled across the stalls. I locked myself in one of the stalls, leaning back against the door as I tried to steady my breathing.

Of all the places to run into Joe, it had to be here.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about him. I had—more than I cared to admit. But thinking about him was one thing. Seeing him, knowing he was just a few feet away, was something else entirely.

I couldn’t face him. Not now, not here.

The bathroom was quiet, the kind of eerie stillness that felt out of place in the chaos of Malone’s. I leaned against the sink, staring at my reflection in the smudged mirror.

“Get it together,” I whispered to myself, taking a deep breath.

I didn’t even know why I was reacting like this. It wasn’t like we were still together. We weren’t anything anymore. And yet, the sight of him had thrown me completely off balance, dredging up feelings I thought I’d buried a long time ago.

But I couldn’t stay in the bathroom forever, either.

I opened the bathroom door and nearly walked straight into him.

Joe was leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom, his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze fixed squarely on me.

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and steady, a hint of amusement curling at the edges.

Nope.

Without a second thought, I ducked back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I bit my lip to keep from screaming. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

I paced the small space, my mind racing. He’d seen me, which meant he was waiting for me. I couldn’t hide in here forever, but the thought of facing him felt impossible.

Eventually, I forced myself to take a deep breath and opened the door again.

Joe was gone.

Relief flooded through me as I stepped out into the hallway, my eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of him. But instead of Joe, my attention was drawn to a small slip of paper pinned to the corkboard on the wall next to the bathroom.

It wasn’t there before.

Curious, I stepped closer and pulled it free. The handwriting was unmistakable—slanted and bold, with a certain sharpness to the letters that felt uniquely him.

“Go to the party tomorrow. Please.”

I stared at the note, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

My fingers tightened around the paper as Maddie appeared at the end of the hallway, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“What’s that?” she asked, gesturing to the note.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, shoving it into my pocket.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “Ready to head back? I don’t think Joe’s here anymore.”

I nodded, though my mind was miles away.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I would go. Maybe I wouldn’t.

But one thing was for sure: Joe Burrow had just made sure I wouldn’t forget this night.

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hey guys! this is the beginning of my Love Tropes Series. The first part, About You, it’s going to be launched in four parts! stay tuned :)