#thanks for the questions some of these were hard to answer but for sure made me think

[mishappeningss]

ooohhhh what about driver yn dynamics w other drivers?

hiiii lovelies, let’s get sidetracked from the main plot and let’s discuss how yn is like with other drivers! it took her some time warming up to them, to even actually starting a conversation without the other initiating it. she’s a sweetheart, pls.

more about driver!yn

Max Verstappen — Maverick & Iceman (Top Gun)

There’s no softness at all here. Not when it comes to Max, not when it comes to YN.

From the moment she joined the grid, that man already clocked her — not as a threat, not yet, but as someone like him.

They don’t banter in press conferences. They don’t follow each other on socials. But fans feel it — the pull between the two champions in the making. When YN qualified one position behind Max in a race, he didn’t even look over.

Just muttered, “She’s coming,” under his breath in dutch.

Their battle in Baku became a legend. Lap after lap, no radios, no margin for error — just pure racing. Neither blinked, neither yielded. In the end, Max edged her out by half a second.

When they climbed out their cars, sweating, hearts still hammering, they didn’t speak. Just nodded. Like a truce.

Yuki Tsunoda — Rocket & Groot (Guardians of the Galaxy)

They first bonded over food. (typical yuki !!!) Specifically, the fact that she ate his mochi during a rain delay and he threatened to fight her. From there, it only escalated.

Yuki and YN are the type of duo to yell at each other across garages. If one of them gets a penalty, the other will immediately start a protest against the FIA. In press conferences, they send each other memes under the table.

On race weekends, she sneaks hot sauce into his driver bag. He once replaced her water with sparkling water and nearly died laughing when she spat it out on live TV.

But here’s what fans know: Yuki is always the person to pull her out of the media pen when she gets overwhelmed. She’s the one who can calm him down after a DNF.

There’s a photo of the two which fans loved — YN and Yuki sitting against a wall in Suzuka, exhausted and laughing, helmets between their knees, just two kids who made it.

They fight like siblings. Protect each other like personal bodyguards. They cause absolute mayhem when in the same room.

Charles Leclerc — Troy Bolton & Sharpay Evans (High School Musical)

Charles is everything YN isn’t supposed to like: polite, composed. He answers questions like it’s poetry, she answers them like she’s daring the FIA to fine her.

But fate keeps placing them side by side. They’ve shared countless of front rows in one season. That means long, heavy moments in the minutes before lights out — where they’re standing still, helmets on, hearts roaring in their chest.

Monaco is where it cracked. They were both on the podium — him P1, her P3. During the champagne spray, he offered her his bottle with a smile that said more than it should. She took it, didn’t smile back. But something in her shoulders softened.

And from that moment on, the fan edits started. Because YN and Charles aren’t just opposites. They two people who might be closer with one another if they weren’t trying hard not to.

Lewis Hamilton — Haymitch & Katniss (The Hunger Games)

Lewis was the first to tell her she belonged (although she already knew that). It wasn’t a press moment, when she sat in the cool down room, her hands trembling, replaying every mistake she made.

He sat down beside her, handed her a bottle of water and said, “You drove like a world champion today.” She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

Their relationship is built on unspoken understanding. He’s been through the storm — the pressure, the media traps, the loneliness. And when he looks at her, there’s no pity in sight. Just respect.

He teases her sometimes, sure. Calls her a ‘goat’ in interviews. But when she’s quiet, he notices. When she’s hurt, he’s there, always. Always behind the curtain. Never asking for a thanks.

Fans cry over their moments. The post-brazil hug, the Qatar helmet swap, the look she gave him on his home race at Silverstone — like she knew what he carried and was proud to witness it with him.

Kimi Antonelli — Arya Stark & Jon Snow (Game of Thrones)

Kimi didn’t approach her right away. His first few months, he hovered. Watched from a distance. Studied her the same way she once studied footage of Hamilton.

She noticed. Of course she did.

One day in Spain, he hesitated walking past her in the paddock. Helmet under one arm, shy smile. She held out a protein bar without looking up and said, “Eat. You’re shaking.” That was the beginning.

He calls her ‘ma’am,’ which earns him a whack to the shoulder every time. He asks her questions with this reverent curiosity, and she answers without the usual sarcasm. He’s the only one she doesn’t roast on sight.

Their most famous moment was in Silverstone. He had a rough quali. Stood off to the side during the post media session chaos. She spotted him, shoved her own mic aside and muttered to her PR, “Give me two.”

She walked over and bumped her fist to his chest. No words, just presence. It was enough.

George Russell — Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley (Harry Potter)

George is a planner. A notepad kinda guy. Smooth lines, calculated corners, hair that somehow survives the hurricane. And YN — well, she’s allergic to planning. She goes off instinct. Her gut.

Naturally, they drive each other insane.

In one media brief, he told reporters, “Some of us believe in structure.” She cut in with, “Some of us believe in joy.” It trended for days.

But here’s the twist. They’re magic. She trusts him. Maybe not with her life, but in a wheel to wheel fight? Every time. They understand each other’s driving. Knows when to defend, when to let the other go.

The internet’s favorite moment came in Canada. Rain race, everyone panicking. YN and George? Worked together like they’d known this would happen. Switched places, covered lines, even pulled a McLaren double podium apart — just for the fun of it.

They fist bumped post race like it was nothing.

Lando Norris — Peter Parker & Ned Leeds (Spider-Man)

Their friendship has been through a lot — tantrums, late night drives, fake breakups (don’t even ask), and the one time she accidentally threw his phone in a canal.

They fight like siblings, tease like teenagers. But when it matters? They show up faster than Flash.

There’s this one video — a hidden camera, posted by a mechanic — of Lando waiting the garage wall while YN finishes her qualifying run. He’s silent, chewing on his nail. Her name flashes purple on the board. Pole. He doesn’t cheer. Just smiles and whispers, “Told ya.”

She once said in an interview, “He knows where the bodies are buried.” She meant it. He’s seen her cry in stairwells, held her hair back after too many post race party drinks, stood in front of her when the press go too aggressive.

They’re not dating, they never have. But when they look at each other, the whole word softens. Because who needs romance when your best friend is your constant?

Oscar Piastri — Newt & Thomas (The Maze Runner)

Oscar and YN don’t talk much in public. But when they do? It’s devastatingly sincere.

He’s a calm presence on the paddock. No dramatics, no noise. And she’s… the opposite. A walking headline. But somehow, he never flinches around her. Never rolls his eyes. Never gets swept up in her problems — just watches her with a sort of amused affection, like he’s quietly studying a rare species.

She calls him “Professor.” He calls her “Hollywood” back. And yet, when one of them hits the gravel, the other is always the one to ask. Always.

Their friendship isn’t for show. It’s subtle. It lives in the small things — like him saving her a chair in press conferences, her handing him a banana before races. Like their silent conversations either in the McLaren or Mercedes garage, leaning against the wall, watching the telemetry.

Lance Stroll — Janis & Damian (Mean Girls)

Lance and YN never really announced about being friends. They just… were.

They sit beside each other during briefings. They swap sarcastic texts during race delays. They’ve been caught side eye-ing each other across the room like, “Are you seeing this?” a hundred times.

No drama. No fake smiles. Just shared glances and dry commentary that somehow say more than a 10 minute interview ever could.

In media day clips, she’ll mutter a joke and he’ll snort. At first, fans didn’t notice. But over time, they started seeing it: how she relaxes around him. How he’s the one guy who doesn’t try to challenge her, fix her, or tame her. Just knows her lane — lets her drive it.

Their standout moment was in Zandvoort. After a DNF, when the cameras crowded around, Lance stepped between. Quietly. Didn’t say a word — just blocked a view while she caught her breath.

They’re not loud or flashy — but if you listen closely? They’re the realest ones on the grid.

Fernando Alonso — Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano (Star Wars)

Alonso doesn’t sugarcoat. He doesn’t pamper. You mess up? He’ll tell you. And YN? She’s the only one who throws it right back.

There was a moment during a wet race in Spa — she made a risky move on the inside and nearly collided with him. The radio was silent. Later, in the media pen, Fernando simply said, “She’s brave. Needs more patience.”

She overhead and replied, “He’s smart. Needs to get out of my line.”

They’ve been like that ever since — pushing, prodding, driving each other mad in track walks and post-race debriefs. But never once crossing a line. Because deep down, Alonso knows, she reminds him of a younger version of himself.

And she knows? His criticism is never malicious. It’s earned.

In Austin, she lost a podium in the final lap. Fernando found her in the back of the paddock and just handed her a folded towel. No words. But the moment landed on every fan cam of the world — and the respect was deafening.

Pierre Gasly — Troy & Abed (Community)

Pierre and YN share one brain cell — In other words, Dumb and Dumber — and it’s being used to annoy each other as efficiently as possible.

He photobombs every single one of her podium pics. She switches the French flag with the Belgian one during his birthdays. During a press conference, when asked who’s the worst singer on the grid, they said each other at the exact same time.

But despite the nonstop trolling, the actual bond? Rock solid. They’ve both seen each other’s highs and lows. Crashes, bad contracts, headlines they didn’t ask for. And when the world was too loud, they’ll find each other at the back of the paddock and just sit in shared silence, flipping water bottles and seeing who’d win.

Fans looooove how weirdly telepathic they are — they can mimic each other’s hand movements, call out tire choices before they’re revealed.

They’re like two sitcom characters who accidentally wandered off to Formula One.

Franco Colapinto — Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson (Stranger Things)

Franco’s first week on the grid, he followed her around like a golden retriever puppy. At first, YN rolled her eyes. “You lost?” she asked. “No,” he grinned, “I’m learning.”

She smirked, “You’re not even in the right garage.”

Everyone expected her to brush him off. Instead, she handed him a spare radio earpiece and said, “You’ll hear more from the engineers than the TV crews. Listen.”

From that moment on, they were inseparable in the most awkwardly adorable way.

He asks her everything — tire warm ups, weather reading, how to act on camera. She gives him the honest version, no lie.

In Brazil, they both got caught in a downpour walking back from the garage. She cursed. He laughed. They ended up drenched, sharing an umbrella someone tossed them — and a picture of her flipping off the sky while he smiled like a golden boy lives forever in fan culture.

It turns out YN can be soft — but only for people who actually listen.

Alex Albon — Nick and Jess (New Girl)

Alex is lowkey the most emotionally intelligent guy on the grid — and it kills YN because she can’t hide anything from him. He sees right through it.

She’s known for going zero to one hundred — emotionally, competitively, verbally. And Alex is the calm anchor with the world’s most chaotic sense of humor. Together, they form the grid’s most unlikely emotional support system.

Their friendship is 80% roast battles. But the other 20%? Brutally honest check-ins.

Alex once showed up at her motorhome with food after a brutal double DNF weekend. He didn’t ask what went wrong. Just said, “I brought spring rolls and a movie. Don’t fight me.”

She didn’t.

Fans loved them in Grill the Grid. When asked to described each other in one word, she said, “Stable.” He blinked. Then said, “Hurricane.” And they both burst into laughter like they knew exactly what that meant.

Carlos Sainz — Mike Wazowski & Sully (Monsters Inc.)

Carlos and YN are always arguing. Not emotionally, statistically — Tire wears, sector splits, fuel loads. If you’ve seen them in a paddock corner with arms crossed and eyebrows raised, they’re probably arguing over who had better lap deltas in Suzuka.

Their entire vibe is: “We’re not mad. We’re just… factually correct.”

But underneath the ego wars is real competitive respect. Carlos has seen her pace. She’s studied his tire management. They push each other without playing dirty. And when they’re side by side in a race? There’s more trust than either would admit out loud.

The moment fans knew their friendship was elite? Baku. Her team messed up a tire call. Carlos radio-ed mis race to his engineer, “Tell YN to pit now. She’s losing time.” It wasn’t for him — it was for her. She did.

Isack Hadjar — Deadpool and Wolverine (X-Men)

Isack was assigned to YN for one race weekend in Singapore — Red Bull PR thought it’d be “fun content” to shadow her for rookie experience. What followed was the most chaotic three days in media history.

He tried to start a GoFundMe for her tire wear. She threatened to block his telemetry. But here’s the twist: she never once told him to leave.

Because under the banter, Isack reminded her what it was like to have fun in this sport. He doesn’t care about image. Doesn’t overthink. He dives headfirst, grins through mistakes, and keeps the energy high.

And that’s something YN — who’s all pressure and precision — needed more than she realized.

At Monza, he was knocked out in Q1. As he walked back, head down, she met him in the corridor and simply said, “You’re learning faster than you think.” It was quiet. Private. But fans caught it — and they loved it.

He causes problems — and she lowkey loves solving them.

Liam Lawson — Natasha Romanoff & Clint Barton (Avengers)

Liam and YN aren’t loud. They’re sharp.

They talk shop. Race strategy. Sector analysis. No frills, no extra noise. Their track convos are so clipped and efficient that people have started calling them “F1 spies.”

And that’s the charm. While other drivers tease or distract, Liam and YN respect the game. They respect each other’s game. And when they do let it loose, it’s with this dry, deeply sarcastic kind of humor that makes engineers wheeze off cam.

At one driver event, the host asked what animal they’d be. YN said, “A panther.” Liam said, “A panther, but slightly taller.”

It became a meme. She told him, “Be original.” And he replied, “Why? You’ve got the blueprint.”

Their moment? Belgium. He covered for her mid race when her team made the wrong call. Took the heat, changed the pace, saved her strategy. After the race she found him, bumped shoulders, and said, “You ever need one back? I’ve got you.”

Oliver Bearman — Miles Morales and Gwen (Spider-verse)

Ollie is so young that the internet once joked he probably watched YN win in MotoGP while eating cereal before school.

He lives to impress her. Like, comically so. He’ll overtake and immediately ask, “Did YN see that?” on radio.

She teases him hard. “You drive like you just got your license.” — “You’re too nice it’s suspicious.” — “Stop calling me Miss YN.”

But everyone’s seen how she hovers near his pit box during rookie races. How she talks to his mechanics. How she keeps an eye out — because she remembers what it’s like to be thrown into the fire and expected to smile through it.

In Hungary, when he scored his first points, she was the first one to tap his helmet in celebration — and the only one to say, quietly, “Get used to it.”

Esteban Ocon — Buzz and Woody (Toy Story)

They’re constant rivals. Not bitter — just competitive. They qualify next to each other more often than random chance would allow. And when they race wheel to wheel? It’s clean, hard, and laced with petty grins behind visors.

Their radio messages are infamous.

“She’s blocking me again.” — “Tell Esteban I’m not his brake marker.”

But when push comes to shove, they bring out the best in each other. It’s mutual sharpening — iron against iron. No apologies.

In Spa, when they both DNF’d on the same lap due to an unrelated crash, they were seen laughing under the same umbrella in the rain.

“It was inevitable,” Esteban shrugged. “We were due a truce.”

Nico Hülkenburg — Logan & Laura (Logan)

Nico’s whole vibe was “been here too long to care.” He’s the humoured, sarcastic veteran who’s seen it all. So when YN came in, he immediately groaned: “Not another one.”

But then she started asking him the right questions. Tire management. Suspension response. The old-school stuff. And he noticed — she wasn’t just hype. She wanted to understand.

He still rolls his eyes whenever she has her anger bursts. Still pretends to be annoyed when she calls him, “Uncle.” But in Bahrain, when her car failed in FP2, it was Nico who handed her a breakdown sheet with setup notes he’d made just in case she needed them.

Gabriel Bortoleto — Hiro & Baymax (Big Hero 6)

Gabriel doesn’t talk much. Neither does YN, when the cameras are off.

They weren’t expected to be close — he was new, she was too focused. But what started as awkward nods became shared engineering notes. Then quiet pit wall convos. Then something fans call “the silent alliance.”

They both approach the track like scientists. They want to understand the car, the data, the patterns. And so, they start spending test days comparing graphs. Debating setups.

There’s no chaos here. No drama. Just two minds that click. And in a sport that demands so much noise, that kind of calm is rare.

In Qatar, she gave him a tire pressure tip he used to hold off a pass. After the race, he handed her a granola bar and said, “You saved me two points.” She blinked, took it, and said, “That’s worth at least a snack.”

[rosenclaws]

Hi

Headcanon for when you see someone flirting with Logan and how he reacts when you get a little possessive?

Love these they are so much fun.

😊💜

That would be me fr because no one better come after my man tyvm

Origins Logan -

So Logan is a very handsome guy and he knows it. His coworkers know it and they rib him about it sometimes. Truth is they're just as jealous that Logan could charm anyone he wants to. This time though, its the new secretary of the lumber yard. All his coworkers have tried and failed to ask this girl out. She's not interested in them. But the second her eyes saw Logan coming out of that truck she was smitten. Too bad she barely paid attention to you sitting in the passenger seat. You shrugged it off, besides Logan only has eyes for you anyways. He barely spared her a glance when he walked over to check in for the day. But she kept trying. Over and over she would flirt with Logan who barely reacts.

Finally you've had enough. You were dropping off Logan again and saw her ready to sink her teeth in. You get out of the car and call out his name. "You forgot this babe." You say, sneaking a look before pulling Logan into a very heated kiss. You can hear some of his coworkers hollering but you don't care. "Hurry home because I have something very special planned." You say loud enough for her to hear before leaving. Logan just smirks. You're so hot when you get jealous . He can't wait to get home.

Trilogy Logan -

You shouldn’t feel jealous but you do and you hate it. It was a new mutant stopping by the school. A former student from long ago and she had powers that could help on the next mission. Now Logan is a handsome guy and of course she happens to show up after he’s done in the danger room so he’s all hot and sweaty. She gravitates to him immediately. Logan gives her a nod but doesn’t say anything else. You can’t help yourself as you walk up and take Logan’s attention. You feel a little bit of pride when he softens up seeing you. You could feel her glaring at you but you didn’t even look at her. It continues on like that the whole week she was there.

She thinks that Logan is playing hard to get when in reality he just isn’t interested. He is interested in seeing you get jealous. He can see the scowl form on your face the minute she walks in the room and he loves it. He loves seeing you get possessive of him like that. He teases you about it but of course promises he doesn’t want anyone else. Sealing his promise with a very hot make out session that someone happened to walk in on. You couldn’t keep the smirk off your face as she walked in on Logan sucking on your neck.

DOFP Logan -

Older professor Logan is one hot man and everyone knows it. It’s really not her fault. She was a waitress at the diner you were eating at. Logan looked extra yummy that day, his voice a little more rough and his hair just a tad more messy. You were used to people finding him attractive but no one was as brave as this girl you’ll give her that. She boldly flirted with Logan. Only giving him her attention. She completely ignored you when you tried to ask a question. Only answering it when Logan told her that you had a question and all you got was an annoyed look and a half assed answer. It pissed you off to no end. Logan saw the way you moved closer to him. How touchy you got when normally you don't like PDA. He just smirked and let you do your thing. You didn’t need him to stand up for you when you could handle yourself. You pulled the chain around your neck and popped off the ring that was sitting on it. Placing it on your finger where it belonged. When she brought the check and had the nerve to offer him something sweet for dessert. You made sure to flash the ring in her face before saying thanks but your husband wasn’t interested in dessert. The deer in the headlights look on her face was everything as you walked out of that diner. Logan just chuckled and kisses you sweetly when you got in the car. Saying he likes when you get jealous. You just shrug and admire the ring on your finger. He’s yours and you’re not afraid to show him off.

Old Man Logan -

Logan wasn’t the man he used to be and he knew that. But he was perfectly happy with you and Laura. Now just because he’s older doesn’t mean he lost his good looks. In fact you’d argue he got hotter and one person who noticed was your very nosey neighbor. After everything you, Logan, and Laura moved to a small town on the west coast. Your neighbor Linda was way too cheery and very interested in your husband. She brought over a terrible casserole the first night in the house and she kept coming over. She’d always praise Logan for being such a good father and ask for his help around her house because her husband wasn’t as strong as he was. If your eyes could roll all the way to the back of your head they would have. Logan was polite about it but she was clearly annoying the hell out of him. It all go worse at the neighborhood pool party. The moment Logan took off his shirt to get into the pool with Laura all eyes were on him. You couldn’t stand the way Linda oogled your husband. So you put on your sweetest voice and kindly asked him to help you with your sunscreen. Logan caught on immediately and he just grinned. An excuse to rub sunscreen on you?? Hell yeah. He peppered kisses along your skin and you could feel the jealousy from the other side of the backyard. Was it petty? Yeah it was. As he finishes up he whispers how hot it is to see you so jealous and that he likes it when you get a little mean. You played dumb, just saying you needed him to reach your back. And you wanted Linda to know that Logan was your man. She can look all she wants but she can never touch.

Worst Logan -

Worst Logan is sooooo hot and he didn’t even seem to notice. He knew a little bit. I mean he was ripped. But he had spent so long in a world that hated him he became a little…oblivious to when people were flirting with him. Which was exactly what one of Vanessas friends was doing at Wade’s party. It was almost painful to watch. Logan could clearly careless and she just couldn’t get the hint. He was working on being friendlier but this conversation was like nails on a chalkboard.

You were helping with set up and you were starting to regret saying yes to Wade. Then you see her pit her hand on his arm and you snapped. Walking over and putting on your best fake smile. You greeted her but turned your attention to Logan. Sliding right into his lap. He welcomed you happily. Smiling and kissing your cheek when you lean into him. Vanessas friend quickly excuses herself, mumbling something about needing a drink. Logan was happy to have you with him and noticed the pout on your lips.

He teases you about it, poking you like an annoying little kid until you admitted you were jealous. Logan likes that, to know you care so much about him that you’d get jealous at the idea of someone else flirting. As people started to arrive he whisks you away to his room. You guys never liked parties anyway.

[orellazalonia]

Hi! You're writing is great! I keep coming across it in the tags and reading some. What really has caught my eye is “Worth Fighting For”. And you're under no pressure for this, but I am wondering if you plan on making a part 2 for it

Again, no pressure or anything. Its your decision. I don't wanna impose. I'm a writer so I understand shit takes time or having writers block, or simply that it doesn't need anything more. Whatever you decide will be perfect. It is truly a good as a one-shot.

I just really enjoyed it and am wondering

Hello there! I’m glad you’ve been enjoying some of my work, that makes me so happy to hear! Most of the time, I’m usually able to create additional parts to my work but only do so if someone requests it. If not, it’s something I only do if I really loved it or it was too long and I had to break it into smaller parts lol. So, don’t worry! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy. Happy reading!!!

All of the Time

Summary: You start to build a quiet friendship with Steve, finding comfort in someone who understands your struggles, but when you fall and face cruel laughter, your confidence shatters and you pull away. Meanwhile, Bucky’s fierce protectiveness boils over, leading to a vulnerable moment where he promises to stand by you, as someone who loves every part of you. (Possessive!Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.4k+

Main Masterlist | Worth Fighting For (Original Fic)

It started with small things, simple moments that stitched themselves into the quiet rhythm of your days.

Bucky still walked you everywhere. Always showed up early and stayed later than he needed to. But lately, Steve Rogers had started appearing too.

At first, it was by coincidence. A passing nod on the street. A shy smile when you visited the corner store. But Steve was thoughtful in ways that surprised you, gentler than most and always listening. You found yourself drawn to him in a different way than Bucky: calm, understanding, like he recognized something in you without asking questions.

One afternoon, when Bucky got pulled into something across town, Steve offered to walk you home. You were hesitant at first, but he didn’t press, just waited while you adjusted your grip on the crutch and fell into pace beside you.

You both talked about things you usually didn’t discuss with Bucky, like your legs and his lungs. Like the way people looked at you when they thought you weren’t watching, the unsolicited advice, or the way strangers treated you like a sad story instead of a person.

“I get it,” He said, voice low and dry. “They all think I’m fragile, too. Like if I breathe too hard, I’ll fall over.”

You laughed, and he smiled. “They don’t know the half of it.”

It was easy, talking to Steve. And you knew it the second you saw Bucky waiting outside your building, arms crossed and jaw tight, watching the two of you approach like he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or furious.

Steve caught it too. “He’s gonna scowl me to death, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” You muttered, amused. “You’re the one who stole his job.”

“I didn’t know I was being recruited.”

“You weren’t,” Bucky said before either of you could reach the door.

You raised a brow. “Bucky.”

He looked at you, then at Steve. “Appreciate you stepping in,” He said flatly. “Won’t be necessary again.”

Steve just gave you a little shrug, like well, you warned me, and offered a quick goodbye before turning down the street.

You turned back to Bucky. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“He doesn’t know how to pace with you.”

“Neither did you once.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He just held the door open with a tight jaw and followed you up the steps, his hand hovering behind your back like it might catch you if you slipped even though you didn’t.

You thought the tension would fade over time, but it didn’t.

It built slowly, like steam behind a radiator. Bucky brought you more things now: fresh rolls, a knit scarf he swore he didn’t buy but you knew he did, and little things that made you feel warm and heavy with affection.

But something in him had twisted tighter since that day. He stood closer, watched more, and didn’t laugh as easily when you talked about walking alone.

So, one morning, you did.

You hadn’t meant to leave without him. You just needed to prove it to yourself, that you could still do this. That your legs might tremble, but they still moved. That you didn’t need anyone.

The air was brisk as you stepped out, crutch steady under one arm, purse swung across your chest. You took the quieter route, the one that curved behind the main square.

You didn’t even hear them at first, the boys your age loitering by the steps of the butcher’s shop. Laughing and smoking. One of them was the same kid Bucky shoved into a lamppost last month. Of course.

“Hey, it’s the hobble girl!” Someone barked as you passed.

You kept going.

“Where’s your guard dog, sweetheart? Don’t think you’ll make it far without him.”

You didn’t look back. You didn’t give them a reaction, but your foot caught the edge of a broken curb. Just slightly. The crutch hit an uneven crack in the concrete and your knee twisted, causing you to fall.

You didn’t cry out, didn’t scream. But the shock knocked the air out of you and scraped your palms bloody against the sidewalk. You lay there for a breathless moment, too stunned to move.

And then came the sound.

Laughter.

From behind you, from above.

You tried to get up. The brace dug into your shin as you twisted, slipping against your own balance. You were halfway to your knees when someone appeared beside you, not Bucky.

“Easy,” Steve said gently, already crouched. “I got you.”

His hands were steady, warm under your arms, and he didn’t pull you up right away. He just helped you sit, giving you space to let you breathe.

“I’m fine,” You muttered, heart pounding in your ears.

“I know,” He said. “You just don’t have to be alone while you are.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, and your eyes burned.

Then–

“WHAT THE HELL IS SO FUNNY?”

The voice tore through the square like a lightning crack.

You whipped around just in time to see Bucky storming across the sidewalk, eyes blazing, and fists already clenched. The group scattered in a heartbeat, but Bucky was faster. He caught the mouthy one by the collar and slammed him against the wall hard enough that a window rattled.

“I told you once,” He growled. “Now I’m telling you twice, if I so much as hear her name in your mouth again, you’ll be drinking through a straw for a month.”

“Buck–“ Steve called out.

“I mean it,” Bucky snarled, shaking the kid like a ragdoll before dropping him onto the concrete.

By the time he turned back, his hands were shaking. But his voice, when he knelt beside you, was quiet.

“Hey,” He said, brushing your hair out of your face. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer.

He touched your scraped palm gently. “You’re bleeding.”

You looked at him finally. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken.”

“I don’t,” He stated, voice hoarse. “I look at you like someone I’d kill for. That’s different.”

You blinked, stunned.

Steve stood nearby, silent but present. He didn’t say a word, just nodded once and stepped away, letting you and Bucky have a moment.

Bucky helped you to your feet with slow, careful hands as he tucked your crutch into place like it was something sacred. When you leaned into him subconsciously, his arms went around you in a way that made all the tension in your body fade.

He spoke softly, “You don’t have to be strong all the time, sweetheart. You’re allowed to fall, just let me be the one who helps you up.”

But no matter how sweet words Bucky tried to tell you or how he and Steve both tried to lighten the mood on the way back home, you didn’t sleep that night.

The fall kept looping in your mind over and over. The sound of laughter, the stares, the sting of your knees hitting concrete. You could still feel the scrape on your palms, raw under the bandages. Still feel Steve’s arms helping you sit up, still hear Bucky’s voice when he screamed.

But worse than all of it, worse than the pain or the crowd, was the way they looked at you.

Both of them. Steve, with concern. Bucky, with fury. Both looking at you like you were fragile.

And you hated it.

So, you canceled plans the next morning, told Bucky you weren’t feeling well when he knocked, and left the curtain drawn even when you heard him waiting outside longer than usual.

You knew he meant well, but you couldn’t take the weight in his voice. Couldn’t stand how fast he moved when he thought you needed help. How many people he was willing to fight just because they looked at you wrong.

You didn’t want to be something he protected. You wanted to be something he wanted.

And by the second day, you stopped answering the door entirely.

Across town, Bucky was cracking.

He paced the alley behind the corner bar like a caged dog, jaw clenched, knuckles already bruised from the wall he’d punched earlier.

“You’re gonna get yourself arrested,” Steve muttered from the edge of a crate, arms crossed as he watched Bucky burn through another lap.

“She won’t even look at me, Steve.”

“She’s embarrassed.”

“She shouldn’t be.”

“She’s scared.”

Bucky stopped. “Of me?”

Steve met his eyes. “Of what you’ll do or of how angry you get.”

Bucky’s fists curled. “What am I supposed to do? Let them laugh? Let her think falling makes her less than–”

“No. You’re supposed to show her that she’s still her. Still the same girl you wanted to walk home three weeks ago. Still the one who doesn’t need to be hidden behind your fists.”

Bucky’s voice dropped to a rough whisper. “She thinks she’s a burden.”

“She isn’t.”

“I know that,” Bucky snapped. “But if she won’t let me show her, if she keeps pulling away… I don’t know how to make her believe it.”

Steve stepped forward, quieter now. “Then stop yelling it with your fists, Buck. And start whispering it where it matters.”

That night, you found him sitting on the fire escape outside your bedroom window.

He wasn’t moving. Just leaning back on the cold metal, head tilted toward the sky like it could give him an answer. His hands were scraped, bruised, wrapped in a torn bandage that looked like he’d done it in a rush.

He didn’t look at you right away.

You opened the window quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” He said simply.

You swallowed.

He still didn’t look over. “Steve says I’m doing too much… that I’m pushing you away.”

You sat on the windowsill carefully, still quiet.

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how to do this, sweetheart. I see you hurt, and I lose it. I see you scared or embarrassed, and something in me just–snaps. I know it’s too much sometimes. I just…”

He finally turned, eyes tired.

“I don’t want you to ever think I’m here because I feel sorry for you.”

You looked down. “I don’t… think that.”

“I want you to know that when I look at you, I don’t see weakness. I don’t see your crutch. I see you. All of you. And I–” He broke off, jaw tight. “I like you so much it’s ruining me.”

You blinked, chest twisting.

“I don’t care that you fall or that you limp. Or that some days you don’t want to talk. I care that you think those things make you hard to love.”

A silence stretched between you.

Finally, you reached out, gently tracing the fresh bruise on his hand.

“Who was it this time?” You asked.

His smile was small. “Doesn’t matter. He won’t say another word.”

“Bucky–”

He caught your hand in his, kissing your knuckles softly.

“I’m trying,” He whispered. “I’ll stop throwing punches if it helps, but I won’t stop showing up. I won’t stop being yours.”

You pressed your forehead to his, heart thudding.

“I don’t want you to stop showing up,” You said. “I just want to believe that I’m not dragging you down.”

“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” He murmured, brushing your hair back with fingers too gentle for someone who fought like he did. “You’re the only reason I’m still standing some days.”

Then, with a small smile: “Besides, you don’t even weigh enough to drag me down, doll.”

You laughed, and the tension finally broke.

He pulled you into his lap right there on the fire escape, blanket wrapped around both of you, his arms warm and firm around your waist.

And for the first time since the fall, you didn’t feel like a burden. You just felt like his.

You didn’t fall again that week.

Bucky never said it out loud, but you knew he noticed. He started walking half a step ahead of you instead of beside you, close enough to catch you if needed, but far enough to let you breathe.

He didn’t ask if you were alright anymore. He just knew you were. And maybe more importantly, you knew you were too.

One quiet afternoon, he showed up at your door holding something behind his back.

You squinted. “What is it?”

“No peeking.” He grinned, backing up as you stepped out. “I have a surprise.”

“Bucky.”

“Trust me.”

You did. So you let him inside and waited with your back turned, listening to him set up something. When he finally gave the okay, you turned to find the surprise was music.

More specifically, his old record player set up in the tiny living room of your apartment, now spinning. The radio crackled softly as a slow jazz melody filled the air, warm and golden like molasses.

You stared at him, blinking. “Is this a setup?”

He didn’t deny it.

“I thought maybe you’d let me have one dance,” He said, offering his hand, eyes teasing. “I mean, I did get beat up for you. It’s the least you could do.”

You snorted. “You didn’t get beat up. You beat them up.”

“Still counts.”

You glanced down at your brace, hesitant. “I’m not exactly graceful, Bucky.”

His voice lowered. “Doesn’t matter, you’re mine and I’m yours. That’s all I need.”

Your breath caught.

He stepped closer. “Let me show you.”

And he did.

You didn’t dance, not really. It was more like swaying in slow circles, his arms firm around your waist, one hand curled gently around yours. He moved slow and patient, guiding you like he could feel every bit of hesitation in your body and answered each one with a touch, a smile, or a whisper in your ear: “You’re doing perfect, doll.”

You were laughing by the second song. Spinning awkwardly as he dipped you in the most dramatic fashion, nearly knocking over a chair in the process.

“Okay, that one was your fault,” You huffed, holding onto him as you regained your balance.

He didn’t let go. Just leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “I like you like this.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

“Laughing, moving, being… you.” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “You never needed to walk perfectly. You just needed someone to see you.”

You leaned into his chest. “You’re really good at that, you know.”

“Good,” He said, pressing a kiss into your hair. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Later into the night when you were wrapped in his arms, half-asleep in the hush of your room, he whispered, “I used to think I needed someone perfect, flashy and put together; but I was wrong.”

You stirred, smiling sleepily. “Oh yeah? What do you need now?”

He kissed the side of your neck and said simply, “You.”

And you knew then, without a single doubt, you had never once been a burden to him.

You’d been the center of his world all along.

[punch-love]

12, 19, 21, 25, 27, 28, 29 (real curious about this one), 31, 34, 37,

OKAY fuck that's a lot of questions ik. But like if it's too much ya can answer whichever the ones ya want. Also the <<<40>>>> this question deserves a special place cause I AM FERAL AND BAT SHIT CRAZY TO ANYTHING RELATED TO LOVE-PUNCH.

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

I really enjoy the (singular) episode we've gotten for these two. In the context of the comics, one of my favorites is the one where Wade has to talk Peter out of going too dark-sided, which was a really fun contrast and something that Peter ended up thanking him for which is pretty rare for him.

19. Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

I'm very much my own muse, and I mean that in the vainest and most honest way possible.

21. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

I can't even begin to count this number. It's a lot. It's like - it's a lot. I really won't post something until I can read through it and not feel the urge to adjust or change anything. I'm a picky reader, so that - is not an easy thing to accomplish. I also have a great beta who will sometimes rewrite portions, reorganize my flow, or pick specific sections that should be rewritten or re-evaluated, and so I'll send a couple of drafts over in that case so - yeah, the number is high. I take the editing stage very seriously.

25. What do you look for in a beta?

I was very lucky to have my beta @maybe-haunted ask to work with me on chapter one of my first posted work, so I've never necessarily looked for one. I've just been very fortunate to have the perfect one find me. I don't ask for creative help often, so the thing I appreciate about my beta (one of many) is that they make me feel very safe sharing something in a very raw, very imperfect state. I only publish polished works, but they've seen my writing at it's roughest and most incomprehensible, and they're always able to be very direct about what does/doesn't work while making me feel comfortable in that experience. I love knowing what's going on in the reader's mind, and they're a very good audience for getting that type of feedback. They also individually comment on all the sections/moments they like or hit really well for them, and that is just - let me tell you. The best part of the editing process is getting to read what they thought about it and getting to experience in real-time how my writing is being ingested by another person weeks before it's ever shown to my bigger audience. I really appreciate them a lot.

27. How do you feel about collaborations?

I don't enjoy them! I really like being the only guy steering the ship. I have never enjoyed collaborative projects. I have talked about writing something with @periodically-puzzled, and they're probably the only person I'd do it with. That being said, I love collaboration within idea sharing and editing, and I've taken a lot of ideas/feedback/snippets from my writing friends and beta before, and I love seeing how the hand of another person influences and changes my writing. I also enjoy seeing my hand in other people's work, but it's the difference between adding spice to the soup and making a soup with someone else. I much prefer adding spice/having spice added then having to share kitchen space.

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

@periodically-puzzled: funny and immensely clever, such a clear narrative voice, and very intentional with the stories they like to tell. the first time I read their work, I felt like I had found a pearl in a sea of rocks. there's just something very individualistic about how they write. you can see the person behind the wheel and it makes it all that more interesting. also one of the few people to actually trigger me with their writing.

@primewritessmut: gnarly and so violent in a way that actually makes their writing almost bleed with it. there are writers who are like "wow I'm such a psychopath for writing this there must be something wrong with me" but they are literally babies in the face of whatever is happening inside prime's mind. her writing makes me flinch and I really enjoy that experience of not being able to look away. also just, the ability to finish so many interesting and complex stories is always something that impresses me.

@x-gon-give-it: really, immensely obsessed with their current WIP with a mercenary spider-man. the writing is just - incredible. there are passages and bits from it that cycle around my head in a loop. really just cracked peter parker on the sidewalk and made us all look at the inside of his fucked up brain. really very talented at writing violence and like, razor sharp intimacy. I take notes whenever I read one of the new chapters, honestly.

29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

I know you were interested in this answer specifically, but I honestly would not do write a sequel or prequel for anyone else's work. that's just not how my brain works. part of that comes from the fact that I have a complicated, often negative relationship with people creating works inspired from my own, so it's not something I would do to another writer.

31. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

I take liberties by claiming everything I write is inspired by canon even which it's in direct opposition of it.

34. What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

I love it a lot. I read a lot of it. I write a lot of it. I think it's a safe space for people to explore something complicated and/or objectively horrible that is often inspired by real world experiences and fears. I used to say that I wouldn't write non-con, and I still stand by the fact that I probably wouldn't write sexual non-con for my own mental health, but I am exploring a technically not sexual non-con scenario in a one-shot right now.

37. Talk about your current wips.

The not sexual non-con scenario I'm working on is one where Spider-Man goes feral and Wade keeps him in a cage and starves him on purpose to see if he can get Spider-Man to cannibalize him.

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

I'm going to be so real, I almost didn't answer this one because I don't like to talk about my endings (even their direct opposites) before I write them, but I did end up thinking about this enough to probably warrant an answer. I think that if (redacted) didn't happen, then they would remain enemies who absolutely hate everything about each other in the way that only bitter ex's really can.

I think that they would know too much about each other and that they would intentionally make each other's lives miserable because of it. They're both very vindictive people who love to hold a grudge, and both of them would feel victimized by how (redacted) went down and would feel like the other person was their personal villain.

I think Wade wouldn't kill Spider-Man, not out of love, but because he'd enjoy hurting him too much, and I think that Spider-Man would break his no-kill rule specifically to shut Wade up sometimes. I think Wade would bring the worst out of Peter, and Peter would make Wade want to destroy the best inside himself. It would be a 24/7 divorce court, but the court is the city and neither party is happy with the verdict and keep on trying to hurt each other to make up for it. I think eventually one of them would leave the city, and they would never see each other again, but the hate would never fully go away - and if they made their way back to each other, it would burn twice as hot. It would be like a full circle moment, then ending with how they started but this time with twice the amount of knowledge and the hate would be actually personal this time. That would be the alternative ending.

[springintosummerxx]

❀ downbad for you ❀

op81 x reader

in which oscar changes in little and big ways. aka oscar's downbad for you

warnings: suggestive, fluff, bit of pining, humour

word count: 1.9 k

masterlist

nicole piastri was not an impatient woman. she raised four kids, all of them talented, intelligent and painfully oblivious in some way or another.

so when oscar had started travelling on his own and barely - rarely - picked up phone calls or checked texts, she learned to wait for him to come to her. very reasonable, in her opinion.

but when she called him, early in the morning hoping to catch him before a sprint race, she was surprised to find that he actually picked up.

"hello?" he asked, tone a little eager and not it's usual monotone.

"oscar," she replied, a little startled.

"oh. hey, mum." he answered absentmindedly.

now she was suspicious, "why are you answering your calls all of a sudden?"

"didn't you call me?" he asked, with that born-nonchalance that made her want to rip her hair out sometimes.

"yeah, just checking in. everything good for the weekend?"

"sure, everything's fine. listen mum, i'm actually waiting on another call. i'll call you again after the sprint, okay? thanks."

then her own son, the one she'd painfully pushed - okay, that was a bit gross, but she was a little offended.

then it clicked.

the question she should be asking, instead of rolling her eyes over her firstborn's antics, is who is he waiting on?

nicole calls hattie next, who answers reliably on the first ring.

"is your brother seeing someone?"

"woah, mum. hello to you too," her eldest daughter huffs, "and yes, i think so."

she nearly jumps up in excitement, "who?"

"that, i have no idea. but he's been answering his texts so quick lately, and he asked me about what flowers were suitable for a first date."

"finally," nicole sighed, and then perking up, "when do you think he'll bring her home?"

lando is staring at oscar as he puts on suncream.

he looks so...serious, squeezing out lotion from a bottle that looks way too tiny in his hands, concentrating on the thin white lines that coat three of his fingers.

"what?" he then is rubbing it into his face, and lando is scared.

"mate, what the fuck?"

"i'm protecting my skin," the australian answers, straight-faced.

he is 100% sure he's never seen oscar put on sunscreen, ever. especially not in the middle of the day, right between filming videos outside.

it's probably a good idea, if they don't want to get sunburnt; oscar, especially, with his pale complexion.

and who is lando to judge? he used to love it when his ex-girlfriend's did his skincare or forced him to exfoliate - wait.

before he can think through what he's going to say, he blurts, "do you have a girlfriend?"

oscar stares at him, and the faint, pink blush that's rising from his neck is enough of an answer.

"oh, my days you do!" he gasps. oscar shakes his head, the corners tipping up despite himself.

lando watches him, half-disgusted and half-proud.

his teammate has an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face, eyes bright. he leans back in the chair, looking dorky in his team kit and a little bit of sunscreen not blended in at his jaw.

lando could say with full confidence, after watching oscar not flinch at turns or crashes, that this reaction means that he is in love.

the first time oscar brings you around (and hard-launches both of you to the moon) is during the miami gp.

the two of you, your smaller hand tucked into the crook of his arm, make your way across the green turf of the paddock.

he's aware of the cameras and eyes; it's kind of hard not to be, but he doesn't mind like he usually does.

it's probably gross and neanderthal, and he will definitely deny it if you bring it up, but he's so proud to have you on his arm.

the two of you met a months ago, in monaco, where you were starting the second year of your doctorate degree.

you were (and are, in his opinion) way too smart for him, drop-dead gorgeous with a dry sense of humour.

although monaco was known for hosting f1 drivers you weren't super well-versed in the sport.

he likes that about you, and even more the way you ask him to tell you about it as you run your fingers through his hair, when the two of you are out on a date in some little cafe.

"okay?" he murmurs, and you squeeze your fingers around his bicep once.

"hmm," he can tell you're a little overwhelmed by the crease between your brows that he smoothes out with his thumb, "m'okay."

the little yellow sundress you're wearing makes your skin glow under the florida sun, and he wants to press his nose to your shoulder.

"it'll get better when we're not-"

"hard-launching at one of your races? you sure go big or go home, baby."

however many times you use that nickname, whether in the early morning when you're bribing him with coffee or hushed as he presses himself into you late at night, it never fails to make him flush.

it sounds so pretty from your lips, so personal and intimate his stomach lurches still when he hears that pet name.

"yeah," he laughs, "can't help it though. want to show you off."

this time, it's your turn to be flustered.

he can't believe someone as put together and elegant as you turns into a pile of mush for someone as unromantic as him.

but perhaps he's changed, he thinks as you twist your mouth and brush a hand over your sun and love-warmed cheeks.

"god, oscar. you can't say things like that. i'm going to turn into a liquid."

"a very beautiful liquid," he offers, his free hand grabbing the yours that's tucked into his elbow.

he moves you to his other side, the one closer to the cafés and motorhomes as more people start flooding into the paddock.

"c'mere," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your forehead.

normally, he would be against any sort of pda. but you look so relaxed under the sun, skin glowing as you watch him behind a pair of sunglasses that he can't help himself.

oscar hears the shutters of cameras, and he rests his cheek on yours.

"love you," he grins boyishly.

"love you, baby. good luck."

he wants a real kiss, one that makes you whimper the way he likes, but he's pushed his luck enough.

someone from the team leads you to the back of the garage to find a headset.

later that night, when the both of you are laying in bed, faces damp with skincare, he comes across an edit of you on tiktok.

there's some thirst-trappy song in the back and an annoying filter that makes everything a bit blurry, but he watches it three times anyways.

the first clip is of you in the garage, standing towards the back, fingers fluttering over your papaya headset. you look serious (though he thinks you do look a little confused, adorably so) with your eyes locked on the t.v. broadcasting his onboard.

the little skysports banner pops up, citing you as his partner.

oscar piastri's partner, it reads in block letters.

his heart warms in his chest, and he has to rub at it because of how intense he feels for you; you are so much more than that, and he can't wait for people to realize.

the next clip is you with alexandra, who you knew from someone's neighbor. or cousin. monaco was small, after all.

the two of you are laughing, striding with leo between your legs.

lastly, oscar watches with attentive eyes as the videos of you and him together come up.

it's undeniable that you guys look good together; he's smiling more than he probably has, ever, and you look up at him, adoringly as you blend some smeared sunscreen under his ear.

the sound of the tiktok has repeated four times by then, and you slide yourself into his embrace, wiggling up his chest.

he tilts his phone to you so you can see, and you bury your face in his neck.

"help," your breath warm on his skin, "i'm being perceived."

he laughs, pulling you up to kiss him, for real on the mouth, "thank you. for coming with me."

"of course," you say, a little surprised at how sincere he sounds, "anytime, baby."

now it's his turn to bury his face into your neck.

"he's never like this," hattie tells you.

"what?" you ask, smiling as your boyfriend's sister hands you a drink.

"he's so...touchy. it would be kind of gross, if you guys weren't so cute."

"yeah," edie pipes in, sipping her own drink, "it's freaky. unnatural."

"are you talking about me?" oscar asks drily as he slides into the seat next to yours.

frowning at the distance in between your chair and his, he wraps one large hand around the leg of yours and tugs until you're close enough for his to rest his arm to loop behind you.

mae shudders comically, just as edie pretends to gag. hattie hoots in laughter.

oscar, cheeks pink, unabashedly rolls his eyes as his parents take their seats around the table in their backyard.

it's nice seeing him in his natural habitat, teasing his sisters, helping his mum carry dishes to the dining table.

you insist on helping nicole wash up after dinner, and as you dry the dishes she hands you, she says something you don't expect.

"thank you," she tells you, "for taking care of him."

before you can respond, she goes on, "he's never been too good at taking care of himself. you know, he used to put his washing in the oven?"

you laugh, imagining oscar, on the cusp of adulthood, crouched over a oven with wet socks in his hands.

"but i can tell he's been well. so, thank you."

you blush, "i don't think it's anything to do with me."

she snorts, an easy smile on her face as she nudges you with her shoulder, "he's been calling more, he's eating well. i don't think he's been sunburnt or gone without fresh laundry for months."

you hum, "he takes care of me too, and i should thank you for raising a good man."

"i've got to stop leaving you alone with my family members." oscar sidles next to you, peering at his mum.

she brushes your cheek and pats his shoulder before wandering off to find his sisters.

"hi," he whispers into your hair, turning you around so he can crowd you into the kitchen counter.

"hi, baby."

he groans, burying his face into your neck. you feel him press a kiss to your shoulder, and you grin.

"okay?" you ask quietly.

"more than okay," he responds, smile content and squinty, "it's nice. to see you here, with my family. they love you."

"i love them," caressing his cheek, you press a kiss to his nose.

"this is probably weird for them," he hums, leaning into your hand, "to see me like this."

"i'm not going anywhere, so i think they'll get used to you being all gross and down bad."

"not downbad," oscar mutters, wrapping his arms around your waist in a hug and swaying the two of you back and forth, "just in love."

"downbad," you giggle, and he doesn't disagree, not when it makes you smile, so lovingly and soft at him.

maybe he is downbad.

[whimsicalnancy]

— i got into the void state back to back 4 times

guys, i think I've found a cheat code to effortlessly reprogram the subconscious mind to enter the void state, tho it can be used for other things as well.

the cheat code:

so, I was honestly getting so bored of making and listening to the same old type of subliminals. you know… the typical affirmations on loop, layered with rain sounds or some aesthetic music. they worked, sure but I kept thinking, there has to be a smarter, smoother, unique way to speak to the subconscious.

so I was just sitting and thinking...umm if my future self already had everything I wanted. how would she talk? how would she act?

and this wild idea popped into my head out of nowhere:

“wait… what if I recorded a fake interview with my future self?”

like “hey, how has your life changed after the void?”

and me then answering the question and yapping as if I have already had mastered the void..

BRUH, HOLD ON

i’m not gonna lie, I felt like an absolute genius in that moment. like when I would be focused on the interview, background sub affirmation will sweep in through my subconscious. giggled so hard.

i did some research and let me tell you why this is a genius idea and why this would work.

• it activates neuroplasticity through simulation:

when you listen to a conversation that sounds like your future self casually recalling success, it triggers mental simulation a process where the brain mentally rehearses an experience. thanks to neuroplasticity, our brain begins rewiring itself to adapt to this new "reality," even if it hasn't happened yet.

• bypasses critical filters and reconstructs self-image:

typical affirmations often trigger the Reticular Activating System (RAS) to filter them out if they don't align with your current self-image. but when you're hearing a relaxed, believable conversation like "Yeah, it's just normal now, i don't chase it anymore" it flies under the radar. this style avoids resistance and quietly restructures your internal self-schema, making lasting changes to your identity without inner conflict.

• it engages the limbic system for emotional encoding:

subliminals that evoke emotion trigger the limbic system, the emotional core of the brain responsible for memory and behavioral shifts. when you hear yourself speaking from a place of fulfillment like joy, ease, or pride - it creates emotional anchors in your subconscious. this emotional charge imprints the new belief deeply, making the transformation stick in a way dry affirmations can't replicate.

my success with this:

i decided to make a subliminal based on that idea, for the void. i kept the affirmations low in the background and made the interview part fully audible. I recorded myself answering interview-style questions in my own voice, but as if I were already the version of me who had completely mastered the void. and putting it all together took over 2hr not gonna lie, but it was all WORTH IT 💅🏻🫶🏻

even while I was creating it, i kept getting this giddy, butterfly-in-my-stomach kind of feeling. like, listening to MYSELF talk about MY dream life? ugh, it was something else.

anyway, when it was finally done, i was like, "I'll try it out tonight." but of course, my curious little self couldn’t wait. so i hit play immediately. laid there, sometimes zoning in on the interview going on, sometimes just vibing with the calm music. halfway through, I started feeling symptoms but since you’re not supposed to focus on them, i redirected my attention right back to the interview.

and then BAM! everything went silent. like, really silent. the next moment i could hear the subliminal again. then it went all black. then i heard the sub again. it was like i was literally going in and out of the void on a loop. wild, right? 💀 i was laying there with my eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, completely amazed. then before i could attempt again, my mom called me and i had to go.

now cut to that night, i literally jumped onto my bed like it was a trampoline, put on my subliminal, and just laid there. and yep, symptoms showed up again. then pitch black. i was like, “wait, lemme check if I’m in the void,” and that’s where I messed up, the moment i brought my awareness to the 3D, poof, i was out. AGAIN. i was like, girl, what are you doing???”

but I was too tired to care, so i replayed the subliminal, didn’t focus too hard, and just started making scenarios in my head to help me sleep. and then, out of nowhere, i felt this wierd, tingly pull, my heart was racing like crazy. and yup,

there i was, in the void, the pure consciousness!

calm 💅🏻 quiet 💅🏻 all pitch black 💅🏻

this time, i didn’t even bother checking or analyzing shit. i just stayed chill and eventually fell asleep ‘cause I was completely wiped out.

did i manifest:

not yet. after my last void attempt, i haven’t really tried to get in again. i’ve been working on upgrading the sub and fixing a few music issues. but guess what? i’m planning to use the sub to enter the void again on my birthday and manifest something special for me. something i had been desiring for decades:) and when i do, i’ll show y’all, just like I did with my other manifestations in the past. better be ready babe.

final words:

if anyone else has already played around with this concept or came up with something like this before, big love and credit to you<3

and people, steal this idea! just talk to yourself, literally.

sit down and have a full on convo like you’re the version of you who already has it all. whether you call it your higher self, future self, or just “that version of me” .. speak from that place. out loud. say how your life feels now, what you’ve created, how normal it all is.

stop waiting. start being.

[unreasonablerobin]

PUCKER UP!

Damian Alg Ghul x Girly!Reader

Synopsis: It's hard to believe this cold, ruthless assassin would let someone even think of putting eyeshadow on him... not after they found out about you.

W.C: 3.0k

Tags: Fluff ♡, some brief mentions of blood/injury, smau

"Damian, are you wearing," Stephanie paused. "Polish?"

Tim looked up from the computer in record speed at the question. His brother, demon child, wearing nail polish? Whatever direction this conversation was about to go he needed to be involved.

"Don't be ridiculous Brown." Damian spat back.

"Very defensive for a supposedly innocent man." Tim quirked a teasing brow. Damian's scowl deepened at the sight

"And the questions have only begun!" Stephanie added with a clasp of her hands. Damian's tormentors took a deep breath in preparation.

"What's with you smelling so good recently?"

"Why do you have specks of glitter on your face?"

"How are your hands soooo soft?"

"I really need you to be honest with me on this one Damian," Stephanie said rather sternly. A serious expression on her face and a finger pointed at Damian.

Okay, that made him a tad nervous. Is something wrong with Stephanie? Did he upset her in some way?

"How are you glowing?"

What.

"You're a vigilante! You barely sleep and spend your days *a"Damian, are you wearing," Stepahine paused. "*Polish?*"

Tim looked up from the batcomputer in record speed at the question. His brother, demon child, wearing nail polish? Whatever direction thus conversation was about to go he *needed* to be involved.

"Don't be ridiculous Brown." Damian spat back.

"Very defensive for a supposedly innocent man." Tim quirked a teasing brow. Damian's scowl deepened at the sight

"And the questions have only begun!" Stephanie added with a clasp of her hands.

"What's with you smelling so good recently?"

"Why do you have specks of glitter on your face?"

"How are your hands *soooo* soft?"

"I really need you to be honest with me on this one Damian." Stephanie said rather sternly. A serious expression on her face and a finger pointed at Damian.

Okay, that made him a tad nervous. Is something wrong with Stephanie? Did je upset her someway?

"How are you glowing?"

What.

"You're a vigilante! You barely sleep and spend your days and nights sparring! You're skin should be awful, you should reak of sweat!"

"Wow, thank you." Damian deadpanned and Tim chuckled.

"But you're not! You're..." She swished her hands around trying to find the word

"Radiant!"

"How'd you do it?" She plopped herself into a desk chair. It skid across the floor a little closer to Tim's from force of impact. She stared in awe waiting fir her answers. Damian sighed, really not wanting to tell them about probably your most common date; spa and makeup nights. Self care nights as you called them.

This morning...

Frantic footsteps echoed through the walls of your home as you scurried around trying to get everything you needed. Picking up makeup products just to drop them remembering that you already had it over at the manor. Your hair was somewhat done, you were dressed and had all your jewelry on. So at the very least you looked presentable.

'What else do I need?' Your eyes scanned the now messy bedroom, you'd have to clean it when you get back. A ring from the doorbell had you rushing down the stairs.

'Doesn't matter haven't the time for anything else." You flopped down onto the bench by the front door and grabbed your favourite shoes, chucking them on as quick as possible. After taking a deep breath you slipped out the door.

"Hello Alfred!"

"Good morning Ms. Y/n," Alfred greeted with a smile. "May I take your bag?"

"Oh, thank you!" He took your bag from you and opened the car door. You always forget that Alfred actually does butler things and isn't just a member of the Wayne family.

The seat belt clicked and you gave it a quick tug to make sure it was secure. Can't risk having anything happen to this pretty face!

The car came to a slow stop at the tall, metal gates leading to the Wayne Manor. You'll never get over how beautiful Damian's home is. The gates opened slowly. The grande and detailed architecture loomed before you as you stepped out at the steps to the front door. Alfred handed you your bag and headed up the steps to open the manor door.

It was a magical feeling everything you came here. The manor always smelt so clean, but rich, and yet cosy.

"Y/n!" A voice boomed from around the corner of the entrance. It was Dick.

"It's nice to see you again." He leaned in a gave you side hug.

"It's nice to see you too!" You reciprocated. "How are you?"

"I've been good, what about yourself?"

"Eh, alright. School has me busy."

"Yeah I imagine. Damian's been swamped with assignments."

"Beloved." Damian called from the top of the stairs before he made his way down. You met him at the last step. He took your bag from you and turned away.

"Come on." He began to head back up the stairs and to his bedroom.

"You're a real romantic, you know that Damian." Dick deadpanned at his little brother's actions. You laughed to yourself as you followed Damian.

Damian sat on his bed, scribbling some notes down, whilst you took up the space at his desk. He has a perfectly good bathroom with a mirror, but you choose to use his desk and your compact mirror. Simply so you can stay in the same room as him. If you hadn't already set yourself and your products up he would've offered to do his work in the bathroom, on the floor beside you. It's inefficient but it's with you.

He looked up and realised you were almost done. You were finishing up your mascara. All that was left was your lips. Remembering he was in possession of one of your lip glosses he reached into his bedside locker.

"You're lips gloss, beloved." He called and stretched his hand out with the clear and silver container rested in his palm.

"Thank you!" You shuffled over in his desk chair. After snatching your lip gloss you took a moment to stare.

"You have very nice lashes." Damian stared back in confused silence for a second before responding.

"Thank you."

"I should do your makeup!" You gasped.

"Absolutely not."

"Oh come on!"

"No."

"Babe please!" You begged as you hopped onto the bed beside him with a pout. He quietly examined your face. Several beats of silence passing before he spoke with a sigh. He was going to regret this.

"Fine."

He just couldn't say no. I mean, how could anyone say no to a smile like yours? That gorgeous toothy, smile that makes him weak in the knees. You could be dripping head to toe in blood and he still wouldn't be able to deny your heart of what it desires. So here he was, hands settled on your thighs, occasionally leaving to grab some sort of product for you. You were working your magic, eyes locked onto his tanned face. One hand was settled under his jaw, hoping his face up and your dominant hand held a small brush coated in concealer. He had learnt that this was possibly your least favourite step, after eyeliner, carving eyebrows. No matter what they just never seemed to be even.

You leaned back and held his face infront of you like it was your newest oil painting.

"Damn, I'm cooking so hard right now." You smirked at the sight. Symmetrical eyebrows.

"You're not cooking beloved, we are not even on the kitchen."

"No! I mean," you cut yourself off laughing. Damian didn't spend much time on social media. He just didn't find any entrainment in it. "It's slang for doing something really well."

You stretched your back and took another moment to simply look at him. My god was he beautiful. You don't know how you managed to bag someone so handsome and so repulsed by everybody.

"Beloved?"

"Hm?"

"You're staring." Warmth rushed to your face at the comment. To be fair, you were staring, hard. It's not your fault though! He's just so gorgeous!

...

"It's not fair!" You suddenly shouted.

"What do you need such nice brows and lashes for?" Your hands wildly gestured towards his face. He didn't flinch at any of your antics. Just quirked the corner of his lips up.

"For you to admire, I suppose."

"You better not get them seared off during some misson." You warned.

"I'll cry!"

"Please don't cry over something so miniscule." Damian pleaded with some concern. You actually crying at the sight of him with his eyebrows and lashes seared off is not an impossible scenario.

He sighed in contentment as your train of thoughts slowed and you picked the makeup brush back up. Your hands cupped his face again and he subconsciously leaned into it. He remembers the gallery of texts that had been exchanged that eventually led to these spa and makeup dates.

1 month ago...

He lazily held his phone above his face. His costume was torn up and discarded on the floor of his bedroom. He was lying to you again. Patrol was not fine. He was not fine. A concerningly deep gash was hidden under some already bloody wrapped bandages on his upper left arm. He had not gotten a wink of sleep in two days. He was exhausted, in every possible way. But you sending pictures of your cat in hopes it would cheer him up, really did work. You couldn't make the physical pain of his injury and exhaustion go away but you could always take it off his mind.

The morning sunlight shined through your open window. You squinted reading the texts from your boyfriend. Sighing, you got up to get ready for the day. You didn't know what to do. Damian was always drained from his vigilante activities and there's no way you can persuade him to take more days off than Bruce already forces him to take. The big mirror on the bathroom wall reflected you thinking face, that was also covered in toothpaste. As you spat it out an idea came to mind. Skincare, snacks, and time together. That's what makes you relax, surely it would help Damian out too. You're a genius.

The summer air was warm against your skin. You opted to walk to the corner store since the weather was so nice. You'll grab some of his favourite snacks and some face masks for you both.

Upon entering the shop, a cool breeze from the air-con and the refrigerated section hit you. It was refreshing. You headed for the snack section picking up some crisps and sweets for you both to share. After scanning the whole shelf of food you nodded in satisfaction at the collection in your arms and made your way to the hygiene section. You nabbed some deodorant and two green tea face masks before going to the counter.

$19.50, the economy's gone crazy.

The handles of the paper bag crumpled in your grasp. Damian would've given out to you for texting while walking, but he wasn't here so it was fine. You pulled out your phone, it's charming swinging about, and sent him a text, inviting him over for the night.

That evening...

You forgot to mention that the snacks you got earlier included face masks. He needed a break. A moment to relax. What better way than a night with his amazing girlfriend, a cool and hydrating face mask, surrounded by tasty snacks? That sounds like a dream to you. You had all your usual skincare set out on your bathroom countertop. You swayed back and forward awaiting Damian's arrival. You couldn't exactly continue you're routine without your toner. As you plugged your phone in to charge, the sweet chime of your doorbell rang through your home. You padded down the stairs, nearly slipping in your fluffy slippers. The lock was undone and the door was sung open quickly, like it held the cure to all you're problems on the other side. You'd say it did.

"Hi!" Damian had the bag of shopping tucked to the side before the door was even open. He knew you'd jump straight into his arms. It was routine at this point.

"Hello beloved." His greeting was muffled by your shoulder. Damian stepped inside and gently kicked the door shut. A quiet wince escaped him as he dropped you back onto your feet. Unfortunately for him, the noise didn't escape you, but you held your tongue for the moment.

"I got what you asked for and some popcorn," He handed the bag to you and knelt to remove his shoes. "I know you always forget it."

"I knew I forgot something!" You looked down into the bag to see your favourite popcorn. As much as you love it you never remember to buy it.

"Thank you!" A loving peck was place upon Damian's cheek. He gazed down at you as you took his hand, leading him up the stairs and to your bedroom.

He sat himself down on your plushie-infested bed. The pink duvet dipped beneath him. You hummed to yourself as you continued your skincare routine now that you had your toner.

Damian subtly shifted his arm. That gash from last night (this morning?) still hurt like hell. Alfred had stitched and wrapped it up for him. He removed his hoodie to see the bandages had been soaked through with blood. They really needed to be changed.

'I should've done this before I came here.' He internally groaned as he grabbed a box of bandage wraps from his bag.

'Need to be quick.' Damian used a blade he always carried to slice off the dead bandages. He shoved them into the bandage box and made a mental reminder to toss them out later. He didn't like lying to you but he hated seeing you worried more. As time went on Damian found that wrapping a wound is a lot more difficult with one hand.

You re-emerged from the bathroom to see Damian trying to wrap his arm back up as quickly as possible. Old, bloody bandages discarded somewhere he hoped you wouldn't find. He knew if you saw the quantity of blood he'd lost you freak out. More than you were about to.

"Oh my god, Damian!" You yelped. "You said your patrol went fine!" The face masks were abandoned onto your vanity as you bolted over to him.

"This is no big deal Habibti," He groaned as he accidentally grazed his nails across the gash. "I've dealt with worse."

"Just cause you've dealt with worse doesn't mean this is fine!" Damian didn't have the opportunity to rebuttal. His injured arm was being gently cradled in your hand as you gripped the other and dragged him into the bathroom.

"Sit here." You gestured at the closed toilet seat. You began rummaging through your drawers. A bottle of saline solution was in your grasp. You picked up some cotton pads you typically use to clean off your makeup.

"I use this to clean my piercings when they're new. It should be fine to clean around your stitches." You informed him as you poured some onto the cotton pad and leaned forward.

"This'll sting."

"I'll be fine." His body tensed up at the contact of the cold liquid. It did in fact sting, but he was too busy focusing on the smell of your perfume. As you clean his wound he distracts himself from the irritating feeling by gazing at your perfume collection and trying to figure out which one you were wearing. The bang of your small trash can against the wall as you discarded the cotton pads brought him back. You threw out the bandages that he had begun to wrap around the wound a moment ago and grabbed a box of fresh ones. He watched as you carefully wrapped his arm up. You certainly weren't as familiar with the task as he was, thankfully, but you were doing a better job since you had two hands to work with instead of one.

"And, all done!" You sang with pride as you stuck the end of the bandage with a Sanrio plaster.

"Really?"

"It's my personal touch," you placed your hands on your hips. "A reminder of who's always here to take care of you." You finished softly. He couldn't help but let a little small find its way onto his face.

"Thank you, beloved." Damian stood up and glanced at his left arm. If any of his family saw this he wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Wait here!" You scurried out of the room and returned with two packets of face masks in your hands.

"No."

"Oh come on!" You pleaded.

"It'll feel nice, and it'll be fun!" He stared at you slightly displeased.

"I'll give you a kiss?"

"You'd do that anyway, you are my partner."

"I'll give you a lot of kisses." He took in your swaying figure and tight-lipped smile. You desperately him to relax and have a bit of fun with you.

He sighed, "fine."

You hugged him, leaning into his good arm.

"No pictures though."

"Ugh, fine!" You pushed away and propped yourself onto the sink countertop. You giggled to yourself as you opened one of the packs.

"C'mere!" He situated himself between your legs, his hands holding the edge of the counter.

"Put this on." A colourful headband was shoved into his hands as you put your own on. He glanced at you to see if you were serious. All he saw was your giddy face. Reluctantly he put the headband on, pushing his dark hair out of his face.

"You can't touch your face once this is on, okay?" You held his face as a brush covered in green rubbed along his skin. What has his life come to?

Here you were sitting on a countertop with your boyfriend between your legs. Both are sporting green face masks. You couldn't help but laugh at Damian's serious expression. He was counting down the seconds until he could take the concoction off his face.

"When do you plan on fulfilling your end of the deal?" He asked very seriously. Did I mention he's very serious about this?

"When we take these off."

He exhaled roughly through his nose, like a fire breathing dragon.

"You'll live until then!" Your arms were thrown over his shoulders and your fingers fidgeted with the hair on the nape of his neck.

"Maybe."

"You're lucky I didn't make you wear cucumbers on your eyes." Damian huffed from beside you. The two of you were snuggled under the covers of your bed and surrounded by snacks. It was basically heaven. An action movie Damian had heard Dick talk about with high praise played in the background. He turned to face you, you were rested on his right side, his good arm loosely around your waist.

"What?" You questioned as he stared at you.

"The deal." As interesting as the movie was he had some other priorities. He watched as a grin spread across your face.

"What deal?"

"Oh come on."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" You shrugged your shoulders theatrically.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue and brought you closer by the arm around your waist. You braced one hand on his chest and the other on the mattress. The bags beneath his eyes were so much more visible from this distance. They made you remember why Damian was here to begin with. So you leaned him and pressed your lips to his.

A/N: So happy I got back the motivation to feed the Girly!Reader fans. Idk what to do cause I've got so many other ideas and fuck all Girly!Reader ideas... I'm not stopping Girly!Reader series, but I don't think I'll be posting any Girly!Reader stuff for a while. Especially since I want to try to write for some non DC characters. (Tim Drake x Slasher!Reader is burning in the background.)

[garez19]

a lot to share

rich! yandere x thief reader.

reader steals from her richie rich friends, yandere male, manipulation, subtle blackmailing, class distinction, 4.4k wc.

you had always wondered how it felt to be a rich kid. a real rich kid. not the upper middle class, i mean, rich kids whose parents could afford anything and everything for them. kids whose parents invest in their children’s education, their passions and aspirations without having to worry about paying the bills.

growing up you met a handful of them, and you even befriended some. you witnessed the fact that everything they -and you, for that matter- ever wanted had always been between their lips.

you were envious, even when they were certainly generous to you. why would they not be? they always had more. they could’ve always had more. and it pissed you off. the fact that you were never, no matter how hard you tried, on the same level as them made you turn into a grumpy kid most of the time. you wanted that one toy eliza had, and you didn’t want to play with it and give it back to her when the playtime was over. you wanted it to be yours. a belonging of yours.

your mother wasn’t happy in the slightest when she found the toy in your backpack. she was angry, for sure, but there was a different kind of emotion in her face; disappointed and embarrassed. still, you could only assume how much patience she needed to have to be able to have a normal conversation with you. she tried to seem understanding, and did her very best to explain what you did was not acceptable, and how eliza must’ve been very upset that her favorite toy was gone. you remained still, but your mother could see the way your upper lip was quivering.

“eliza’s mom can buy her a new one.” you said right before bursting into tears. what was the big deal? why did she have to ruin everything for you?

“that doesn’t mean you can get your hands on their belongings.” she replied, her voice sharp and stern this time. “i’m sorry.” was all you managed to let out. she gave you a sympathetic look. then she talked a bit more, and you agreed you’d give it back to her tomorrow.

“you shouldn’t do that again.” she reminded you once more. you hummed quietly. however, you still couldn’t quite understand what was truly wrong with it. even so, you did as your mother told you. but when you saw eliza with such big surprised eyes, full of joy and a beaming smile on her face, you could finally see why your mother was so upset with you.

you were happy she didn’t try to ask questions. where did you find it? why didn’t you tell me? were you the one who took it? no, none of them had crossed her mind. “thank you,” was all she said. “mom bought me a new one,” she added. “i can give it to you if you’d like.” she said while playing with the toy. you didn’t answer. you couldn’t find the right word. you were ashamed—a new emotion you’d learned very recently.

“i don’t want it.” you mastered up all your courage. the desire was always bigger. it was bigger than shame, or wrath, it was bigger than any emotion you could ever describe. but you didn’t want someone to give it to you just because it was something they wanted to get rid of.

you wanted to conquer it instead. you wanted to get your hands on it forcefully, by grabbing it and making sure that you were the one who took it.

you ended up stealing it, told your mom she gave it to you because “her mom bought her a new one.”

soon it had become a habit. you knew how wrong it was, and you knew the consequences you had to face in a scenario where you were caught. you knew you weren’t worthy of having any friends, and the excuse of “their parents can buy them a new one.” didn’t work on your conscience anymore.

but, you couldn’t stop.

you tried your best to surpass the desire. the desire to have more, to own more, and to get to have a say in what you truly wanted in this life. you tried your hardest, so much that you even avoided rich kids like the plague.

but then he came into your life with classy clothes and a car you would have only seen in your dreams.

materials don’t mean anything to me, you reminded yourself. sure, they didn’t; what got on your nerves was the fact that they had the chance to have it, maybe. maybe it was the only reason you were angry.

none of it means anything to me. you reminded yourself.

but it was hard to do so when he was there. he was kind, charismatic and intelligent. truly an overachiever, and he certainly got it all.

you have never had such desire in a long time. the last thing you had craved something so painfully was eliza’s toy.

when you ran out of patience, you already found yourself seated next to him, glancing at the notes he took in class. first it was small remarks. then you became a familiar face for him. then you were talking to him, sharing stories and making stupid jokes, asking stupid questions.

you were weird. he could almost sense something was off with you. acting sweetly and bubbly all the time, yet he could see your eyes were dull when you looked at him. it was nothing he hadn’t seen as he had always been surrounded by people like you. sly and ready to fake any kind of demeanor.

no,

what he didn’t understand was you were still trying your best to do as your mother said. just because someone is rich doesn’t mean i can get my hands on their belongings. you reminded yourself as you found a better place for your -eliza’s- toy. more than a decade had passed, and you still didn’t grow out of it.

how laughable you were.

you observed the toy very carefully, adjusting its position and rechecking again.

as i said, the desire to own something was bigger than any meaningful sense of accomplishment. and, fairly enough, rich kids could never make sense out of something so sentimental. he could never understand such emotion. he never truly craved anything. nothing ever was over his reach, which is why he could never figure out motivation of people with tenacity.

he always knew he could get whatever he wanted. his parents didn’t hesitate to spend hundreds on toys he would play with only once. he didn’t have a favorite toy, because at the end of the day, none of them was special.

he didn’t have close friends that would truly care. he didn’t know how to forge unbreakable bonds with people, because at the end of the day, he didn’t crave anything including meaningful human connections.

he didn’t have a life-time goal. sure, he had got the best grades, but it wasn’t truly because he had the motivation. he simply had endless opportunities and didn’t have anything better to do than learning new stuff that seemed somehow entertaining.

an overachiever with no real ambition in his life.

how laughable he was.

and yet you were really getting on his nerves. it was nothing new for him really, being surrounded by girls who didn’t know how to take no as an answer. girls who wanted to taste how it felt like to be with him, to be him. girls who wanted pretty boys with a lot to share.

he hated people like you. he hated that he was only a symbol of achievement and acceptance to people with materialistic values. that was exactly when he decided to go along with you. he started agreeing with whatever you wanted to do. you had a stupid idea? all ears. you wanted him to be your project partner? sure thing. you had seen a funny video? show him.

because he really wanted to see where this was going for once. he wanted to see how much you were willing to go just so you could get what you wanted. you couldn’t decide if the change was good or not. it was unexpected, and unexpected things would make your stomach upset. you enjoyed his company, true, yet you still couldn’t get your eyes off of eliza’s toy. and you sure wouldn’t try to avert your gaze on his belongings. he should’ve known better, but you could still hear your mother’s voice in your head.

hanging out with him was fun. he was only there when you actually asked him to. he didn’t need you to check up with him because, fairly enough, he couldn’t care less about you. he didn’t consider you a friend, and he most certainly had lots of things to do. the comfort of such dynamic made you feel lighter. he made you feel comfortable unlike eliza and your other friends who found you distant the moment you tried to have some time by yourself.

hanging out with you, although hard to admit, was fun. you didn’t ask about his ambitions and such topics he wouldn’t want to answer. you were just so busy with telling him how much you hated your boss and your family matters you weren’t supposed to tell anyone. you had a lot to share. you had funny stories about high school. you had recommendations on books and songs about love. you had laughs and joy to share, even when it didn’t seem genuine to him at all.

“my friend made it, wanna taste it?” you told him. he didn’t answer. you still gave him a small piece of it anyway. he could see you actually liked sharing, and it wasn’t special to him. you were annoying, sure, but you still had qualities he liked about you.

he liked not having to talk about serious matters. he liked he had someone he could be stupid with.

and unlike he had assumed, you weren’t trying to pursue him romantically. you weren’t flirting with him, and you weren’t interested in knowing his current relationship status. some compliments here and there, small jokes about how your eyes were blinded by his light, and that was pretty much it. and weirdly enough, you didn’t appreciate it when he tried to treat you to your favorite dessert.

“how do you even call this shit a dessert?” you asked him while tasting what he had. he frowned for a second. “you’re jealous it tastes like heaven.” he said. you grimaced at him before tasting it again.

you had gotten even closer by the following months. he wasn’t quite sure if he still didn’t consider you a friend. and you were happy you didn’t catch anything you wanted to own. except his car, of course, but you didn’t want to play GTA in real life anyway, so you were good.

“are you going to come to the library tomorrow?” he asked, “for the project, remember?”

you checked the date. you rechecked it.

“i’m ditching school, can we do it the day after tomorrow?” you answered.

“oh, sure. did something happen?”

“it’s my birthday tomorrow.”

he frowned. then he also checked the date. turned out, you’d never talked about the dates of your birthdays. but he was still… annoyed for some reason. the fact that he learned about it just before the day made him uneasy. why did you not tell him? who were you going to celebrate it with? why wasn’t he invited? why was he upset over it?

mom makes a big deal out of birthdays, that must be the reason.

“okay, that’s good. what are the plans tomorrow?” he tried his very best to seem uninterested. so much that he hadn’t even said ‘happy birthday in advance’ or ‘ why didn’t you tell me?’ he was unbothered. he was completely fine.

“well, i’ll just celebrate it with my friends.” you replied. he still couldn’t hear what he wanted yet. you still didn’t offer him to join. not that he cared, no, he just. it was just an old habit from his mom. that was all. yeah. nothing else.

“oh. cool.” he said, the awkwardness taking over you thanks to his 2 worded answers.

“wanna come?” you doubted he would say yes as you remembered him talking about how much he disliked such concepts due to his mom’s exaggeration.

“yes,” to your surprise he didn’t hesitate, “sure,” nor did he waste a second. you couldn’t really hide your surprise, and he felt like he was supposed to disappear from the earth for a while.

“what? was i supposed to stay and do your stupid part too?” he laughed.

“oh and, you don’t need to bring a gift,” he lifted his eyebrow as you continued, “i mean, i don’t accept gifts. so just, bring your shiny self, okay?”

he looked at you with pure terror. no gifts, on your own birthday? his mother would’ve gone crazy. but he didn’t persist. it wasn’t easy for him to understand your perspective in many cases anyway.

the next day he truly felt bad for listening to you, because even though none of the guests had any gift for you, you truly deserved anything you wanted with that elegant outfit and your lovely smile. well, not anything. the exaggeration of birthdays was passed down to him from his mother. yeah. surely that was it.

your friends wouldn’t stop asking who he was and where you met him. was he single? wait, were you seeing him? no? good. well, happy birthday, dear.

the day ended with peace and happiness. you were thankful to your friends for being there and sharing the joy. the guests were leaving, and they didn’t forget to wish you the happiest birthday one last time. everyone left, everyone except him since he needed to answer a phone call real quick.

when he was done with it, he made his way to the kitchen to let you know he was ready to leave. that was the moment he saw it: a box wrapped in glossy yellow paper, tied with navy ribbon.

“so you accept gifts?” his voice was stern, for the lack of a better word.

“uhh, i don't,” you glanced at the present. “it’s from eliza.”

“so you accept gifts,” he said once more.

“well, what, are you jealous?” you grinned. that wasn’t the deal. his mother’s weird habits was — whatever.

“of what?” he sounded defensive, “anyway, nevermind, do you want to open it?” now he was like a little boy asking his friends to open their gifts out of curiosity. “let’s see what she got.”

you nodded slowly, gently unboxing it as he watched your hands. his gaze shifted to your expression once you were done—your mouth shaped like the letter o, your eyes glossy almost like you were crying.

he had never regretted anything as badly as not getting you a present. he knew there were times his mother was right, and yeah, he really should’ve known better.

he came up with a solution the next day: another package for you. and he certainly wasn’t any different than eliza, if not worse. even though you loved him and eliza, you still didn’t want expensive stuff from them. the little kid in you still thought it wasn’t truly yours if you weren’t the one who wanted it. when he saw you hesitate, he rested his hand on his chin. “i know you accept gifts,” he said with a faint smile.

his sharp gaze was lingering in the eyes of yours. you did your utmost to get it over with as quick as you could.

you didn’t have to know how hard it was for him to pick the ideal gift out there. you didn’t have to know he went as far as asking his old classmates from highschool to help him out. he didn’t have to tell you he kept annoying his mother—telling her she was the only one he could trust on this. she was taken aback by the sudden request as she had never seen him this excited for such occasions before. normally, he would buy whatever that seemed decent enough.

it was the prettiest bracelet you had seen. simple, and very elegant in its simplicity.

it wasn’t a gift you would -or could- buy your friends, to be honest. it was probably something you could only see on top of the counter. but, you knew rich kids had a different view on such matters. eliza never hesitated to get you such presents too, and she didn’t care which brand it was (or if it even had a brand, for that matter) as long as it seemed to look good on her.

you contemplated selling the bracelet before even getting to wear it. but his eyes were focused on your wrists, leaving you little to no choice.

you wore the bracelet, gently shaking your hand to make sure it wasn’t too loose.

“it’s pretty,” you said, still ashamed of the attention from him. you couldn’t find the correct words, and you hated the awkwardness of such words, “thank you, it’s… it’s so beautiful.” you said while looking at your bracelet. he liked your expression, and was most certainly satisfied with the reaction.

“of course, i picked it, after all,” he said with a boyish grin, certainly proud of himself.

the next day he couldn’t see the bracelet on your wrist.

did you not like it? that couldn’t be it because there was no way you could fake that type of expression. you liked it, no, you adored it, there was no way you didn’t. his eyes were on your bare wrist the whole day. the day after that, and the next day too. he hadn’t said anything, but his eyes were still.

“you think she didn’t like it?” he asked his mother. she was truly confused. there was no way her son, of all people, was nervous over a birthday gift.

“she probably just doesn’t like wearing bracelets.” she said with indifference. “some people are sensitive to how things feel on their skin.”

“she could’ve just told me.” he mumbled. he would’ve get you another gift if you asked him to. it was stupid of him, really, thinking too deeply over a stupid bracelet. but, in his defense,it was for you. from him.

even though you considered selling and getting rid of it, you couldn’t get yourself daring it. you knew he had tried to play it off, but you were able to see his content expression. and just because you felt awkward wearing it, you wouldn’t just do that to him. turned out even you had principles and some ethics. you put the gift right next to eliza’s toy as they brought a similar type of discomfort to you.

he had started to pay more attention to your sense of fashion. noting what you had wore and how you styled your hair, what accessories you wore, if you did. he tried to understand your preferences in perfumes and shampoos. you -and even he himself- didn’t even realize he did it. he kept asking his mom what type of gifts girls would like. he kept keeping track of every single piece of clothing you had. but there was still no trace of the bracelet. it was completely gone. he didn’t care if you wore accessories or not, all he cared was whether you wore that one single item he had for you.

“oh, it looks so pretty,” your friend pointed at the bracelet. “is it new?”

“oh, well, it’s been a while, my friend’s given it to me as a birthday gift.” you said, looking at the accessory.

“you should wear it,” she suggested. “it’s soooo beautiful!”

you didn’t answer. the weight of the item -of the feelings included in it- made it unable to lift your arm. but, you acknowledged you were making it a big deal. nothing wrong with using what your friends gave you, no?

no one including you could find out the reason he was so cheerful and ecstatic that day. not even his mom. he kept giving kind words to his friends whenever he had the opportunity— not something people caught him doing often. he even offered help to troubled people whose assignments were due. he greeted his mother so enthusiastically that she was almost 100% sure her son was finally losing it.

he was finally losing it, but your wrist looked so pretty with his gift on it. he couldn’t shake off the feelings of craving. he wanted your attention. he wanted you to think of him whenever you looked at your wrist. throughout his life, he finally had something to hang on to, to want, to desire. and it finally made sense to him when people had their lifetime goals they wouldn’t stop thinking about. people with undying ambitions and their dedication to do whatever it would take.

he wanted to be the subject of your attention. he wanted it bad.

you were finally losing it. because the more time you spent with him, the more you realized all that character development had gone straight into the trash—and that you weren’t fixable by any means. his company was comfortable, and you liked being around him. but, still, you could sense how envious you were. how jealous you were of his stupid car, his classy outfits, his big house and his mother who had mesmerizing eyes that were identical to his. you were upset he had everything, and you were upset there was no way you could drive that stupid car once your little hangout time was over.

you were finally losing it, because he had everything you had ever dreamed of. because he had everything, and the desire made your soul rotten.

it had started off slowly. like an old crow who adored shiny objects, you started off with a glamorous ring. it was his favorite, as you recalled correctly. and then it was his pretty bracelet, though not prettier than yours. then it was the jacket from that one luxury brand. and the list was getting longer. normally, you wouldn’t go as far as this because normally, people would start grumbling about how their stuff kept getting lost.

he was confused at first, though not exactly upset. he didn’t understand your motives as he had made it clear he was okay with sharing pretty much everything he had. he liked it when you had stuff that would remind you of him. why… did you feel the need to do that? was he not clear enough?

you didn’t accept his gifts, but you were completely okay with taking whatever you liked that belonged to him. you didn’t want gifts, but you didn’t stop pocketing his stuff. he was confused, but maybe, just maybe, you wanted little things in your house that’d make you think of him? maybe you were just too much of a loser and lacked good manners to ask like a normal human being.

no matter what the case was, he wasn’t bothered at all. even if you had ill intentions, it was no big deal, because at the end of the day, it wasn’t stealing if he was aware and okay with it.

he kept getting new jackets that seemed to fit your style. he got new bracelets and made sure you saw them.

the fact that he was totally unaware made you wonder if he was truly stupid, or just richer than you had imagined. he kept getting more and more stuff, and never mentioned anything getting lost. you were completely lost because… because it didn’t make sense at all. it had started to get annoying for you. that there was no way this man wouldn’t look for his items, nor was he even aware they were gone.

it started to piss you off. and you could feel your body getting tenser whenever you glanced at his figure. there was nothing you could do that’d affect this guy. you felt yourself distancing yourself from him. at the end of the day, the only person who was losing it was you. there wasn’t a single thing he would care about losing.

well, the only exception being you.

he could see you were annoyed, though not entirely able to tell the reason. he could see you drifting apart. and worth mentioning he didn’t take it well. things were getting more complicated day by day, and understanding you had never been harder.

there was no way you could walk away. not when he finally had someone to hold onto.

“my ring got lost again,” he mumbled while you two were working on an assignment together. you looked up at him, panic in your eyes lasted only a millisecond.

“oh…” you said, not managing to form a coherent sentence.

“it’s like… the third time this has happened in two weeks.” he peered at your wrist, the bracelet was still there. he smiled softly.

“you should’ve just told me if you had wanted a ring.” his voice was warm. it was genuine, and made you terrified of such warmth.

you didn’t answer, mouth going completely dry.

“you know how hard it is to deal with authorities, right?” he asked, but his voice didn’t sound threatening at all—he was still smiling, and his voice was still the softest you’d ever heard from him.

“i…” he didn’t let you finish. “it’s okay, dear,” reassured, “sharing is caring, y’know,” you looked at his expression to catch a glimpse of contempt— to your surprise, there weren’t any.

“i just… don’t think you should be distant to people when you have their ring,” he cooed, “isn’t that right?”

he made it sound weirdly romantic. like he was the one who gave it. you had his ring, that was true, and it was almost like he was happy you did.

“i’m sorry,” you finally managed to speak up. he shaked his head. “nothing to apologize, dear, the only problem we have is,” he gazed at your hands—stripped of any jewelry, “we need to find a ring that actually fits your finger.” he smiled.

you didn’t know how it came to this, but it was too late to reject any gifts.

[aleksatia]

What would the LaDS do if MC just had enough of the whole secret keeping/manipulation/stalking/controlling behavior and ran away? Like she made sure all of the ways they're keeping tabs on her don't work anymore, secretly leaves to live elsewhere, and never comes back? Like she's GONE gone and can't be found.

Thanks so much for the question and the idea — it made me spiral beautifully into angst territory. 🖤 At first glance, this is how I imagine things would unfold in my headcanon.

Every LaDS reacts differently, and honestly… some of them never really recover. I poured my heart into each of their perspectives, so if you see it another way, I’d love to hear your take. Always open to different interpretations — especially when it comes to pain like this. 😌✨

UPD: Requested continuation is here:

Sylus | Rafayel | Caleb | Zayne (coming soon) | Xavier (coming soon)

🦅 Sylus

(He doesn’t lose things. He takes, he keeps. But this—this is loss. A slow-rotting, world-tilting, soul-gnawing kind of loss.)

The Moment It Hits

It’s a shift in the air. An emptiness where something vital used to be. His breath catches, fingers tightening around the crystal glass of whiskey.

He calls you. Nothing.

He tracks you. Nothing.

He tears the city apart—contacts, satellites, underground networks. Nothing.

Then it hits. You’re not hiding. You’re beyond reach.

Does He Blame Himself?

At first, no. You’re just being difficult. Testing limits. He trained you too well in the game of power.

Then the days stretch. The silence rots in his gut.

Maybe he pushed too far. Held too tight. Loved too hard.

But if he had been softer, would you still be here? No. You were always going to run. He just never thought you’d win.

First Day

He sits in his study, staring at the last glass you touched. His fingers hover over the rim, but he doesn’t pick it up.

The Nest is in chaos, men scrambling for orders, but he says nothing. Just listens to the empty resonance where you used to be.

He doesn’t sleep. He barely moves. And when dawn breaks, he realizes—you’re still gone.

First Week

The silence is unbearable.

He smashes a mirror. Then a chair. Then an entire fucking room. But the noise doesn’t bring you back.

Music. That’s the answer. The organ swells under his fingers, but the sound doesn’t fill the void. It just makes it worse. The walls of his mansion tremble with the weight of his grief, but no one dares to stop him.

The first time he says Kitten, it’s barely a whisper. The second time, it’s a growl. The third—it’s a plea.

First Month

He kills a man just for saying your name. He kills another for looking at him wrong.

The city learns to be silent.

The organ plays every night, each melody heavier, darker—until one evening, he simply stops. Because music is agony now.

He thinks he hears you sometimes. A shift of fabric. A sharp inhale. But he turns, and there’s only the crushing weight of absence.

Five Years

People say he’s gone mad. That he talks to ghosts. That he’s lost his edge.

They don’t understand. He hasn’t lost it. He just has nothing left to prove.

He still feels you. Somewhere distant. Beyond his reach but never truly gone.

New Relationships? Don’t be ridiculous. He fucks, maybe. But no one’s ever allowed to touch his soul again.

He doesn’t chase anymore. Because one day, the universe will break in just the right way, and you’ll be within reach again.

And when that day comes—you’re not running anymore.

🌊 Rafayel

(He always smiled through pain. Painted beauty over grief. But when you disappeared, not even art could hide the collapse.)

The Moment It Hits

He waits three days before admitting to himself that you're really gone. Not late. Not upset. Gone.

Your studio key still sits on the shelf. The mug you always used — untouched. He tries calling. Messaging. Pretends he's not panicking.

Then he checks every port, every passage, every gallery, every alleyway where your soul might've left a trace.

You’ve vanished. And he knows—you didn’t want to be found.

Does He Blame Himself?

Every minute.

He retraces every word, every joke, every lingering glance he didn’t take seriously enough.

Maybe he should’ve said it clearer. Or sooner. Or not at all.

Maybe if he hadn’t tried so hard to keep it light, you would’ve known how deep he really felt.

First Day

He draws you. Over and over. Not from memory — from guilt.

He tries to remember how your mouth looked when you smiled through frustration. How your eyes dimmed when you thought he wasn’t watching.

He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t sleep. Paints until his fingers bleed.

First Week

He keeps thinking he hears your voice in the wind. That you're just out of frame.

Sits by the harbor, waiting for a boat that never comes.

Finishes a canvas. Stares at it for an hour. Then sets it on fire.

Tells himself he’s fine. He lies beautifully.

First Month

People ask where you are. He says you're traveling. Or healing. Or chasing a dream.

But the gallery knows — there’s a new collection in the works. All unnamed. All in shades of drowning.

The walls of his home are covered in your outlines. He keeps the lights low. Pretends it’s intimacy, not absence.

The world starts to lose its color. For a man who once saw millions of shades, everything dulls. Muted. Grey.

He stops using yellow entirely.

First Year

He vanishes beneath the sea. A whole year. Gone.

They say he swam through old ruins, sang to coral reefs that didn’t sing back.

He gathers shells—perfect, fragile—and crushes them into powder, making pigments no one's ever seen.

But they all come out grey.

When he finally resurfaces, his skin is colder. His voice is softer. His art—wordless grief on stretched canvas.

When asked what inspired them, he says: “Nothing. She’s not mine anymore.”

And when no one’s looking, he traces your initials into wet paint. Every time.

Five Years

He exhibits a piece called "When Silence Learned to Scream." It sells for millions. He doesn’t show up to the opening.

He no longer draws faces. Only fragments—lips that look like yours, fingers that used to hold his brush.

He’s touched people. Kissed some. Loved none.

He still sets a second cup of coffee. Still leaves the balcony door unlocked. Just in case.

The color never comes back. He just learns to fake it.

He doesn’t wait. He just… exists beside the ghost of you.

✈️ Caleb

(You were the only thing that made him feel human. Now, he’s just another machine built for war—functional, efficient, and dead inside.)

The Moment It Hits

He notices the silence first.

Your messages stop. Your routine shifts. Something’s off, but he tells himself you just need space. You’ve always needed space.

He checks on you through the usual systems—his eyes, the satellites, the passive trackers he swore weren’t invasive, just precautionary.

Nothing. Not disabled. Not broken. Gone.

His knees hit the floor before he can stop them. His hand wraps around the metal tag you gave him—the one he swore never to take off. It digs into his palm so hard it leaves a mark.

Does He Blame Himself?

He doesn’t even need to ask. Of course, it’s his fault.

Maybe if he had held you a little looser, if he had let you breathe, if he hadn’t always been watching, waiting, bracing for the day you’d run.

Maybe if he had been less Caleb and more someone you could love without suffocating.

But it’s too late now.

First Day

His body stops feeling like his own. Like his mechanical arm, the rest of him loses sensation.

He moves, eats, speaks, salutes—out of habit, not need.

But sometimes, when no one is watching, the pain surfaces.

And when it does, it swallows him whole.

First Week

He takes every mission no one else wants. The more dangerous, the better.

Tells himself he’s just doing his job, but deep down, he’s testing fate. Daring it to take him.

It never does.

He always comes back. And he hates it.

First Month

He stops cooking. No more spices, no more warmth, no more shared meals.

Only bland, military rations. Fuel, not food.

He doesn’t touch your photo albums, but he doesn’t throw them away either.

Let them rot with him.

First Year

He hasn’t eaten apples since the day you left.

Too sweet. Too alive. Too much like you.

The dog tag you gave him is still around his neck. A brand. A wound. A curse.

He tries. Once. With a woman from the med bay. She was kind. Gentle.

But when she reached for his hand—his jaw locked, his throat closed, his stomach churned.

He excused himself. Never tried again.

Five Years

His name is legendary. His rank? Higher than anyone imagined.

The man who never dies. The ghost pilot. The one who walks away from wreckage without a scratch.

He used to hate attention, but now? Now his inaccessibility makes women chase him more. He lets them. But never sees their faces. Never lets them touch his scars. Never lets them hold him the way you used to.

Because pain is all he has left of you. And he’s not ready to let it go.

🧊 Zayne

(Some men burn in their grief. Some men drown in it. Zayne? He freezes. The world still turns, the city still moves, and he walks through it like a ghost wearing a doctor’s coat. Precise. Detached. Functioning. But never living.)

The Moment It Hits

He finds out through absence, not presence.

You were always predictable in small ways. The way you fidgeted when nervous. The way you always texted before vanishing for a few hours. The way you left traces of yourself in his space, even when you didn’t mean to.

But one day, all of it stops.

Your number disconnects. Your bank account closes. The security cameras catch nothing. Too clean. Too final.

You didn’t just leave. You erased yourself.

Does He Blame Himself?

No. Not at first.

Because blaming himself would mean accepting that he miscalculated, and he does not make mistakes.

He spends months analyzing. Running simulations. Mapping out every logical reason why you left.

None of them make sense.

Then, one night, while sitting alone in his office, he makes the mistake of asking himself the one question he’s been avoiding—

What if it wasn’t logic? What if it was just pain?

That’s the first time he doesn’t sleep.

First Day

The hospital is quiet. Too quiet.

He operates. He consults. He performs at peak efficiency because the alternative is stopping, and stopping means thinking.

At the end of the day, he unlocks his apartment and stares at the empty space where your things used to be.

He stands there.

Just stands there.

First Week

His routine doesn’t break. Not once.

5 AM runs. 12-hour shifts. Research until 2 AM.

No deviations. Because deviations lead to cracks.

The first time someone mentions your name, his scalpel slips.

It never happens again.

First Month

He starts closing doors he once left open.

Stops looking at his phone. Stops checking messages.

Your coffee order is deleted from his usual café’s system.

He doesn’t erase you. That would be emotional.

He simply moves forward.

First Year

He doesn’t say your name anymore.

When people ask, he says you’re gone. No details. No elaboration.

But his residents whisper.

How their attending stopped smiling. How he works more than sleeps. How his precision became ruthless.

They never mention the fact that he never, ever, takes cases where patients have your eye color.

Five Years

The rumors are true. He has a daughter.

No one knows the mother. No one dares ask.

He never talks about it, never brings her to the hospital, but he leaves every shift at exactly the same time—always back before she falls asleep.

He teaches her to count constellations on the ceiling. Reads her anatomy books like fairy tales.

She has your eyes. People notice. Whisper. But no one asks.

And when she laughs—it’s a sound that shatters something in him.

When she asks, “Was Mommy like me?” He pauses. Looks at her. Then, softly: "She was... the part of you I’ll never be able to explain."

He never married. Never will.

And sometimes, when the room is too quiet, and she’s asleep in his arms—he looks at her face and wonders if loving someone this much was ever ethical.

🌌 Xavier

(He doesn’t fall apart. He folds in. Quietly. Gracefully. Like a dying star still casting light no one realizes is already gone.)

The Moment It Hits

It starts with your resignation.

No dramatic exit. No farewell. Just one line in the system: “Resigned. No forwarding information.”

You, who lived for the Hunt, for duty. You, who said this was everything.

He tries to message. Silence.

Asks around. Friends. Colleagues. Command. They say you just… vanished.

Then one day, he walks past your old apartment—someone else lives there.

Your scent, your presence, your trace in the universe—gone.

Does He Blame Himself?

He tries not to.

Tells himself you were always drifting, always meant to disappear.

But the silence between you, the things he never said— “Stay. I need you.” “I was never calm, I just didn’t know how to show it.”

They echo in his mind louder than any explosion.

He doesn’t hate himself. But he never forgives.

First Day

He stays on duty longer than needed.

Doesn’t take off his coat. Doesn’t go home.

Doesn’t even speak, unless the mission demands it.

At night, he stares at the ceiling and wonders if you’re staring at the same stars.

First Week

He starts bounty hunting again. Harder. Deeper into uncharted zones.

He sleeps more—but worse. Dreams flicker like static.

When he returns, they say he’s become faster. Colder. Lethal.

No one dares ask why.

First Month

He stops wearing light colors.

White fades into grey. Grey fades into black.

He says nothing about the change.

But those who know him realize: he’s mourning.

And it’s a mourning that will never end.

First Year

Women try. Of course they do.

He’s distant. Beautiful. Untouchable.

He lets a few in—physically. But only when the emptiness claws too loudly.

He never sees their faces. Never lets them stay the night.

One once whispered, “I could love you, if you let me.” He didn’t respond. Just walked away.

Because you never had to ask. You already did.

Five Years

He’s still hunting. Still tracking the lost, the dangerous, the damned.

He walks through warzones like a shadow of starlight.

No one has seen him in white in years.

They call him a myth. A legend. A ghost.

But he’s just a man who would trade eternity for one more day with you.

Just one day.

Just once—to see your face again.

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt. 5

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

“So you’re that dead kid everyone’s talking about.”

Danny smacked a trash bag into the purple clad vigilante. “You can pick up the glass.”

“Wait, I’m just here to-”

“Bother me when I’m working? At least the litterer brings me cash. You can help clean or you can leave. Plastics go over there.”

Danny pointed at a pile of plastics, ignoring Spoiler’s bemused look. Hard to tell, really, considering her mask.

“I’ll help clean if you answer some questions!” Spoiler chirped, already moving to pick out the glass in the general trash pile Danny’s managed to gather. He nodded.

“Alright. At least you’re helping. The other one just bothers me and leaves his stuff on the beach.”

Spoiler snorted. “I’m Spoiler. Is the litterer Batman?”

“Sure. I don’t really care what his name is,” which was a complete lie, Danny was a fan. It’s just that messing with Batman (especially after he couldn’t clean up after himself, honestly!) overrode his fan behavior. “But if I catch him leaving shit in the waters again…”

Danny frowned, eyes glowing. He could feel- even with his partial tangibility, the muck of Gotham's waters seeping into his boots. It was not giving 'Live, Laugh, Love' to Danny, and he needed it gone.

“Whatever. They dropped a lot of guns down here. You can deal with those too, yeah?”

“I'm pretty sure that's evidence?!”

“If you could call it that.” Danny plucked away the Styrofoam and the hazardous (more than regular, anyways) materials away from the trash pile so Spoiler could dig through with her gloves without contracting sixteen different sorts of illnesses.

“So, what brings you to Gotham?”

Danny pointed at the water. “Came for school. Stayed because you losers polluted the water with dead bodies and gross chemicals.”

“You go to school?”

“Hey, that’s discriminatory.”

“Oops! No, sorry! I meant-”

Danny waved her off, irritably separating a bottle cap from the crushed bottle. Seriously, what’s the point of putting the cap back on if you were going to throw it in the bay anyways?

“It’s fine. How else am I supposed to learn about the advancements made in the scientific industry otherwise?”

Even if Danny wasn’t too sure that science could sure stupidity, but a halfa could dream, right?

"So... do you just... listen in on lectures?"

Danny stared at her. "What else would I do in a class??"

"Oh. I just thought since you're dead and all, you'd do something more... fun?"

"I mean, I could terrorize the local villains for kicks, if that's what you meant."

Spoiler brightened. "Actually, yeah! That would be helpful! If Mr. Freeze keeps bringing the cold during my latte Thursdays, I'm gonna snap and wring his cold little chicken neck."

Danny snorted. "Alright. I will keep an eye out for this Mr. Freeze." Danny paused. "Hey, tell your friend to come down and help us."

"What- oh. Black Bat!" Stephanie waved her partner down. Black Bat gracefully slipped down towards the bay, casually knocking out two goons gunning for Spoiler.

'Careful,' Black Bat signed.

"Thanks!" Spoiler bounced on the heels of her feet. She swept an arm out. "Wanna help?"

Black Bat tilted her head and, after placing Danny under quick but thorough scrutiny, nodded.

'You can get the salvageable stuff. Anything you can't lift, leave to me.' Danny signed clumsily, placing emphasis on can't.

"You know sign language?"

"I'm not too good at it, I just learned this version."

He knew ghost-sign first, after all.

"Chop, chop. I don't have all night."

----

Danny learned that Black Bat had the skill to knock cans into their designated piles if he threw them in the air so she could kick at them.

"You two can come back anytime."

Spoiler whooped while Black Bat leaned back, smug.

"Wait, tell the litterer he owes me $200. He was short last time."

"...Are you telling me Batman owes you money?"

"Yeah. He might be in financial straights, so I gave him some lee-way."

Black Bat and Spoiler looked at each other.

----

"Hey, so guess what I learned about sea boy!"

Bruce's head swiveled to her with startling intensity. The rest of the clan tuned in.

"He knows sign language! Maybe he even knows ancient sign language! And goes to school, but since he's like, dead, he could only listen to the lectures."

"Bruce, Bruce, do not start a ghost-education plan. Stop. We don't even know if he even-" Dick tackled Bruce, who was already writing a petition as Bruce Wayne to give partial credit to students that diligently goes to class.

"Oh, yeah!" Stephanie shouted over the unraveling chaos. "He promised to fuck with our Rogues for a bit so we can get a break! And we also got a bunch of guns!"

"Where? Gimme!" Jason demanded.

"Do not give Todd more firearms!" Damian cut in.

"Also!" Stephanie grinned as Cass shook with laughter. "Batman's a debtor! He owes Phantom $200!"

"Ain't no fucking way." Tim cackled. "Hear that Bruce? That's karma! For not defending me when he called me broke!"

[wonderjanga]

You Were in a Movie?

One day, Flash was at the Watchtower. He was mining his business as usual, scrolling through the TV for a good movie to watch. Alas, he was feeling picky so he’d skipped past a bunch and was now so far down he didn’t recognise any of the titles. That was until he came across a specific movie. Now, see, whenever he scrolls over a movie, the actors are listed, so when he scrolled over this one he saw some actress named Lisa Bennett or something and… Captain Marvel…?

Flash obviously clicked it and started watching it. What followed was the generic sappy fifties romance movie between an archeologist (Cap) and a girl who wants to be an archeologist (Bennett). He was watching a specific scene when Cap suddenly walked in.

Movie Marvel(MM): *yapping excitedly about archeology*

Actress: *writing notes in a notepad* “Thank you so much, Thomas!” *gives him a kiss on the cheek*

Marvel: *walks in and literally freezes upon hearing that line*

Flash: *does a double take* “Oh, Cap! Look, I’m watching your movie! Also, you were in a movie?”

Marvel: *speaking through grit teeth, face red as heck* “Turn it off.”

Flash: “What was that?” *knows he’s embarrassed and is smug as hell*

Marvel: “Turn. It. Off. Nyow.” *starting to spark with electricity*

Flash: “Okay, okay, dang.” *turns it off*

Marvel: *sits down next to him and puts his head in his hands* “…How did you find that?”

Flash: “I don’t know. I was just scrolling for something to watch. Why are you in a movie? Let alone a romance one.”

Marvel: “I— money.”

Flash: “Money?”

Marvel: “Money. I wanted the $100 they were gonna pay me for it.”

Flash: “They we’re gonna pay you $100 for i— oh yeah 1950s money.”

*silence*

Flash: “So does this mean I can call you Thomas since I don’t know your actual name?”

Marvel: “No.”

Flash: “Aw come on! What about Tommy? Or Tom?”

Marvel: “Still no!”

Flash: “But it sounds better than the other fake name you use! Thomas sounds way better than Marvin.”

Marvel: *grimacing super hard* “…Fine, you can call me Thomas. Or Tom, but not Tommy.” *sounds super begrudging*

Since then, Flash made sure to address Marvel as Tom as often as he could around multiple people, thankfully not around civilians. Yeah, just the people at the Watchtower.

Marvel: *eating in the cafeteria*

Flash: *slides into the seat across from him* “Hey, Tom.”

Any League Member Nearby: *immediately look to him*

They were surprised. They actually thought Marvel revealed his identity to Flash. That was, until a couple days later that The Question answered.

Marvel: *again eating in the cafeteria*

Question: *slams down some papers in front of him, looking a little crazy despite not having a face* “Thomas Abernathy!”

Marvel: “Excuse me?”

Question: “Thomas Abernathy! I went to sixteen different vintage film stores but I finally found it!” *throws a movie film roll thing on the lunch table*

Marvel: *looks horrified, looking between him and the roll* “You know it was on one of the tvs right?”

Question: “Wait what?”

That led to the first ever Movie Night at the Watchtower. Marvel was literally held down onto the couch by the combined power of three lantern rings (Hal, John, and Guy), two Kryptonians (Jon and Kon), and the rest of the Shazamily (Mary, Freddy, Darla, Pedro, and Eugene). Even then, he still struggling.

Batman: *munching on popcorn on an armchair, watching*

Members who are Watching the Movie: *all watching the movie while Marvel’s tweaking*

Marvel: *thrashing*

Eventually they got to the same scene Billy forced Flash to turn the tv off at.

Mary: “You know that scene wasn’t scripted right? Cap got a little too enthusiastic about archaeology and the actress was taking notes so she could use it for her character. Mrs Bennett realized the film was still rolling and improvised that last line.”

Kon: “Really?”

Junior: “Yeah! They had to cut it off right after that scene too because Cap got super embarrassed too!”

Marvel: *literally screams as he says this* “SHUT THE HELL UP.”

Everyone but Marvel: *all ignore him*

Hal Jordan: “Hey, so how come we never heard of this movie? I’m surprised it isn’t more well known that Cap starred in one.”

Mary: “Oh, y’know, time bubble magic stuff.”

Batman: “What?”

[clockwayswrites]

Bitty birb in the nest is worth...? Part 19

Masterpost This is going to have many typos and spelling issues, but it currently feels like I've got an ice pick in my temple and my skin hurts so there's no rereading happening atm. Sorry!

-

Danny looked up as Tim Drake-Wayne strode into the lab and closed the door quietly behind himself.

“Tim?”

“Mm-hum?” Tim hummed as he sat down his thermos before he shed his messenger bag, coat, and school jacket onto an open part of desk.

Danny watched on with bemusement. The kid looked half asleep. “Not that it isn’t great to see you again, but what are you doing here, honey?”

“Bruce is on a call running Luthor in circles and then has to talk to legal about some stuff because Luthor is always an ass. We’re supposed to go run an errand and then to dinner together, so I’m stuck here until he’s ready to leave for the day.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said honestly.

“It’s okay, at least Bruce won’t forget, not like—” Tim shut his mouth with a snap, seemingly suddenly thinking about what he was saying.

“It’s okay, I get it,” Danny said, because he did. “You need somewhere to hide out then?”

“Yeah, it’s… calm here.”

“Okay. Sit wherever you want that’s clear. If you need to move something, let me know first, okay?”

“Thanks,” Tim said, shoulders finally losing some of their tension.

“Of course, whenever you need.”

Not wanting to push Tim in any way, Danny kept a subtle eye on the boy as Tim absently wandered around Danny’s office. To Tim’s credit, he did try to touch anything or move things around, even as he obviously grew increasingly tired.

It would be a lot, Danny supposed, to be a teen ager trying to live up to the legacy of two important families in the area, learn the business, go to school, and (hopefully) also spend time with friends. Danny knew how hard it had been only having Phantom as an obligation.

While, sure, Danny wished Tim had made chosen a less neck cramping spot, he was happy to see Tim finally settle down and seemingly fall asleep… under one of Danny’s work benches. Danny couldn’t fuss too much, he’d done that plenty in grad school himself. Once Tim seemed properly asleep, Danny got up to fetch his cardigan from the hook by the door and took it to drape over the sleeping kid. Tim let a little huffed breath of air before he snuggled further into the cardigan and settled back into sleep.

It made Danny’s heart melt in a way that he didn’t want to think too hard about.

It really was no surprise when about forty-five minutes later one Bruce Wayne poked his head into Danny’s office. The door was hardly open when Danny had his finger up and over his mouth in the universal sign of ‘shush’.

Bruce titled his head curiously. Danny gave a little nod of his head towards the workbench that Tim was sleeping under. Silently, Bruce moved to the work bench and crouched down next to it. There was a soft, amused sound before Bruce reached out to brush his hand over Tim’s forehead, as if habitually checking for a fever.

When Bruce returned to where Danny was working, he asked softly, “How long has he been asleep?”

“A little over a half hour. It took him about ten minutes to settle in,” Danny answered, voice equally quiet.

“Then do you mind if I let him keep resting for another fifteen minutes or so? He’s likely to wake up on his own then.”

Danny shook his head. “Nope, let the kid rest. He seems like he needs it.”

Bruce glanced at Tim, his expression that soft sort of worried only parents seemed to get. “He does. He works too hard at… everything. He’s always trying to prove himself even when he doesn’t need to anymore.”

Danny made a little questioning noise as he got back to fiddling with the annoyingly tiny screws.

“His parents were… demanding. They had very exacting ideas of what proper high society behavior was,” Bruce explained. “I’m sadly not the best suited at dismantling those ideas either.”

“Ah… well, what do you do that encourages him to be a kid?” Danny asked.

“He skateboards, actually. And he enjoys photography, but even that became a goal what with art competitions at school.”

“Maybe take him and Damian on a mini art vacation? Somewhere pretty. Somewhere where it’s not about judges,” Danny suggested. He finally got the last screw seated so he glanced up at Bruce’s thoughtful face.

“That’s a good idea,” Bruce said. “I’ll start looking at what might work. Thank you.”

“Sure, ideas are kinda what I do,” Danny said and motioned to the office around him with the screwdriver.

Bruce’s answering chuckle was low and warm. “I suppose it is. I hope you’re also not overworking yourself.”

“I’m doing much better,” Danny assured Bruce. “I just needed some rest.”

“Which my children made sure you got. I’m still sorry that they kept you so long on Friday.”

It was Danny’s turn to laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think you really have much control over what they do.”

“No, I really don’t,” Bruce admitted. “But I wouldn’t have them any other way.”

“That’s good; they’re a pretty amazing family,” Danny said with a soft smile. “And if I don’t get to be sorry about falling asleep, you don’t get to be sorry about making me rest.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but deal.”

“I am a master business man,” Danny teased and ducked his head to hide his smile.

“I’ll have to watch for corporate take overs. Keep an eye on the stocks and papers.”

“Maybe. Oh, speaking of… Well, not speaking of but sort of related? You know, I was joking about us making the papers.”

Bruce hummed curiously so Danny set aside his tools to pull up the story that several coworkers had sent him on his table. He spun it to face Bruce. The picture of them in the box was big on the screen. They were pressed almost chest to chest with Bruce’s arms around Danny. It certainly looked incriminating.

“Well shit,” Bruce said with a sigh. He picked up the tablet to scan through the article. There wasn’t anything in it, of course, just wild speculation. “I hope you haven’t been harassed about this by anyone.”

“I don’t think anyone knows who I am to harass me,” Danny said honestly. “Some coworkers have sent me it, but apparently it’s just my luck to have both randomly run into a Wayne and be invited to an event and have one of my ‘spells’ when I’m around them.”

Bruce looked at him with one well manicured brow raised. “You have interesting luck.”

“Yep. It’s been quite a life so far. I was pretty much born into interesting luck and life has really lived up to that luck and died by it,” Danny said with a little chuckle as he took his tablet back.

“I feel concerned by that last part.”

Danny hummed in question, distracted by pulling his notes back up.

“The having died by the luck part.”

“Oh.” Danny smiled, but he knew that expression was less than a happy one. “I think I mentioned that there was an accident when I was a kid?”

Bruce nodded and lean his elbows on the work bench and crosses his arms. “You did. One that is apparently still affecting your pulse to this day.”

“Yes, well,” Danny glanced away from Bruce. Why was it still so hard to talk about. “When I was fourteen, I was electrocuted at at an… industrial level of voltage. Unsurprisingly it killed me. And hey, obviously I came back! But that sort of thing sticks around.”

“I’m sorry.”

Danny looked back at Bruce, honestly startled. In all this time, Danny wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard a ‘I’m sorry’ about his accident, not without strings attached. His lips quirked into a smile again. This one felt more pleasant. “Thanks. Trust me though, I’m grateful that life has, had been calmer.”

Whatever Bruce was going to say to that was cut off by a loud yawn, the sound of someone shifting around, and then the unmistakable bang of a limb against the metal legs of one of the workbenches.

Quiet cussing followed a moment later.

“You okay there, Tim?” Danny asked.

“Fine,” Tim hissed back.

“I’m sure I have an instant icepack in my office. We can grab one before we leave,” Bruce said.

“B?” Tim asked, voice noticeably brighter. A moment later he appeared out from under the desk.

“Hi, sweetheart, sorry that I had to take that call,” Bruce said as he stepped over to Tim. He reached out to brush the teen’s hair a little straighter.

“It’s fine, it’s Lex, I get it.”

“I know you get it, but that doesn’t mean it has to be fine.”

Tim just shrugged. The action made him notice the the cardigan draped over his shoulders. A little blush rose on his cheeks as he took it off and handed it back to Danny. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for Tim, you weren’t any problem,” Danny assured him. “You’re welcome in my office whenever.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Tim said.

Danny just shrugged with a smile.

“Come on, chum, let’s go find that icepack. We’ll still get to your store before it closes,” Bruce said and started to guide Tim out by the shoulder.

Bruce glanced behind him and Danny gave a little wave to the retreating Waynes.

His luck indeed.

-

“What happened in Danny’s office that’s bothering you?” Tim asked. He had the icepack pressed against his elbow and was sitting almost sideways so that he could take in all of Bruce’s expression.

Bruce was doing that thing where he was feeling big, complicated emotions and wishing he wasn’t. Tim could read it in the way that Bruce’s shoulders were set, that little bit of tightening under his eyes, and the way he was very purposefully not frowning.

“B,” Tim pressed.

Bruce sighed, the sound all of his air. “I think we should leave Danny alone, both as Waynes and as Bats.”

Tim jolted and scrambled to sit up further. “Wait, what? Bruce, what happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Bruce assured Tim. “Nothing bad happened. Vicky got a picture of Danny and I at the ballet. We spoke some about it and Danny talked about how he had interesting luck. He said he was grateful that life has been calmer; he had to change that to had.”

“…oh.”

“It’s just that—”

“No, you’re right. I’ll try to talk to the others about it because you know they won’t listen to you about it.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

“It’s fine, I get it.”

[pedroscurls]

Hii love. Can you please do something about Harry or Joel. He has some type of insecurity and it gets worse one night when you are out at an activity or party maybe. You looked beautiful and lots of guys kept talking to you and trying to make a move.

So after you finally realize what is wrong with Harry/Joel, you make sure he feels loved and understands you only have eyes for him.

Something like that, thank you!

no one else comes close (one-shot)

pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader content warning(s): spoilers, so please beware!!!, harry POV, harry's super insecure, established relationship, no physical descriptions of reader (we're all beautiful here!!!), no use of y/n. word count: 1.9k a/n: shout out to you, anon for this incredibly sweet request! i don't usually take requests, but i loved this idea so much and i've been obsessed with harry that i couldn't not write it. hope you enjoy this and ty for sending this in <3 (btw this isn't proofread lol, i wrote this in like 2 hrs bc it's just such a good idea! so if there are errors, sorry in advanced!)

Harry was never a jealous man—at least not until he was in a relationship with you. It was ridiculous really because you had never given him the reason to feel this way. Whenever you both went out, he had gotten used to the lingering glances that would come your way. You were always so polite, so kind to everyone you met. 

But tonight, he wasn’t sure why the scars on his legs were making him insecure. It was one of the first things he told you—he didn’t want any secrets between either of you. You had looked at him with such a sad look on your face that Harry wasn’t sure if you were pitying him or embarrassed for him. It had taken him by surprise when you told him that you were sorry he felt that way, that he felt so strongly about increasing his height that he had to endure all that pain. 

Harry knew he loved you at that moment. You had always been different from the women he dated, but you never did care about his money or any of the materialistic things he had to offer you. You had been hurt in the past and the only thing you asked of him was to be completely and truthfully honest with you—about anything, about everything. 

Even now, as the men at the bar are casting glances in your direction, Harry couldn’t help but curl his hands into fists against the counter of the bar. It shouldn’t bother him, especially since there’s a pretty decent-sized engagement ring sitting on your finger. He tried to smile at what you and his brother were saying, but he couldn’t help but continue to look around the room. 

He had to wonder if he hadn’t been the height he was at now, would you even be interested in him? Would you have even gone on a first date with him? Said yes to marry him? Harry knew the answer to all of the questions that nagged at him—yes. 

Yes—you would still have been interested in him, would still have gone on that first date with him, and you certainly would have said yes to marry him. Harry knew that you didn’t care about looks, about height—you loved him for him. The good. The bad. The ugly. You accepted him entirely, even embraced parts of him that he tried so hard to push aside because it just never worked in the past. With you, Harry felt like himself. 

Harry heard you whisper into his ear that you were going on the dance floor with Charlotte—his sister-in-law. He didn’t have time to object, to instead tell you that he wanted to go home. You were already halfway to the dance floor, body swaying expertly to the beat of the music. He watched you vigilantly, keeping a careful eye on you. Even from afar, you made sure to glance in his direction and smile at him—a smile so big that it met your eyes and Harry, for a brief moment, forgot the lingering insecurity and jealousy that he felt all night. 

Harry winked at you and then decided to look away. You were going home with him, so he had no reason to be jealous. His brother clasped him on his shoulder and they ordered another round of drinks, casually talking about work. It hadn’t been five minutes before Harry felt the urge to look at you again. He looked over his shoulder casually, caught a glimpse of your smile before he turned back around. Slowly, he felt more comfortable—the jealousy and insecurity now an afterthought. 

Leg lengthening surgery—as painful as it was—had been the best decision of his life. Harry felt more respected, more valuable. No one else needed to know that he had gone through great lengths just to add six inches to his height. It bothered him though, how other men who were naturally six feet and above would just take it for granted. He tried not to think so materialistically, especially since you had told him that you never had an issue with dating someone under six feet, but there were moments where he couldn’t help it. He had grown up around that kind of thinking—the way you presented yourself mattered. 

“Oh shit,” he heard his brother whisper under his breath, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. 

Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion until he followed his brother’s gaze to the dance floor. A man was trying to dance with you and there was a look of discomfort in your features that he noticed immediately. Through your discomfort, Harry noticed how you had gently taken a step back from the other man—to distance your body with his. He wasn’t sure what you were telling him, but from the look of disappointment on the other man’s face, Harry had an idea.

“She can handle herself,” Harry replied to his brother, though he hoped that saying it out loud would convince himself that he didn’t need to intervene. 

Harry met your eyes and he gave you a single nod, which you returned instantly. You were ready to go home and Harry was more than willing to leave. As you were walking back to the bar though, several men tried to come up to you and strike a conversation. You forced a smile and politely declined, oblivious to their lingering eyes on your body. Harry’s jaw tightened and he downed his drink in one gulp before excusing himself to meet you halfway. 

“Yeah, think it’s time to go,” he heard his brother say from behind him. 

Harry didn’t bother to respond. His main focus was to get to you. Once at an arm’s distance, Harry reached out for you and took your hand, immediately pulling you into his chest. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, forehead leaning down to rest against your own. To you, Harry was being sweet, but to him—he was telling every man in this bar that you were off-limits. 

“Can we go home?” he asked quietly, hand coming up to rest on your cheek. 

“Yeah, let’s go home.” 

Back at Harry’s penthouse, he had already changed into a black t-shirt and sleep pants. He was in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water as his mind drifted again. Tonight had given him a glimpse of a life that he didn’t want—a life without you. You could have been with any other guy in that bar, could have said yes to someone else other than him and again, he wondered if you would have even said yes if he was at his actual height of 5’6. 

Harry didn’t hear you come into the kitchen, but he felt your soft touch on his shoulder. He cleared his throat quietly and turned around to face you—his insecurity written all over his face as his deep brown eyes softened at the sight of you. 

“Hey,” you whispered, hands coming up to rest on his chest. “You okay?” 

Harry nodded, kissed your cheek, and then pulled away. “Just tired. Ready for bed?” 

You furrowed a brow. Harry knew better than to lie to you. “Yeah, I am,” you answered. “But something’s wrong. I can tell.” 

Harry shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong, baby,” he lied once more. 

You sighed and moved to sit on one of the stools at the counter, arms crossed over your chest. Harry bit the inside of his cheek nervously and rested his forearms against the counter as he leaned against it, staring into your eyes. 

“If I wasn’t six feet tall, would you still be with me? Would you have even said yes when I asked you out on a date?” Harry blurted out.

“What?”

“If you met me and noticed that I was actually 5’6, would that have made a difference? Would we even be here?” He repeated.

You reached out for his hand and leaned forward to press your lips against the back of it. You never looked away, just held his gaze. “Yes, we would be right here where we’re meant to be even if you were 5’6,” you answered. “Your height isn’t the reason why I said yes. You know this.”

“I know… I just—” Harry sighed. “A lot of men like to stare at you. No matter where we are—bar, restaurant, even at a fucking family party. And tonight, it just got to me. All these men were just gawking at you,” he finally looked away—embarrassed that he was even feeling this way. “And then some even had the audacity to ask you to dance or even for your number despite the engagement ring you’re wearing.”

“Harry,” you whispered, climbing off the stool to stand next to him. You gently released his hand, only to have him turn his body to face you. You reached up and cupped his cheek—his eyes filled with so much sadness. “I chose you because you make me laugh, make me smile… We can talk literally about anything and nothing at the same time. My favorite place to be is in your arms. You’re my best friend, six feet or not. Rich or poor. You’re the only one I have eyes for,” you continued. “I chose you before. I’m choosing you now. And I will continue to choose you for the rest of my life.”

Harry’s eyes softened instantly, glistening with tears that threatened to spill over. He moved a hand to your hip, gripping it tightly under his grasp as he pulled you flush against him. “I’m just in my head and—”

“Stop,” you interrupted. “You have every right to feel the way that you do. Your feelings are valid, baby. But I’m here to tell you that if you need a reminder, I’m more than happy to tell you just how much I love you—how you’re the only man for me. No one else comes close, Harry.” 

Harry nodded and moved his other hand to your hip before wrapping both arms tightly around you to pull you into a tight embrace. His face buried against the crook of your neck as he let out a heavy sigh when your hands moved to rub his back soothingly. He hadn’t ever felt a kind of love like this before. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too,” you answered instantly, pressing a soft kiss against his temple. “Now, let’s go to bed so that we can cuddle.” 

Harry smiled and pulled back to look down at you. “Yes, ma’am.” He lifted you into his arms and carried you back to the bedroom. Once he set you on the bed, he pulled off his sleep pants and set it aside before climbing onto the bed and underneath the sheets. Harry immediately spooned you from behind, his arm draping over your midsection as he held you close to him. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” you whispered. 

Harry nodded against you, face buried against you. “I know, baby. I just didn’t want to bother you with all of the things that were going on in my head.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled, moving a hand over his and lacing your fingers together. “You’d never bother me, Harry. Besides, if the roles were reversed, I know you’d tell me the same thing.”

He chuckled and kissed the side of your neck. “Okay, fair point.” 

You smiled proudly and leaned back against him. Harry tightened his grip around you and shut his eyes. “Good night, Harry.” 

“Good night, baby,” he whispered. Harry knew that his insecurities wouldn’t magically go away, but he felt safe and heard with you by his side. He brushed his thumb across your engagement ring and he let out a contented sigh. “Thank you for choosing me,” he said quietly. 

[angelsuecult]

the captain | s. crosby

warnings: sexual content, strong language, MDNI, 18+, NSFW, minors please do no interact, smut.

summary: Sid is given a hard time by his gf about his very stoic interactions with the media. he's not going to let you off so easy.

request: Younger reader and Sidney are already dating, but she can’t help but roll her eyes at his impeccable media training and family friendly personality in the media he does for the league, so she makes fun of him and takes a strong interest in pushing his limits 👀 (aka ends in smut)

word count: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the extended hiatus guys! i should be back to regular uploads at this point in time and i am currently working through the request list! more to come to keep your eyes peeled guys! thank you for your patience with me! angelsuecult returns!! also to the original requester please don't hesitate to reach out if i completely missed the mark on this and you want me to retry! and requests are still open and update so dont forget to check that out!

--

You’re pretty sure Valentine’s Day games are a scam. Some cruel cosmic joke designed to make girlfriends sit through 60 minutes of freezing cold air and overpriced concessions just to watch their man play his heart out in a sport that could, at any moment, take all his teeth and potentially a limb.  

Not that you minded. Much.  

Sidney had played his ass off tonight—like he had something to prove. Not that he ever really didn’t, because the man didn’t know how to do anything half-assed. Especially not when it came to hockey. Or you, for that matter.  

But of course, it just had to be Valentine’s Day.

You stood now in the tunnel by the player’s exit, phone in hand, watching as Penguins fans in Crosby jerseys flooded toward the concourse, buzzing about the win. Your fingers flew over your screen.  

You: You know I was going to blow you when you got home, but I’m reconsidering because you just had to make it about you tonight.

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Then vanished. Then nothing.  

You rolled your eyes and snorted. “Coward.”  

The man had just been named first fucking star of the game. Of course he had. Two goals, one assist, and a faceoff win percentage so sexy it made you squirm a little. You knew his media obligations were kicking off soon—he was probably just peeling his sweaty gear off now, miserable about the idea of answering questions about “how it felt” and “what went right tonight.”  

Sid: Can’t believe you’re texting me shit like that while I have to sit half dressed with 5 cameras pointed at me.

You bit your lip and grinned.  

You: I can. 

You: You looked good tonight. Real good. Like I’d let you put it in my ass kind of good.  

You: Kidding. Kind of.  

Another pause. He was slow replying, which you’d expected, and it only made you smirk more knowing he was probably trying not to react in front of his teammates or, worse, the media guys. You could practically see his jaw tightening as he tried to suppress a smile, annoyed but secretly delighted.  

You could picture him already—still in his gear, slumped at his stall with his towel around his neck and that half-annoyed, half-resigned expression on his face. Someone probably tossed a mic in his face already. He was probably giving them that polite nod, the “Sure, go ahead” look, all while internally screaming. Sidney, Sidney, Sidney. Too private for his own good.

Sid: Go to my place. I’ll be done soon.

Sid: Stop texting me this shit.

You laughed out loud, drawing a glance from a nearby couple as you stepped out into the cold Pittsburgh night.

You: Oh baby, I haven’t even started.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your bed.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your shower.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in that stupid jersey you “don’t like me wearing because you take it seriously.”  

You could practically hear him groaning through the screen.

Sid: You’re an asshole.

Sid: Say the same shit every time anyway.

Sid: “Good team effort, got the bounces, lucky to come out on top.”

Sid: Happy now?

You: You forgot “credit to the guys” and “just trying to play the right way”

You: Gotta hit all the NHL buzzword bingo squares.

You: And don’t forget to smile like a humble Canadian virgin!

No reply. You let that one simmer. He was either suffering or plotting. Maybe both. Probably both.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, breath fogging in front of your face as you made your way to your car. The wind cut through your jeans, but your smile stayed in place. There was something so satisfying about teasing him after a big win—especially when he hated the attention but couldn’t stop being the best guy on the ice. You just couldn’t help yourself.

You got in the car and cranked the heat while pulling up the radio broadcast. They were still recapping the game, gushing over Sid like he wasn’t just a man who’d once tripped over his own shoe in the hallway.

“…and of course, Crosby with a textbook finish. You can see why he’s still one of the most consistent players in the league…”

You rolled your eyes, mimicking the voice in the car. “Oh yes, Sidney. So clean. So polished. Such a gentleman. Definitely didn’t say he was going to fuck me through the headboard if he scored tonight.”

Traffic cleared slowly as you went to his place, a familiar route etched into your brain. His street was quiet when you pulled in—classic Sid, all understated wealth and privacy. It took you forty five minutes to get from the arena to his house, another five to park and kick off your shoes inside the door.  It smelled like him—like clean laundry, cedarwood, and that subtle vanilla scent of his shampoo you’d teased him for using but secretly loved.

You wandered through his halls, turning on a few lights, getting cozy. It always felt familiar here, even though it was very clearly his space—clean, functional. Like a guy who didn’t like clutter but had more money than he knew what to do with.

You padded into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Full of ingredients. Not a single thing you could just grab and go.

“Romantic,” you muttered under your breath, pulling out a container of strawberries instead and wandering toward the couch.

The rest of the house was dark except for the hallway light, left on for you, and your socked feet were silent on the hardwood as you climbed the stairs to his bedroom. The hallway was chilly as you padded toward the bedroom in your socks, carrying the half-eaten strawberries and your phone tucked beneath your arm. Sid’s place had that always-too-clean look to it. Like he tried to live in it, but barely spent enough time home for it to actually look lived in. You made a note to mess it up later. Nothing too dramatic—just a sweatshirt on the floor, maybe a bra hanging off the couch cushion, leave a cup on the counter. Domestic terrorism.

You tossed your phone on the nightstand and peeled off your jacket, fingers brushing over the remote on the dresser.  

TV on.  

Pants off.  

You were in his bed now, wearing his shirt—an old Penguins one that smelled like his laundry detergent and game day nerves—and absolutely nothing underneath.  

Just as God intended.  

The analysts were falling over themselves about his performance.

“…you know what you’re getting with Sid. Every single night. Discipline. Poise. He’s just got it.” You snorted.

“Yeah, discipline until he’s got me pinned under him telling me I’m not going anywhere until I apologize for teasing him about his ‘media voice.’”

Another buzz from your phone.  

Sid: About to start media. They’re dragging it out tonight.  

Sid: You’re lucky I like you.  

Sid: And that I want to fuck you stupid.  

You choked on your laugh, clutching your phone tighter as you wiped strawberry juice from your fingers onto his shirt. You stretched dramatically across the bed and typed.  

You: Wow. Romantic.  

You: Just like I dreamed when I was 10.  

You: “One day I’ll date a hockey player who talks to me like a caveman on Valentine’s Day.”

Sid: Don’t act like you don’t like it. You’re already naked, aren’t you?

You: You’re not even here yet and you already think you know everything.  

Sid: I do know everything. And I know you’re wearing my shirt. And that’s it.  

Sid: Because you’re predictable. And a little slutty.

You covered your face with one hand and laughed out loud into the empty room. Your heart fluttered like a fucking schoolgirl even as you cursed him out in your mind.  

There was something wildly unfair about the duality of Sidney Crosby. The version the world knew—stoic, polite, humble to the point of parody. And then the real version. The one who texted you filthy things from the dressing room and called you a brat with that low rasp in his voice that promised you wouldn’t be walking straight the next day.

He was such a damn con artist.

You: You’re the one who’s gonna cry when I leave you with blue balls tonight.  

You: “Sorry Sid, I got tired waiting for you.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I used all my energy climbing your stairs.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I found your toothbrush and that did it for me.”

Sid: You’re such an asshole.

Sid: You’re lucky I’ve been horny for you since warmups. 

Sid: You knew what you were doing, sitting that close.

You had known.  

You always knew.  

And he always played better when he knew you were there watching.  

You yawned, stretched your legs beneath his sheets, and flopped dramatically on the bed, taking up all the space just to be a brat. You could already hear it: his sigh of fake annoyance when he got home, the shake of his head, the way he’d peel your shirt up with one hand and drag your body down with the other.  

You rolled to your stomach, phone buzzing again beside you.  

Sid: I’ll be home soon. You better be exactly where I think you are.

Sid: And if you’re not, you’re done. Actually done. I’ll find a Valentine who respects me.

You: You?  

You: Wanting respect?  

You: I’m sorry. I thought this was Sidney “I’ll fuck you on the bench if no one’s around” Crosby.

No reply. Which told you all you needed to know.  

He was already doing media.  

Probably giving his same bland ass answers.  

Probably planning what he was going to do the second he walked through that door.  

You looked around, debated getting up to light a candle or make the bed look a little less like a war zone. Then shrugged.  

Let him deal with the chaos he caused.  

You flipped onto your back and sighed happily, smirking at the ceiling.  

The remote was still in your hand when the screen switched from the postgame panel to the locker room feed. You didn’t even bother turning up the volume—didn’t need to. You could already hear it in your head.  

Sidney Crosby, media-trained robot, coming to life in hi-def.

You sighed and settled deeper into his bed, still cocooned in his shirt, bare legs tangled in his sheets. The duvet smelled like him. So did the pillow you were shamelessly half-lying on, half-straddling. Your phone sat close, a loaded weapon in the war of flirtation, but for now, you watched.  

There he was, perched in his stall, sweat-slick hair hidden under a black team hat, compression long sleeve clinging to his chest and arms like it was painted on. No jersey. No pads. Just muscle, all angles and sharp focus, like the game hadn’t even left his bloodstream yet. Cue Captain Canada.

The reporter asked about the team’s energy tonight, and you muttered out loud to no one, “We played a full sixty, stuck to our game, did the little things right—blah, blah, blah.”  

And then, right on cue:  

“Yeah, I thought we played a full sixty tonight… stuck to our game, did the little things right…”  

You cackled.

“Fucking called it.”  

He looked half dead behind the eyes, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, nodding as another reporter threw a question at him. You didn't even bother listening this time. You just watched his face. That twitch of his mouth when he was trying not to say what he really wanted to say. That calm, serious voice he used like a shield. That stupid, safe, polished version of himself that made you want to throw something at the screen.  

Because you knew the real Sid.  

The one who talked absolute filth into your ear with that same mouth.  

The one who made fun of his teammates the second the cameras were off.  

The one who said “fuck” more than he said “I.”  

And then—then—it happened.  

The reporter asked:  

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Sid. You played a great game. Got any plans tonight?”  

You sat up a little. That one actually surprised you. When did the reporters get so bold?

He gave them that laugh—that stupid, breathy chuckle he only used when he didn’t want to give too much away. Then he smiled, eyes low, lips pressed together like he was fighting off the real answer.  

“No,” he said. “Just recover. Get ready for the next one.”  

That was it. That was all.  

You stared at the TV, jaw slightly open.  

“Recover?” you muttered. “That’s your answer? No wink? No cute little nod? Not even a fucking smirk? You lying sack of shit, Sidney Patrick.”  You looked absolutely nuts talking to yourself.

You picked up your phone and unleashed.  

You: “Just recover,” he says.  

You: Wow. My pussy just dried up.  

You: Say hello to celibacy apparently.  

Still no reply. You fired off another.  

You: You are such a fucking fraud.  

You: There is literally a naked woman in your bed. Right now. At your house.  

You: On Valentine’s Day.  

You: But nooo, he’s gonna “recover.”  

You: Go ahead, Sid. Recover. I’ll just be here. Thinking about life. My choices. The fact I could’ve fucked a dentist. Or literally anyone else but hey.

You bit your lip to hide a smile, watching him wrap the interview up, nodding politely, face locked in full Captain Mode. You could practically feel the tension buzzing under his skin. The itch to get the hell out of there and back to you.  

One more for good measure:  

You: When they say “Crosby keeps his private life quiet,”  

You: They don’t know it’s because he talks so much shit in bed the FCC would fine him.

That did it.

Your phone lit up almost the second he stood from his stall.  

Sid: You need to be stopped.

Sid: You need help.

Sid: I’m not even out of the building yet and I’m hard.

You flopped backward against his pillows, laughing like a lunatic.  

You: I’m sorry did you forget you have a girlfriend? Did your nut brain erase me from memory just because you got first star??

You: Not even a cute little “gonna go home to the girl who’s been letting me rearrange her insides all season”???

You: Also don’t think I didn’t notice your compression shirt. You know exactly what you’re doing you manipulative little slut.

Sid: Jesus Christ

Sid: You knew what you signed up for.

You: I signed up for the hot hockey sex. The rest was a scam.

You: Don’t worry, I’ll be asleep by the time you get home.  

You: No recovering necessary. You’re off the hook.

Sid: You’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow if you keep this up.  

Sid: You want recovery? I’ll give you something to recover from.

You swallowed.  

Slowly.  

Okay.  

So maybe you did like poking the bear.  

And maybe the bear knew exactly how to fuck you into next week.  

You tucked your phone under your pillow and let out a slow breath, heart thudding, a little thrill sparking low in your belly.  

Valentine’s Day.  

Just another game on the calendar.  

Until Sid got home.

And the worst part was, you didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep. One second you were tucked under his sheets, limbs comfortably sprawled, phone still clutched in one hand and TV murmuring softly in the background… and the next, you were blinking against the warm glow of the bedside lamp and squinting up at a very large, very amused, very smug silhouette looming over you.

“Unbelievable,” Sidney muttered, shaking his head as he stood beside the bed. His coat was halfway off, his cheeks still pink from the cold outside, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and that fucking backwards hat still on his head. “All that mouth, and look at you now. Out cold.”

You groaned before you could speak, voice thick with sleep and low like you’d swallowed a blanket. “'M not.”

“You literally just snored,” he said, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud and crouching beside the bed. “Like a full-on little cartoon snore. Tiny inhale, wheeze on the exhale. Real cute.”

“I did not snore,” you mumbled into the pillow. But your voice was gravelly, throat dry, and goddammit—your limbs were heavy with sleep, and he smelled so good, and everything was so warm.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a few strands of hair off your cheek. “Talked all that shit and knocked yourself out.”  

You shifted slightly, nose scrunching, a quiet little groan escaping your throat.

“Mmph.”  

He grinned. Leaned in close to your ear.  

“Babe.”  

Nothing.  

“Babe.” He kissed your cheek. “Hey. Hey. Wake up.”  

You grunted, rolling slightly. “M’tired…”  

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, barely lifting your head from the pillow.

“…What time is it?”

“Late. Or early. Depends who you ask.” He pressed a kiss to your hair. “You passed out. Didn’t even make it to Valentine’s Day sex.”

You groaned again, voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to. Your bed is criminally warm. I got cozy. My body betrayed me.”

“You talked a lot of shit.”

“Yeah well, I thought you were gonna be faster.”

He laughed low in his chest, slipping his hand beneath the covers to grab your hip and give it a squeeze. He climbed onto the bed with all the smug grace of a man who had absolutely earned this moment of superiority. He leaned down, one knee pressing into the bed right between your legs, and shoved at the covers just enough to catch a glimpse of your legs tangled beneath his sheets.

“You look real cozy for someone who was talking an awful lot of shit about how boring I am,” he said, tone low and teasing.

You squinted at him, your voice a gravelly whisper.

“You are boring. You literally said, ‘recover.’ Who says that on Valentine’s Day? Recover from what, Sidney? Being 37?”

He let out a sharp laugh and pushed your hair back from your face, warm fingers brushing your cheek.

“You’re a little shit,” he murmured.

“And you’re a liar.” You poked a finger into his chest. “You lied to the media. There was an actual naked girl waiting for you in your bed and you gave them the ‘I’m gonna rest up’ speech like a fucking priest.”

Sid rolled his eyes.

“You know I can’t give them anything,” he said. “They’ve been trained like bloodhounds. If I so much as hint at having plans, I’ll have a fucking headline on every sports page tomorrow.”

“God forbid people find out you’re not a virgin,” you deadpanned.

“Watch it,” he warned playfully. “I am a role model.”

You burst out laughing, head tipping back into the pillow.

“Oh my god, you are so full of shit. You talk like you’re running for office, but then you come home and say things like, ‘c’mere, baby, I’ve been thinking about fucking you against the kitchen counter since warmups.’”

He grinned. “Still true, by the way.”

You hummed and looped your arms around his neck lazily.

“You missed your shot then, Captain Celibate. Shouldn’t have let me fall asleep.”

Sid smirked and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Didn’t realize the threat of dick was the only thing keeping you awake.”

“You should’ve. It’s your strongest feature.”

He laughed again, breath warm against your cheek, before ducking his head to kiss you properly—slow and deep and good, like he had all the time in the world. You melted into it, arms tightening around his neck, legs shifting beneath the covers until you hooked one behind his bent knee, dragging him closer.

Then he nuzzled into your neck again and added, low and dirty:  

“You wanna go back to sleep, or you want me to give you something real to recover from?”  

You groaned dramatically. “You are such a whore, oh my god.”  

“And yet, here you are. In my bed. Wearing my shirt. Wet for me in your sleep, probably.”  

“Shut up—”  

“You were,” he said smugly, dragging his hand up your thigh. “I checked. You twitched.”  

You covered your face with both hands. “You’re disgusting.”  

“You’re worse,” he said, kissing down your throat. “And when you wake up tomorrow sore as hell, I want you to remember who was ready when the moment came, and who—” he nipped your collarbone— “took a nap.”  

“Sidney.”  

“Y/n.”  

You sighed, dropped your hands, and stared up at him.  

“You gonna fuck me or give another locker room interview?”  

He grinned. And with that, he kissed you again, deep and slow and fucking smug. You could feel the smile on his mouth, even as he pressed you back into the mattress like you were the only thing worth coming home to.  

"Holy shit," you said, breathless as he tugged your shirt up over your hips, revealing those barely there red panties you wore when you knew he’d be seeing them. Lacy. Dark. A tiny bow on the waistband.

Sid looked smug. “I’m so obsessed with you, it’s disgusting.”

“You're disgusting,” you corrected, but you were already arching up, letting him pull the shirt over your head. 

He laughed low, all pleased with himself. "You love it."

His hand slipped a little higher, fingertips grazing the side of your hip where your underwear were just barely clinging to your curves.

You sucked in a breath you tried to pretend was casual. "Sid," you warned.

"What?" he drawled, blinking down at you like he hadn’t just started setting your entire nervous system on fucking fire. You lifted your head, giving him a look. "You’re fucking pushing it."

Sid grinned, so goddamn starved it made your toes curl. "You need me to spell it out, Y/N Y/LN?" he teased, voice dropping into that dangerous gravel. "Need me to tell you how bad I wanna fuck you?"

You groaned, covering your face with both hands like that could somehow save you. "Jesus Christ, Sidney."

He pulled your hands away, kissing your knuckles like a fucking gentleman, even while his other hand kept creeping higher up your thigh.

"Could just be gentle," he murmured, kissing the inside of your wrist now, right over your pulse. "Real slow, babe. Let you sit on my cock nice and easy. You barely gotta do anything. I'll do all the fuckin' work."

You whimpered, and he fucking heard it.

He grinned harder, absolutely predatory now, shifting to hover over you more fully, careful not to press too much weight onto you.

"Bet you miss it," he murmured against your ear, lips brushing your skin. You literally had sex in his bed this morning but you hated that he was right, you did miss it.

"Sid," you gasped, arching your back automatically, and fuck, he hadn't even touched you properly yet.

He chuckled low and mean, dragging his mouth along your throat, nipping lightly. "Tell me, baby," he rasped. "Tell me how bad you want it."

You shoved at his chest weakly, more for show than anything else. "I hate you," you breathed. "I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, grinning into your hair. "You love this dick though."

You burst out laughing, half-horrified and half-scorched alive. "You are so fucking nasty," you managed between giggles, pinching his arm lightly.

He caught your hand easily, pressing it down above your head, pinning you with almost no effort. "And you're so fuckin' wet for me right now, I can feel it through your goddamn panties," he grunted, pressing his hips into yours just enough to make you feel the thick, heavy line of him behind his dress pants.

You whimpered again, biting your lip. "Sid," you whispered desperately.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Say it," he ordered softly. "Say you want me."

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing hard.

It was so unfair, how good he was at this. How easily he turned you into this trembling, needy thing even when you thought you had the upper hand for most of the day

But he looked at you like you were the best part of his night. Like he couldn’t wait to ruin you in the best goddamn way.

You cracked your eyes open, meeting his gaze. "I want you," you whispered. "You asshole."

Sid’s grin turned downright feral.

"Yeah?" he rasped, nuzzling into your jaw, his hand finally — finally — sliding under your panties, the rough pads of his fingers skimming where you were already slick and throbbing for him. "Good," he murmured. "‘Cause you're not gettin' away from me, princess. Not tonight."

You gasped as his fingers slipped deeper, teasing, and you clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into the solid muscle there.

"Sid," you panted. "Bed’s gonna break if you fuck me the way you're lookin' at me right now."

He laughed low, dirty, and thrilled. "Then we'll buy a new one," he said, voice rough as he sank two fingers into you slowly and deep. "Hell, babe, we'll break every goddamn bed from here to fuckin' Canada if it means I get to feel you come around me again."

You moaned helplessly, arching into him.

And when he bent down, kissed you— really kissed you, slow and filthy and possessive — it felt like a promise burned into your skin.

Sid could’ve fucked you stupid in under thirty seconds if he wanted. The way you were already whimpering under him, writhing in his hands, he knew it wouldn’t take much.

But tonight — tonight he wanted to be slow. He wanted to wreck you proper. Melt every bone in your goddamn body.

He slipped his fingers out of you with a slow, slick sound that made you whimper again. He fucking loved that sound. Loved everything about you like this — messy and needy and all his.

"You gotta relax, baby," Sid murmured, dropping kisses along the flushed line of your throat, working his way lower. "Can't be tense on me. Gotta stay nice and easy for me."

Sid pulled back from your body just enough to catch you breathless— just enough to see you, all flushed and desperate, lips swollen, hair a wild halo against the pillows. His heart punched hard against his ribs.

"Fuckin' hell, Y/N," he muttered, staring at you like he couldn’t decide whether to devour you whole or build a shrine at your feet. "Look at you."

You whimpered and tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently, begging him wordlessly to keep going.

Sid huffed a soft, broken laugh, dragging your panties slowly — so slowly — down your thighs, baring you completely to him. He didn’t just toss them. No. He pocketed them. Smirked while he was doing it. Like the absolute sex demon he was.

And he was hard. So hard it was actually starting to hurt. He was damn near grinding in his pants for some kind of friction.

He pressed a kiss right between your breasts, trailing down your belly. You shivered so hard it made the mattress creak.

Sid grinned against your skin. "You already taste so fuckin' sweet," he muttered, nosing at your core, not even touching you properly yet, just letting the heat of his breath drive you crazy. "Bet you could get me drunk off your pussy right now, baby. All thick and fuckin' sweet just for me."

"Oh my god, Sidney," You gasped, tossing your head back. "You're fucking filthy."

"Yeah, well," he said, voice low and smug. "You like it, baby. You like havin' me mouth off about how sweet your pussy is when you’re desperate."

You made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob, and Sid finally gave you what you needed — flattening his tongue and dragging it up through your folds, slow and deep.

Your entire body jerked.

"Jesus fuck, Sid," you gasped, arching off the bed, thighs trembling.

He groaned into you, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt you up even closer to his mouth. "You’re fuckin’ drippin', babe," he muttered, voice vibrating against your soaked skin. "Beggin' for it. Haven’t even touched my cock yet and you’re already so fuckin' close, huh?"

"Fuck you," you moaned, trying to close your thighs around his head — he loved when you did that, so desperate you wanted to trap him there.

Sid laughed low, all smug satisfaction, and stiffened his tongue to shove into your leaky entrance, bobbing in and out like he was starving. Every little whimper, every twitch of your hips, just made him harder, his cock aching in his dress pants.

He shifted one hand, dragging two fingers back inside you, pumping slow, gentle strokes in and out while he circled your clit with his tongue, slow and deliberate. His fingers moved slow between your legs, curling deep, working that perfect rhythm only he knew. Your thighs quivered, trying to clamp shut, but he squared his shoulder and pushed them open lazily. "None a' that," he said, smirking. "You’re taking it, baby. Not hidin’ from me now. Not after all that shit you talked on my phone."

You clawed at the dress shirt he was still wearing, trying to yank him back up. "You’re such a fucking dick," you gasped. "Coulda just got me some flowers and left me the fuck alone—"

Sid grinned, slow and greedy, dragging the how tongue down your slick folds, circling your clit just hard enough to make your hips jerk. "And miss this?" he murmured. "Babe, you’re better than Christmas. Better than a fuckin’ playoff win."

He pushed your shirt up higher until your breasts were exposed, beautiful and tender. He palmed one carefully, thumb brushing across your hardening nipple, and you gasped, your legs falling further open for him.

"Sensitive, huh, baby?" he whispered, watching you squirm. "Bet you could come just from my mouth on you right now, no hands, nothing."

"You’re fucking killing me," you moaned, lifting your hips helplessly, trying to get more friction.

He laughed again — slow, dangerous — and dipped his head to take your clit back into his mouth, sucking softly, then harder, pulling a desperate, broken sound from your throat.

You fisted his hair, hips rocking mindlessly against his face, your whole body tightening.

"Sid, fuck," you gasped, "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He lifted his head, grinning at your flushed, wrecked face. "You gonna come for me already, baby? Just from my fuckin' fingers?" he teased, pumping them harder now, twisting his wrist so his palm rubbed against your clit perfectly. "Fuck, that's hot. Goddamn, you're perfect. So fuckin' good for me,Y/N."

"Jesus–Fuck–Sidney." you cried out, arching hard off the bed as you came, gripping his wrist as if to tell him not to stop, body shuddering, your pussy clenched down so hard around his fingers it almost hurt, soaking his hand and mouth with a gush that made Sid groan into you.

He kept working you through it, slow and patient, until you were trembling, whimpering, utterly wrecked.

He kissed you again, deep and slow, until you went boneless against the sheets, gasping for air.

He pulled his fingers out finally, dragging them slow between your thighs, teasing your slit just to hear you whimper again. Then he sucked his fingers into his mouth, groaning low like you were the best fucking thing he'd ever tasted.

You slapped his chest weakly. "You're disgusting," you muttered, still breathless, half-dazed.

Sid grinned and grabbed your hand, pressing it to the bulge straining against the front of his now wrinkled pants. "Yeah? Feel how bad you got me, baby?" he rasped. "’M about two seconds away from blowin' my load like a fuckin' teenager over here."

You laughed, exhausted and glowing and a little feral around the edges. "Good," you whispered, hooking your legs around his waist. "Now fucking do something about it, Crosby."

He stripped his shirt off one-handed, tossing it somewhere behind him, before finally, finally undoing his jeans.

His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, and you made a broken, desperate sound that made Sid’s heart squeeze. Your mouth actually watered.

“Baby… fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he guided your hands above your head, he tapped his tip against your slick folds, nudging your clit teasing the both of you, you instinctively moved forward, preparing for more stimulation, “You ready for me, huh?”

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the warmth of the head pressing against your entrance, so close yet so far. You could barely form words, the need building inside you too overwhelming, and all you could do was let out a shaky breath, your hips shifting slightly against him. “Mhmmm,” you murmured, your voice trembling with anticipation. “need you.”

With a groan, Sidney shifted above you, his hands holding your hips as he slowly pushed his length into you, slowly, inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming—your heat, your tightness, the way you stretched around him as he filled you. He couldn’t hold back the curse that slipped from his lips as he bottomed out inside you, his breath ragged as he held you close.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned into your neck, "tightest fuckin' thing, swear to god...made for me."

Sid stayed still for a moment, just breathing, letting you adjust, feeling your soft, fluttering muscles pulsing around him.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back further into the pillow as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. The stretch was delicious, filling you completely, and the slow, steady throb of him buried deep inside made your pulse race. You could feel every inch of him, the way he fit perfectly against that gummy spot inside you, and it made you dizzy with need.

It took every ounce of control he had not to just start pounding into you like a goddamn animal.

Instead, he pulled out slow, almost all the way, and slid back in with one long, careful thrust that made you whimper and dig your heels into the mattress.

"That’s it," he murmured against your temple. "Just like that, princess. Let me take care of you."

He fucked you slowly—long, hard, deep strokes,  savoring every twitch and gasp and curse. You arched under him, hips pushing up, body moving with his like you’d been built just for this.

The sound of his hips hitting the back of your thighs filled the room. He kept a first grip on your hips as he continued a consistent pace. At some point your brain just melted. Your eyes could no longer focus on him above you and your mouth hung open, moans no longer falling from your lips. The only thing you could do was tighten around him.

Sid could feel you getting close. He dropped down, his chest pressing right up to yours stopping his thrusts. But in your cockdrunk you started to grind upwards when Sidney wouldn’t move. Caught between needing the break but also wanting him to continue.He wanted this to last though. 

And just like that, he was sitting back, pulling you up with him. Chest to chest, you were now on top. His lips catching yours in something deeper now—hotter, messier. You gasped as he lifted you slightly, maneuvering with muscle memory and intention, letting you sink down completely onto his cock.

“I got you,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back, the other moving down to stroke your thigh. “Just move how you want. I’ll follow your lead.”

You couldn’t answer — too full, too overwhelmed, too in love — so you just sat on your knees and began rocking your hips in desperation. He knew you were getting impatient. It was in the way your hips started moving impatiently against his aching cock. He knew you needed to come and that you were close. It was in the way you took everything he gave you, every rough upward thrust, every whispered praise.

You leaned forward, one hand braced on his broad shoulder, the other tangled in his hair as you rode him slowly — hips rolling in little waves, the angle hitting all the right places, making your whole body quake.

“‘M close Sid,” you whispered, gasping when his thumb found your swollen clit again.

“Good,” he said hoarsely, “You need it. Look at you. All needy and swollen. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You know that?”

“Don’t stop ohmygodohgodfuck-” you whined, burying your face in his neck.

Sidney couldn’t stop even if he tried to. You’re too damn addicting.

He starts to thrust upward, matching the pace in which you're riding him. He desperate to watch you fall apart on top of him. He pushes two fingers into your mouth, you instinctively start sucking on them as if they’re his cock.

“There she is,” he whispers, rough and low.

You clamp down around his cock, coming hard and fast. It rolled through you in heavy, pulsing waves–warm and all consuming–pulling a wrecked cry from your lips.

“Fucking–Jesus–I’m–Goddammit Sid–”

Sidney came with a deep, desperate groan, burning his face in your neck as his cock twitched inside of your pussy. He emptied himself inside, thrusting up lazily a few times, fucking his come deep inside of you, even as you writhe above him in overstimulation. He watches as his cock drags in and out of you, a circle of your cream circling the base as his come leaks down his length and down to his balls. 

Sid pressed you back onto the mattress, unintentionally thrusting his softened cock into you. You whine softly, already spent and tired and ready for bed. He presses gentle kisses to the side of your face.

“You okay?”

“Mm.” You mumble softly, already drifting off.

You had all the time in the world now. Sid had made damn sure of that.

--

[smutoperator]

A Day With a Superstar

Im YoonA x Male Reader (special guests: YoonA's personal trainer, Choi Sooyoung)

Part of Legends series

Tags: aerial spit roasting, anal, backshots, biggest fan, carry fucking, dirty talk, facesitting, (lots of) facials, floor sex, gym, high intensity sex, insatiable mommy, lingerie, mating press, prone bone, sex on the stairs, squatting, strip teasing, threesomes (MMF and FFM)

Word count: 9887.

Chapter 1 - Morning Workout

YoonA wanted to celebrate her 35th birthday in style. She knew she had to do something special for this milestone, as she remained one of the most popular girls in her country nearly two decades into her career. So she decided to hold a contest.

YoonA sent a message to her fans that she would hold a competition to see who her biggest fan was. Through the lead-up to her birthday, she had them answering questions about the most obscure details of her career until a winner was finally crowned.

"Congratulations," YoonA sent you a message as you won her contest. "For being such an incredible fan, you will get the chance to spend a whole day with me. Come spend your time with your favorite superstar during her birthday. Greetings, Im YoonA," she said in the message sent to you.

You arrived at the place YoonA told you to meet her. At first, you didn't understand why she decided to choose the gym where she does her daily training to stay fit as she ages like a fine wine, but soon you would find out why.

"Good morning," YoonA said as she greeted you with a kiss. "Come inside, it's my birthday, but I'm the one who has a surprise for you," she said. "Sure," you answered her, still starstruck and still pinching yourself trying to check it was just not a dream. You were really with YoonA, the face of the nation's girl group.

YoonA led you inside the gym as she crossed the public area into her VIP room. "So you have a room all by yourself to train? How expensive! You surely are the it girl," you said to her. "Thank you," she answered. "It took me years of hard work, and now I wanted to share it with my biggest fan," she continued.

"That's my personal trainer," YoonA said as a bulky guy entered the room. You were surely a strong dude, but he was no slouch either. "Are you ready to have a training session with us?" she asked. "Of course, anything for my beautiful queen," you replied, showing how much you worshipped her.

YoonA started exercising, sharing kisses with you in between. Her trainer slowly took her jacket off and started massaging her around her tits, YoonA moaning as he ran his hands on her. "I'm gonna need some good training today, if you know what I mean," she said.

The trainer kept touching YoonA, as you just watched, before making your first moves and kissing her while touching her. In one go, the trainer ripped her jacket, YoonA letting out a shocking awe as her long torso popped out right in your sight.

YoonA got on her knees and started showing what she really wanted, massaging both your bulges under your and the trainer's shorts. "Oh shit," she said, pulling your shorts in one go to suck your cock, the trainer pulling yours to get his pole sucked too. YoonA started taking turns between both cocks. "Oh shit, baby, that's what I want to see," the trainer said.

You pushed YoonA's pretty face against her trainer's cock, enjoying her getting stuffed by his massive pole while you waited your turn. YoonA quickly switched the attention to your cock next. "So you're really nasty when the cameras are turned off, aren't you?" you asked her. "Yes, I am," she answered.

YoonA kept taking turns between both cocks. "Swallow that dick," the trainer commanded her. "You like that? Seeing my pretty face covered in spit?" she asked him, increasing the speed of her jerking his cock off and then licking yours. She kept stroking both shafts hard.

"Choke on his fucking dick," you told YoonA as her trainer grabbed her pretty face and made her bob her head on his cock. YoonA made sloppy sounds and then dove to his balls. "Such a sexy baby," you said to her, giving the first spank on her ass as YoonA kept worshipping her trainer's balls.

You popped your cock in and out of YoonA's pretty face, then enjoyed as you watched her give you a no-hands blowjob. "You look so fucking beautiful all stuffed up with that cock," you told her. YoonA also dove to suck your balls before giving you a soul-sucking deepthroat.

"Suck that motherfucking dick, make it wet," YoonA's trainer said, shoving her head against your cock. YoonA kept picking up the pace, gagging hard on your cock and stroking it fast. "Open your mouth and suck that cock," her trainer kept dictating to her.

The more YoonA sucked both cocks, the hungrier she got. Soon, she started taking both in her mouth at the same time, licking both tips like crazy and savoring it. "You like that?" she asked them. "God, my pussy is so wet already," she continued as she stroked both cocks at the same time.

"I want these cocks taking turns in my fucking pussy; you guys better give it to me," YoonA commanded as she got back into a standing position. "Take it off," she commanded to both of you as she got stripped naked in a hurry. Soon, you dove between her long legs, burying your face in YoonA's ass as you started eating one of Korea's most valuable pussies.

"Fucking eat that pussy," YoonA commanded as you savored her juices while her trainer fucked her pretty face and she spat on his cock. "All that nasty fucking spit getting that cock wet," she said, jerking it off just as you started the motion to shove your cock inside her pink pussy, unable to resist the urge as the amazing scent of her fuckhole already turned you into a slave for YoonA's majestic pussy.

You slowly penetrated YoonA from behind, her knowing what was coming and arching her back to get your cock deep in her pussy while she hugged her trainer. "HOLY FUCK, AHHHHH, OH MY GOD, HOLY SHIT, HOLY SHIT, OH MY GOD," YoonA started screaming as you fitted your whole nine inches of length and seven inches of girth inside her loose mommy pussy. But little did she know taking that massive cock all the way deep would be the easiest part.

You lifted YoonA's slender, tall body in the air and started pumping her pussy as hard as possible from the get-go, fucking her in an unusual but very hot aerial spit roast, YoonA clinging to your legs as she got manhandled by cocks on both sides of her body, you enjoying as she gagged on her trainer's cock while you used her pussy like a fleshlight.

"OH SHIT, OH MY GOD, UHHHHHh" YoonA moaned as you put her back on her feet but barely gave her any room to breathe, attacking her pussy at full speed in a standing position. She held onto her trainer's shoulder, trying not to lose her balance as you were using her like no guy had done before. "SHIT," she kept moaning, switching sides and letting her trainer give a pounding of her pussy while she choked herself on your cock and tasted her hole from it.

"OH MY GOD, THAT'S SO MUCH COCK, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT," YoonA kept moaning as you grabbed her and started carry-fucking her. Not even five minutes had passed, and all you wanted to do was fuck the shit out of her, making her cheeks clap hard as she moaned and her body bounced. "AH, AH, AH, AH, FUCK," she moaned, you pumping her pussy hard.

"OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," YoonA kept moaning as she kept getting passed around like a hot potato, her trainer taking her on a standing doggy as soon as you dropped her back to the floor. "OH FUCK," YoonA screamed, arching her body down. You two kept taking turns on her, spinning YoonA's body from one side to another and penetrating her like crazy. "Is that what you want, you fucking slut?" you asked her.

"YES, YES, THAT'S WHAT I WANT," YoonA answered as you pinned her against one of the gym's pieces of equipment, lifting her long legs. "It's a free-for-all, boys," she said, indicating she wanted to get used like a bitch from both your cocks. "THAT'S GOOD, THAT'S GOOD," she moaned, you putting her leg upwards as she clung onto the equipment and looked at you with sexy eyes. "Get all that fucking dick in that pussy," YoonA begged, licking her chops as she stretched her legs while you two stretched her pussy.

"Get on the floor and ride this cock," you told YoonA, who promptly obliged as she sat on your pole and looked up to her trainer. "Am I riding it good?" she asked him, you spanking her ass as you pumped your cock up her pussy while she sucked her trainer's cock. "Spread that fucking ass," she told you as you did it, pounding her very hard and clapping her cheeks, YoonA answering with crazy squats on your cock, matching your intensity. "OH FUCK," she moaned as you two dueled against each other.

YoonA got herself on all fours, turned her backside towards her trainer as he shoved his cock in her pussy. You stayed on that floor, YoonA sucking and stroking your dick as her trainer slapped her ass. "I'm a bad girl, bad girl, FUCK," she moaned. The trainer grabbed her waist and took her cock further up her pussy. "That dick is so fucking deep, give it to me hard and deep," she commanded.

"Make me take it," YoonA commanded as her trainer grabbed her hair and fucked her even harder. She dropped her head down and dove into your balls. "Lick those fucking balls," you commanded. "FUCK," she screamed, her trainer giving her deep thrusts that hit her cervix nonstop.

You pushed YoonA back in your direction, pumping her pussy hard from down on the floor and reaching to finger her clit. "OH SHITTTTTT!" she screamed as she got ragdolled. YoonA quickly answered, riding your cock before you put up even more heat, destroying her loose pussy with fast thrusts, her trainer muffling her moans with his cock.

"Give it to me," YoonA commanded as you continued to thrust in her pussy. Her trainer grabbed her head, the only sounds coming from the room being her moans and your cock clapping against her pale skin. "OH FUCK THAT'S DEEP," she screamed. "You like that, bitch?" her trainer asks, YoonA nodding positively.

"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, AH, AH, AH," YoonA continued to moan as she went from riding one cock to another, squatting harder on her trainer. "Bet you like this training," YoonA said to him, bouncing on his cock as you now stuffed her mouth. "Get it, bitch," you said to her, the trainer spreading her ass and pounding her hard.

YoonA kept squatting on her trainer's cock. "OH FUCK," she moaned, spitting on your cock as the trainer hit her deep. "Spin around," the trainer told her, YoonA smiling at you. "Wanna watch that pussy get destroyed just like you did to me?" she asked, her trainer pumping her loose cunt hard.

"Fuck, my pussy is so fucking full, give me all that cock," YoonA said as she started riding her trainer's hard. You kissed her, stroking your cock and eventually shoving it in her mouth as YoonA got destroyed. "Slap that cock in my fucking face," YoonA begged.

Quickly you would want a piece of her too, as you yanked YoonA from her trainer's grasp and grabbed her for another round of carry-fucking. "Destroy that fucking pussy, take me," she begged. You turned her to her trainer, him pounding her in a standing position with YoonA standing on just one leg. "OH MY GOD, OH SHIT, GIVE IT TO ME, THAT DICK IS FUCKING DEEP, I'M SO FUCKING WET," she moaned.

"Just shut up and suck my cock," you said to YoonA as she clung to it not to lose her balance. Her trainer kept grabbing her hair, pushing her body in his direction as he used her hard. YoonA moved her hips, meeting his thrusts as she licked your torso.

"I could do backshots all day on this bitch," the trainer said, but YoonA had different plans, getting on her knees and tasting her incredible pussy, whose scent was all over those two cocks. "That's what I'm talking about, so fucking hot," you said. YoonA bobbed her head all over her trainer's shaft, you groping her tits from behind as she sucked his dick.

"We want more of that pussy," YoonA's trainer said, taking her on all fours in a hot spit roast. "I love that tongue all over my cock," you told her, grabbing YoonA's head and fucking her face. "TAKE IT, MAKE ME FUCKING TAKE IT, FUCK, THAT'S WHAT I FUCKING WANT, FUCKING GIVE IT TO ME," YoonA begs, you two still flipping her around and taking turns fucking her on all fours.

You keep testing new angles to penetrate YoonA's pussy, pounding her in a tilted motion as you stretch her pussy out. "Give it to me, pound that fucking pussy with that big fat cock. You like that shit, don't you?" she says as you take control of her slutty body, her trainer pushing her body against yours as she chokes on his dick and her pussy queefs.

The spit-roasting on all fours keeps going. "OH FUCK, AH YEAH, SHIT," YoonA says as her trainer spanks her ass. "Get in there, slut," she says. "I can't feel my fucking legs; I'm so fucking numb with so much cock," YoonA says. She moves in your direction, squatting on your cock. "Get it, motherfucker," she says. You have different plans, lifting her lower body and diving between her legs to eat her amazing pussy while she lays her head on her floor and sucks her trainer's cock.

YoonA moans as her holes get worshipped on both sides. You give her pussy a little tap before her trainer pins her against the floor. "OH FUCK," she moans, moving her hips against his cock. "Get those big fucking hands in my ass and fuck my pussy," she says. You two take turns giving YoonA a nice round of fucking and spanking. "OH, THAT'S FUCKING DEEP IN MY PUSSY," she screams from time to time.

YoonA puts her ass up and face down as you fuck her. "I love how you fucking spank me," she says as you pick up the intensity and aim to make her ass red. "You like watching that?" she asks her trainer. "Yes," he answers. "Then watch this," she replies.

YoonA drops to the floor, letting you mount on top of her in a prone bone position as her trainer watches. The slippery gym mat gets more and more drenched in sweat as you press her sexy body against it, showing her who owns her pussy. "Give it to me; I want all that fucking cock," she begs. "Stroke for me," she commands to her trainer as he watches you two fucking.

"That dick is so good," YoonA tells you. "You like it deep inside you, pussy?" you ask her. "Yes, take it all the way," she begs. You completely top her like an alpha man. "I AM GONNA FUCKING CUM ALL OVER THAT COCK," she screams, barely able to move as you stuff your cock hard and deep inside her. You two share kisses. "I love the way you fuck me so deep, ahhhhh," she moans.

You pick up the speed, YoonA's cheeks getting clapped hard. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she repeatedly moans. "I take a good dick, don't I?" she asks. "Turn my fucking pussy into your free-use hole," she begs, while still looking at her trainer and commanding him to stroke his dick as she watched you bring YoonA into total submission.

"You like watching him destroy my pussy? It looks so fucking lovely," YoonA asks her trainer. "Come destroy it too," she says, you letting him take his turn as he wraps his arms around her body. "OH GOD, PUSH IT, FUCK," she moans as she looks at you up top, the roles now reversed. "I like that; I like getting fucked like a whore on the floor by those big fucking cocks, oh fuck," YoonA says.

"RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE," YoonA commands as she is completely immobilized on the floor. She licks the sweat that falls from her body. "Stroke it for me, watch me be fucking nasty, AH, AH, AH, YES BABY FUCKING TAKE IT," YoonA moans, getting closer and closer to her orgasm. "Did I take it good?" she asks you. "Hell yeah," you answer.

"Keep sharing this fucking pussy," YoonA says as you get back on top of her. YoonA can barely think straight; she just turned into a fleshlight. "Get in that fucking pussy," she says. You attack her pussy hard, pressing her body to the fullest against the floor. "GIVE IT TO ME, GIVE IT TO ME, YES, YES," she begs. She grabs her trainer's legs as your hard thrusts make her cheeks recoil. You hump your body against hers, taking full advantage of your favorite girl.

"I love cumming all over that big fucking cock, SHIT, SHIT," YoonA says. "I'm so spoiled from taking all this fucking cock, I want you to destroy me until I can't walk tomorrow, make me take every fucking inch of it, turn me into your fucking slut," she begs, the whole nine inches of your cock balls deep in her pussy. "Yeah, right there, right there, that's the fucking spot, pound that fucking pussy, shit, shit," she continues to beg.

"Look at that big, fat, fucking cock using my pussy," YoonA says to her trainer, sharing more kisses with you. "TAKE IT, TAKE IT, TAKE IT," she begs, you attacking her pussy harder than ever. "I'M FUCKING COMING," she screams. "FUCK YES, FUCK YES," she continues to scream, both of you closer than ever to orgasming.

"You wanna cum in my face? Cum in my pretty face? I earned it, giving that fucking cum. Give it to me," YoonA begs and promptly gets it, you pulling out and painting her beautiful face white as soon as she says those words. Her trainer follows suit, YoonA taking two huge loads in her face and letting them drip down her body, sucking both cocks one last time, and milking every last drop.

"Thank you for such an amazing morning of hot, sweaty sex," she says, heading towards taking a shower. The day is just starting, and she has much more to offer to you.

Chapter 2 - Anal Dessert

YoonA took you to her ample home, looking as if she was brand new despite a nice session of sweaty sex. As lunchtime was nearing, she started cooking for you and served you a nice meal. "Thank you," you answered. "If you eat it all like a good boy, you'll get a nice dessert," she replied.

You did just as YoonA asked, eating all of her delicious lunch. "Good boy, the dessert will be on the way," she said. But instead of starting to prepare it, YoonA went upstairs, confusing you about what trick she had up her sleeve next. And boy, it was an incredible one.

YoonA descended down the stairs. Her outfit was truly jaw-dropping, her wearing just red lingerie with knee-high black socks and high heels. She started teasing you first, dancing a bit in her amazing outfit, making very seductive moves as she looked at you with her sexy eyes. She moved her ass, shaking it and arching it in your direction, before doing some squats. You weren't aware this was a spoiler of what was about to come.

The stripteasing kept going, YoonA showing you all her sexiness and slowly getting you hard. She pulled her bra to the side, exposing her bare tits and smashing them against each other, before fully taking her bra off and tossing it aside. Next, she started spreading her cheeks, making sexy moves with her butt, and playing with her garters. She walked in your direction, taking off the garter support and leaving herself wearing just her panties, socks, and heels.

YoonA went to the stairs of her house, playing with her panties and touching herself. "You like what you see, baby boy? Does this turn you on? Those pretty red panties?" she asked. "They make me feel so sexy; if you treat me well, you can take them as a trophy," she says.

You are insanely horny and can't resist YoonA's tease as you start touching her ass. "You wanna play?" she asks, hitting your hand just as it grabs her butt. You answer with a couple spanks of your own, grabbing YoonA's panties by her string. "What about these?" she asks, turning around and letting you touch her tits. "Wanna squeeze them? Grope them?" she asks.

You put your thumb in YoonA's mouth, getting it wet as you slowly move down her body. "Good boy, tease my pussy," she says, pulling her panties to the side and letting her touch the hole you had destroyed just a couple of hours ago and that is as wet as ever. You pinch her firm mound. "Come here," she says, you getting close to her and sharing kisses with YoonA, touching her beautiful, firm ass while doing so and hitting it a couple times, making her smile.

You dive to suck YoonA's tits and kiss her neck; the vixen quickly reacts and gets back control. You pull her thong to the side, exposing her tight asshole. She takes your shirt off and starts kissing and licking your torso, slowly getting down as she searches for that bulge under your pants, kissing it while still clothed, before she yanks your belt off, kissing your belly before your cock pops out.

YoonA licks the tip of your already hard cock, teasing it as you take your pants off. She puts it in her mouth, taking it very slow and performing a very sloppy and sensual blowjob. "Oh yeah," she moans, licking your shaft a few times from your balls to the tip. She strokes it, paying extra attention to your sack. "Does it feel good?" she asks. "It feels amazing," you answer her as she takes a bit more of your cock in her mouth.

"Sit down," YoonA commands, and you follow, sitting on the stairs. She gets on all fours, her ass already up as she crawls in your direction for another round of cock-sucking, you opening her legs and stroking your cock as she dives right between them, taking it deep in her throat. "Oh yeah," you moan, YoonA throating and jerking your cock off, getting it very wet and preparing it for that special afternoon, your cock getting bigger and bigger as YoonA works her magic on it, taking it balls deep in her mouth.

"Stay right there," YoonA says as she gets back up. You stretch your arms and pull her panties down, tossing them out as she gets ready to sit on your cock, taking it deep and twerking on it from the get-go before giving it some straight bounces. "Oh yeah," she says.

You push your cock up YoonA's needy mommy cunt and spank her ass while doing so. "Yes, baby, fuck that pussy," she says, taking it like a champion as you pick up right where you left off in the morning. But this time, YoonA is more prepared, retaking control and squatting nicely on your cock while leaving her tits towards your mouth.

You keep hitting YoonA's butt, which only makes her push harder. "Oh shit, fuck me," she moans, pressing her hands against your torso as she bounces perfectly on your cock. You try to counter her, grabbing her ass and pushing your cock upwards. But YoonA shows she can take it well, tilting her body and showing she's gonna come out on top. "Fuck me, fuck me hard, give it to me," she begs, riding you like an Amazon.

"I want you to fuck me right here," YoonA says, getting herself up and putting her right leg on the handrail. Her loose pussy is wide open, and you take advantage of it, quickly putting it back as you grab her hair with one hand and her ass with another, fucking her hard at the handrail.

"YES, RIGHT THERE, AHHHH, AHHH, AHH, OH MY GOD, OH FUCK, OH SHIT, YEAH, YEAH, YOU LIKE THAT, BABY BOY?" YoonA moans as you use her well, just like you did at the gym in the morning. You pick up the speed, spanking her ass and clapping her cheeks nonstop. "LIKE THAT, LIKE THAT, OHHHHH," she moans, putting both her legs back on the ground to cope with the fast thrusts you give to her pussy.

"You're fucking amazing," you tell YoonA. "I know, I've got the best pussy in the whole country," she says, bragging. She moves her hips to meet your thrusts, but you quickly grab her ass and waist and put her in her place. You pull out and spread her cheeks, eating her pussy out. "Yes, baby, worship that pussy and lick that ass," she says, noticing your tongue also sweeping her butthole.

"Get your dick back and spread that ass, oh shit, oh my god," YoonA moans as you pump her pussy hard, groaning as you grope her tits. You kiss her back, grabbing her ass while YoonA arches herself, getting further apart from the handrail. "Yes, fuck it, holy shit," she commands, tilting her body against the handrail.

"AH, AH, YEAH, AHHHHHH," YoonA screams loudly as you keep fucking her pussy nonstop. "Come taste it," you tell her, YoonA turning around and deepthroating your cock nicely. "I taste so sweet on that cock," she says.

"Come upstairs, I have a surprise for you, the dessert you were waiting for," YoonA says. You follow her, amazed by her ass cheeks bouncing up and down as she quickly climbs upstairs despite her high heels. You are ready to do anything this beautiful woman asks, as she gets you to a little room right after the stairs and says the words that would drive you crazy.

"I want you to fuck my ass," YoonA goes straight to the point, stroking your cock as you kiss her. You ramp up the intensity, sucking her tits as she plays with your shaft, paying special attention to the area against the tip.

"Be gentle, baby, my ass is really tight, I'm very selective, only the best boys get to fuck it" YoonA says. "Then I'm gonna fuck that pussy a couple more times before," you say, carrying YoonA and putting your cock back inside her wet cunt, fucking her once again in one of your favorite positions.

"OHHHHHHH," YoonA screams as you clap her cheeks hard. She masterfully bounces on your cock while her body is lifted up. You quickly try to counter, you two dueling like two horny demons. "You're so fucking wet," you tell her. YoonA gets back on the ground, sucking your cock and tasting herself one more time.

"Are you ready? I know I'm ready for you." YoonA teases you. She lies on the couch, spreading her long legs, her pink, used-up pussy contrasting with her very tiny asshole as she fingers herself. You spread her ass, trying to gape it before you put your cock in there.

"Play with my ass, warm it up; that nice pretty ring is all yours now," YoonA says as you stick your tongue out to lick her rectum. "Oh shit, yeah, put your tongue in it," she says, rubbing her clit as she watches you work that tongue all the way deep in her anus.

"That feels fucking great, baby," YoonA says. "You like eating my ass, don't you, baby?" She asks. "Get it ready for that big cock," she keeps commanding, you now extremely focused on eating YoonA's cherry-flavored butthole as best as you can, wiping her ass in your face.

"Put your finger in my ass," YoonA commands as you oblige, sticking your left index finger in her butthole. "Fuck, it feels so soft," you tell her, penetrating it with your finger and thinking of your cock going down that dark tunnel of hers. You switch to your middle finger and tease her. "You wanna take up your asshole?" you ask her. "Yes, give it to me," YoonA answers.

Before you go inside YoonA's backdoor, you push your finger into her mouth and let her taste her anus. She closes her eyes, enjoying as she takes it all, smiling to you as you give a few extra tongueings in her asshole. "Slide your fingers in and out of my ass nice and slow," YoonA commands, letting you tease her for a little bit more. "That feels so good," she says.

"Are you gonna finally stuff that big, fat cock in my ass?" YoonA asks, spreading her cheeks. You struggle at first, but quickly her needy hole swallows your cock up. "Yes, just like that," YoonA says as she enjoys your monster shaft disappearing under her dark hole. "There you go, push all that cock in my ass," she says.

You take it very slow at first, amazed by the extreme tightness of YoonA's ring. "You like that tight little ass all for you?" she asks you. "Work it just like that, nice and slow, push it all the way deep, make me take all that cock," she commands. "HOLY SHIT," she screams as you do so, catching her a bit off guard with your massive size.

"Is that good?" you ask YoonA as she reaches to finger her clit. "Yes, baby, that's good," she answers. "OH MY GOD, OH MY FUCKING GOD, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, YEAH, YEAH," she loudly moans. "Make me take all that fucking dick, give it all to me," she continues, you attacking her ass hard now and making the first clapping sounds.

"You like that, a good fucking ass for you? You like how I spread my long legs for your cock to fuck my tight ass?" YoonA asks as she talks dirty to you. "Keep going, stuff that cock in my fucking ass, oh shit, that feels so good," she moans.

"My ass is all nice and opened up for you," YoonA says as you keep pushing. You bring her legs together, adjusting their position to push your cock even deeper. "YEAH, OH MY GOD, THAT'S FUCKING GOD, AHHHH, OH SHITTTTT," she screams. "OH MY GOD I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," she continues to scream, her body shaking and bouncing with your hard thrusts, her perky tits jiggling.

"I FUCKING LOVE THAT DICK IN MY ASS," YoonA announces it loudly. You make sure she loves it even more, continuing to push hard as she fingers herself. "You like it too, opening that ass up with your big fucking cock and making me your bitch," she says. She lifts her legs up, offering you her feet for you to taste while you fuck her. "Suck that fucking feet too," she says.

"Lick my fucking toes, they are all for you," YoonA says as you continue to fuck her. She takes her heels off as you start licking her feet. "You like that, dirty boy, don't you?" she asks, shoving her feet in your face. "SHIT," she curses, spreading her cheeks for you. "Such a good fucking cock," she says.

"Take it in your fucking mouth," you say to YoonA, who gets on her knees to suck your cock. "My ass tastes so good," she says, taking a little time to savor it. "You want some more?" you ask her. "Of course," she answers. "Then get to the floor," you reply.

YoonA lies on the floor, you penetrating her backdoor in a spooning position and pounding her hard from the start and making her cheeks clap. "AH, AH, AH, OH MY GOD, YES, SPREAD THAT SHIT, FUCK THAT ASS," she begs. "Are you noticing my goosebumps? It's because it feels so fucking good," she says. You grab her right leg, attacking her ass nonstop. "OH MY FUCKING GOD, YES, THAT'S FUCKING DEEP IN MY ASS, YES, FUCK," she screams.

"THAT'S A LOT OF COCK IN MY FUCKING ASS, OH SHIT," YoonA continues to scream as you fuck her butthole balls deep while groping, pinching, and slapping her tits. "Yes, baby, smack my nipple while you make me take all that dick," she commands. You kiss her boobs and her pretty mouth. "My dirty fucking boy, who loves to stuff his big fucking dick in my ass and make me his dirty bitch," she says, giving you a sexy look.

"Let's go, baby, play with that pussy while you fuck my ass," YoonA says as you finger her cunt and insert a couple of fingers down it. The hard pounding keeps going, YoonA praying to God as she enjoys the hard anal drilling she receives. You spread her cheeks. "You love that fucking ass, don't you?" she asks.

"Oh my God, that fucking big cock is so amazing in my ass," YoonA says, spanking her own cheeks as she gets fucked. "OH YES," she screams. "I wanna ride that big fucking cock," she says. You lie on the floor, YoonA impaling her ass full of your cock in a reverse cowgirl position and smiling as she gets ready to ride.

"Stuff it in there," YoonA says as she takes your cock in her ass. She just spreads her legs and lets you pump upwards as hard as you can. "Yeah, that's good," she says, trying to keep her balance amidst your hard thrusts. "OH MY GOD THAT'S FUCKING GOOD, HOLY SHIT," she moans as her cheeks get clapped hard, you making her body giggle like crazy.

"YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE ME FUCKING CUM, AREN'T YOU?" YoonA asks loudly. She starts bouncing hard on your cock as you take a little break from your hard thrusting, only to quickly come back with full force. "Look at you, baby boy, you want that fucking asshole so bad you can't stop fucking me hard," she says, taking a massive pounding like a champion.

"TAKE MY LITTLE FUCKING ASSHOLE," YoonA commands as your cock tries as hard as possible to destroy it. YoonA teases you, spinning on your cock for a bit only for you to attack her butthole. "Fucking fill my asshole, spread it open," she begs, you fingering her pussy as you pump her backdoor.

"I'm gonna cum again, FUCK!" YoonA moans as you put a pair of fingers in her cunt. "My pussy is soaking wet because I love dick in my ass," she says, you moving your hand from her pussy straight to her mouth for her to taste. "Keep going, put your fingers in my pussy, I want to feel full," she says. You do just as she wants, finger-fucking her wet cunt. "Let me taste, let me taste it," she begs.

YoonA keeps getting her asshole drilled hard. You now put her under a full nelson and just plow her to loud clapping sounds of your balls into her skin. "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD," she screams as you use her. "You love all my holes, don't you, baby boy? My pussy, my ass, my mouth—you love using them like I'm a good fuck toy," she says.

"Stay there," YoonA says, pulling out as she sits on your face and moves to perform a nice 69 on your fat cock, taking it deep down her throat and tasting the flavor of her ass. "I love stuffing it down my throat balls deep," she says as she does so. She crawls back to the couch, getting on all fours and teasing you, pushing some of her fingers up her asshole.

"I want you to cum all over my pretty face again, but first, I want one more round of you fucking my ass," YoonA says. You promptly oblige, stuffing your cock up her butt in a hurry, grabbing her ass, and fucking it really fast. "Yes, like this," she says.

"Spread that ass open," YoonA says as you tease her asshole going in and out. "Pull my fucking hair," she says, you doing it as she moves her hips against your cock. You spank her butt hard. "That's it, that's what I want, OH FUCK YEAH," she moans. "Take that fucking ass, make me take it like a dirty fucking whore, like the nasty bitch I am," she says, you giving YoonA the best ass-fucking of her life.

"BEG FOR MY FUCKING CUM, BABY BOY," YoonA says as she starts squirting on the couch. "OHHHHHH," she screams loudly, your cock pumping her ass at full speed. "You like when my tight ass squeezes your big fucking cock?" she asks, looking at you. "I can't help myself; that cock is so good. I love cumming all over it, like a fucking nasty girl," she says.

"Push it all the way in, take that cock balls deep in my ass," YoonA says. "I like that, feeling all that cock up my guts," she says. You pull out a bit to look at her beautiful gape. "Admiring your good work, baby boy?" she asks.

"Fuck my ass until you cum in my face, dirty fucking boy," YoonA commands as you get closer and closer. You grab her butt, stuffing her ass full of her cock. You grab her hair, just fucking her with no regard. "USE MY FUCKING ASS TO MAKE YOU NUT, I WANT THAT CUM ALL OVER MY FUCKING FACE, USE THAT FUCKING ASS, MAKE YOURSELF FUCKING CUM, USE IT AS HARD AS YOU WANT, I CAN FUCKING TAKE IT, THAT'S FUCKING RIGHT," she commands, enjoying every second of your hard pounding.

"GIVE ME THAT HOT FUCKING LOAD ALL OVER MY PRETTY FUCKING FACE," YoonA begs as you fuck her so hard you can't take it anymore. You grab her waist hard and pound her at full speed. Her ass finally milks you as you pull out and unload another big load in her face. "Your milk tastes so good," she says as she takes it in her mouth and swallows it all.

"Don't think it's over yet, baby boy; there is still the dinner to go," YoonA says.

Chapter 3 - My Friend for Dinner feat. Sooyoung

YoonA takes her time as she starts to prepare the dinner. You try to kiss and cuddle her, but she rejects your advances. "Don't distract me," she says, not distracted at all, just wanting you to save all the horniness in your hot young body for her dinner surprise.

The doorbell rings just as YoonA has finished making the dinner. "Greet our guest," she tells you as you oblige and open the door for her longtime friend Sooyoung. "Hello, pretty boy, looks like YoonA got a nice gift for her birthday," Sooyoung says as she sees you, greeting you with a couple kisses.

Sooyoung, YoonA, and you have a nice dinner with lots of good food and a couple of glasses of wine and champagne. After all things are done, you three seem to be full, but that can't be further from the truth for YoonA.

"Do you guys want to go to my bedroom?" YoonA asks. "Sure, it's my favorite place in your house, YoonA," Sooyoung says. YoonA kisses you as she opens the door of her bedroom for you to see it for the first time. YoonA opens another bottle of champagne, and you three drink it on her bed. "You know why I invited you here, don't you?" YoonA asks Sooyoung.

"Yes, you can't fool me, YoonA," Sooyoung says. She takes off her shirt and shows you and YoonA her lingerie. "You came well prepared, such a good friend," she says.

YoonA starts massaging your already hard cock, desperate to fuck her in her bed. "I think she likes it," she says with a big smile on her face and looking at Sooyoung. She massages your bulge a little bit, teasing her friend. "Come here," she says, giving the sign to Sooyoung.

Sooyoung and YoonA share some kisses in front of you as a little tease before both of them move to touch your bulging erection. You offer your thumb for Sooyoung to suck, the way she does it already telling you she can suck a dick like a pro. YoonA unveils your massive cock to her friend as it pops out in one go, licking the tip and sucking it a couple times.

"Wanna taste it?" YoonA asks Sooyoung, who takes it deep in her mouth. You thought things couldn't get better, but having two beautiful members of your favorite group with their mouths all over your cock was something you wouldn't expect even in your wildest dreams.

Sooyoung takes your cock deep in her throat masterfully, not using her hands to give you a hot blowjob, smiling at you as she stuffs her mouth full of cock. "Is she good?" YoonA asks as she kisses you. "Well, she's amazing," you answer. "Such a good girl, isn't she?" YoonA asks. "Absolutely," you ask.

"I love that cock; you always manage to find some fine, thick, large cocks, YoonA," Sooyoung says. "Then suck it harder," she tells Sooyoung, pushing her friend's head against your shaft. Sooyoung takes it with ease, choking all over your dick and sending shivers down her spine with her incredible cock-sucking lips.

YoonA takes Sooyoung's lingerie off, stripping her friend naked as she keeps sucking you hard and deep, her face buried between her legs. "If you are loving her mouth this much, wait until you see her pussy," YoonA says as she keeps watching Sooyoung bob her head on your cock. But YoonA wants a piece of it too, taking your cock in her mouth as you get yourself naked in front of both girls.

Sooyoung dives down on your balls as YoonA gives you a perfect no-hands head-bobbing blowjob. "Oh yes," you say as both girls team up on your cock, YoonA licking your tip and then sharing kisses with Sooyoung. "It's been a while since I've seen such a good, big, fat cock, with all due respect to my boyfriend, his is really small compared to this one," Sooyoung says.

"Give me your tongue," YoonA says to Sooyoung as both girls team up to lick your tip together. The girls shove you to the bed, YoonA spitting on your cock as they taste it like ice cream. "I wanna see that tongue going up and down this cock," YoonA says, Sooyoung taking the bottom of your shaft while YoonA takes the top. The two girls then switch. "Suck it," YoonA says, pushing Sooyoung's face against your shaft.

"You like that?" YoonA asks as Sooyoung keeps moving up and down your shaft. "Oh yeah," you answer. "Keep stuffing your mouth on that cock, suck that big fucking dick, you nasty girl," she says to Sooyoung, pushing her face harder down your cock. "Give it to me, let me taste it too," YoonA says, each girl licking one side of your shaft.

"You look so pretty with that cock in your mouth," YoonA says to Sooyoung. "You wanna feel her pussy?" she then asks you, sharing some more kisses. "Get on that fucking cock, ride it," YoonA commands, stripping herself naked too, jerking your cock off and guiding it inside Sooyoung's pussy.

"Ohhhhh my God, it's so big," Sooyoung says, but she starts riding it hard from the get-go, YoonA watching it as she slaps her friend's ass and pushes her to go hard. "That dick is so good in your fucking pussy," YoonA says, letting Sooyoung bounce like a good slut, kissing her friend as she sits in your face.

"Grind on that fucking cock," YoonA tells Sooyoung, who does it just as she asks, moving sensually open and down your cock. "Eat my fucking pussy while she rides you," YoonA commands, her folds all over your mouth.

You feel in heaven, Sooyoung's pussy in your cock and YoonA's in your mouth. "I wanna taste it. Give it to me. Give me that fucking cock; it's mine," YoonA says, pulling your cock out of her friend's pussy to taste the amazing flavor. "Stuff it back in your pussy," she says, spitting on it and making Sooyoung ride it hard as she keeps pushing her body down your shaft. "Take it, take it," she says.

"Ahhh, ahhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhh," YoonA starts moaning as your tongue in her folds makes her feel amazing. You choke Sooyoung while she rides your cock. "Spread that ass," YoonA says, diving to lick her friend's asshole as you start pounding Sooyoung from down low. "That's so fucking sexy, that big fat cock working all over that pussy," she says.

"OH YEAH, THAT'S SO FUCKING AMAZING," Sooyoung screams. She squats hard on your cock, YoonA spanking her ass. "You like that? That big fucking cock in your pink pussy?" YoonA asks her friend. "YES, IT'S SO BIG," Sooyoung answers as she closes her eyes and moans loudly, getting more spanks from YoonA, who now dives to worship your balls.

"Pretty girl, pretty girl, bouncing on that cock," YoonA says as she grinds her pussy in your face and kisses Sooyoung, leaving you the opening to pump up her friend's pussy. "Go sit on his face," she says, the girls swapping positions, YoonA taking your cock in her pussy and grinding hard on it while Sooyoung grinds her ass in her face.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, oh, shit," YoonA moans as she bounces on your cock. "Ride that fucking face," she says to Sooyoung, stretching to spank her ass. You can't resist and pump your cock up her pussy. "That dick is so fucking good, I can't say that enough times," she says, fingering her clit as she takes your pumping. "Oh, fuck, oh God," she moans.

"Cum all over his fucking face, cover him with fucking pussy juice, ah, ah, ah, ah," YoonA commands to Sooyoung as her friend ramps up the intensity of her grinding on your face. YoonA closes her eyes, riding your big fat cock to perfection, her moans driving you insane. "Nice and deep, nice and deep," she repeats. You reach to grab her ass while she reaches to grab Sooyoung's neck.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me like I'm your pretty bitch," YoonA begs as you attack her pussy, hammering it as hard as possible. "OH FUCK," YoonA screams. "You wanna pound that fucking pussy hard and deep?" she asks you. Sooyoung decides to watch, licking YoonA's pussy as she enjoys her friend getting stuffed full of your cock.

"You want that for you too, don't you, bitch?" YoonA talks dirty to Sooyoung as her friend dives into her pussy. You grab YoonA's legs, pushing her in your direction for a full nelson pounding while Sooyoung takes more of her friend's clit. "Oh, she wants that pussy. I can't blame her; it tastes so fucking good," YoonA says as you lock her long legs with your arms and pound her hard and fast, Sooyoung's tongue all over her clit.

Sooyoung takes your cock out of YoonA's pussy for a little tasting, spitting on it. "Stroke his cock into my pussy, put it back inside, and stroke it, stroke it, stroke it, good girl," YoonA commands as Sooyoung follows her instructions to perfection. "Now give it to me," YoonA says, putting her legs up for another hard pounding, giving Sooyoung the perfect view of your cock pumping her like a piston.

"You know I like the way you fuck me hard, the way you use me like a bitch, OH FUCKKKKKK," YoonA moans. "Make me cum," she begs, sharing kisses with Sooyoung as her friends rub her belly. YoonA lets Sooyoung taste your cock, pushing Sooyoung's head down your shaft using her feet. "I wanna taste it too," YoonA says, both girls fighting hard for every inch of your big dick.

"I want you to bend over like a good girl," YoonA tells Sooyoung, who obliges. "Let's get her," YoonA says, putting Sooyoung's face down and ass up while you grind your cock against Sooyoung's ass crack. YoonA sucks your cock all the way deep, preparing you for more of Sooyoung's pussy, your cock sliding in easy as she watches it. "That's so pretty," YoonA says.

YoonA tongues Sooyoung's asshole as you feed your cock to her between thrusts into Sooyoung's cunt. "You wanna come, bitch?" YoonA asks her friend, Are you enjoying the perfect view of your cock going in and out of Sooyoung's pussy. "She wants to cum all over that cock," YoonA says, you choking her while spanking Sooyoung's ass.

"Make her take it," YoonA commands as she gets on top of Sooyoung. "I'm so close," Sooyoung moans as you increase the pressure, pumping her hard and firmly grabbing her waist. You take turns spanking both girls' asses. "AH, AH, AH, FUCK," Sooyoung screams. "Yes, take that cock, you pretty bitch, take that big dick; that's a good girl," YoonA talks dirty to her.

"Spank it," YoonA tells you as you oblige and hit Sooyoung's pale ass. The spank makes Sooyoung's brain tilt, her moving her hips up and down your shaft as YoonA watches. You continue to spank her. "Stuff it in her fucking pussy," YoonA says. "I'm so fucking close," Sooyoung tells her. "Then spread that fucking ass," YoonA commands, grabbing Sooyoung's cheeks and pushing her against your massive shaft.

"OH MY GOD, AHHHHHH," Sooyoung moans as her ass recoils hard when pressed against your crotch. "Give it to her, make her cum all over that fucking dick," YoonA says, rubbing Sooyoung's tits as you give her friend very hard thrusts. Sooyoung's hair is now very messy, all over her face. "She wants to cum all over that cock, baby boy," YoonA says.

"Bounce on it, bounce on it," YoonA commands as Sooyoung follows, moving her hips hard to take your pole as deep as possible. "Wrap that pussy all over that cock," YoonA continues to command. "Look at how sexy she is bouncing on that dick, oh shit," YoonA says, you sucking her boobs while fucking Sooyoung.

"OH MY GOD, I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," Sooyoung screams as she coats YoonA's bedsheets. "Look at that juicy pussy. wanna see it?" YoonA asks as she tastes your cock straight from Sooyoung's cunt, spreading her friend's meaty lips for you to see that pink hole you just used very well. "Look at that pink little pussy all spread for you," YoonA says.

"Such a beautiful pussy, I want it on my face. Sit on my fucking face with that pretty pink pussy," YoonA commands, lying on her bed as Sooyoung gets on top of her. "Ahhhh, ohhh," Sooyoung moans as YoonA starts eating her out. You put one of your legs on the bed, taking YoonA into a mating press position as you get ready to fuck her pussy as hard as possible one more time.

"HMMMM, HMMMMM, HMMMM," YoonA moans on Sooyoung's pussy as you start fucking her. "Ah, fuck, ah, fuck," Sooyoung also moans as YoonA eats her out. You use all your strength, attacking YoonA's pussy at the fullest. "OH SHIT, OH SHIT, AHH, AHHH, AHHH," YoonA moans, clinging to Sooyoung's pussy as she grinds her face on her friend.

You and Sooyoung share kisses as YoonA keeps getting pounded hard. "Fill that fucking pussy, baby," YoonA begs as Sooyoung gets out of her face and decides to watch you destroying her friend's hole. YoonA puts her legs up. "OH FUCK YEAH, SHIT," she moans as Sooyoung kisses her.

"THAT'S FUCKING DEEP, I'M GONNA CUM, I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," YoonA moans as you slap her bouncy tits and make her body swing with your hard thrusts. You get on top of her, sharing some kisses with her. "You wanna watch that pussy spread for that fucking cock?" she asks Sooyoung. "Yes, I love watching you two fuck," her friend answers.

"Your cock is so fucking nice and hard in my pussy," YoonA says. Sooyoung comes in to taste it a bit. "Yes, taste that juicy pussy, such a good girl," YoonA says as Sooyoung spits all over your cock. "Put it back, nasty girl," YoonA commands, spanking Sooyoung's ass as she guides your cock back inside.

"Oh, it feels so big," YoonA moans as you go back to slowly fuck her. Sooyoung stays there, rubbing her friend's pussy as the two share some kisses. "Spread my fucking legs and make me take it," YoonA commands. "OH YES, OH YES, MAKE ME FUCKING CUM ON THAT DICK," YoonA moans, clinging to Sooyoung's body as she gets pounded. "FUCK YES, FUCK YES, OH SHIT, she screams.

"Keep going, work on that pussy, yes, yes, yes," Yoon moans. You bring her body closer to yours. Sooyoung just admires the view as you keep pounding her friend. "OH, OH, OH," YoonA moans, wet sounds coming out of her pussy as her legs tremble in orgasm. You get close to her, giving YoonA passionate kisses as you continue to fuck her good. "Spread my pussy wide open," she begs.

You take a little break to eat YoonA's pussy out. "You like to lick that amazing pussy, don't you, baby boy?" she asks. You put it back inside, Sooyoung. "That's fucking deep, oh god," YoonA moans, clenching her legs as she gets more and more sensitive. You slap your cock against her clit. "OH FUCK," she moans, squirting all over her bedsheets.

"Suck that fucking cock," YoonA commands to Sooyung, who obliges, closing her eyes and bobbing her head on your shaft using no hands as she tastes her friend's wet juices. YoonA comes to the side to watch, pushing your cock deep inside Sooyoung's mouth. "You like it down your throat, don't you, slut?" she asks.

"Give me that pussy," YoonA tells Sooyoung, spreading her friend's legs as both of you team up to eat her out. YoonA gets your cock wet, moving her head sideways as you insert it back inside Sooyoung's pussy. "OH FUCK, IT'S SO BIG," Sooyoung screams. "Right, isn't it?" YoonA asks, teasing her friend and kissing her.

"Are you scared of him getting deep in your pussy?" YoonA asks Sooyoung, fingering her clit. "So big, so deep in your fucking pussy, huh?" YoonA teases her friend. "OH FUCK," Sooyoung screams, closing her eyes as you hit her cervix. "Take it all in your fucking pussy," YoonA commands, enjoying Sooyoung getting pounded into oblivion while she kisses you. "That pussy is tight, isn't it?" she asks you.

"OHHHHHHH," Sooyoung moans as you give her a deep mating press. "Take it like a good girl," YoonA tells her. "IT'S. SO. FUCKING. DEEP." Sooyoung screams, barely able to handle the heat you give into her pussy. YoonA enjoys her friend getting pounded. "TAKE IT ALL, PLEASE, AHHHH," Sooyoung screams. "OH YES, YES, YES, YES," Sooyoung continues to moan. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH," more screams come out of her mouth, YoonA just loving it. "You like that?" she asks her friend, Sooyoung, so wasted she can barely breathe. You two kiss each other as you use Sooyoung like a fuck toy, sticking your cock as deep as possible in her pussy.

YoonA puts her butt in Sooyoung's face and offers you to lick her holes as you fuck her friend. But watching her pussy wide open gives you a different idea, as you stick your cock back inside YoonA and mount on top of her while Sooyoung eats her pussy. "OH YEAH," YoonA moans. You fuck Sooyoung's face to help you with some spit. "Fuck her pretty face," YoonA says, enjoying your cock attacking her pussy deep while Sooyoung's tongue does some great work.

"AH, AH, AH, YES, YES, YES, OH SHIT," YoonA moans. You take turns fucking her pussy and Sooyoung's face. "Does it feel good sticking your cock deep in her throat?" YoonA asks. "Obviously, you answer.

"Fuck that little pussy," YoonA commands as you keep pounding her. Sooyoung now uses both her tongue and hands. "THAT'S IT, THAT'S IT, FUCK, FUCK FUCK," YoonA moans. "Give it to me, give it to me," she begs. Sooyoung looks at the view of your cock drilling her friend's pussy, grabbing you for a little more tasting.

"Stuff it back in," YoonA commands as Sooyoung hands your cock back inside her friend's pussy. She closes her eyes and just lets you fuck her hard. You spank her ass. "I love when you spank it," she says. You two share some kisses. Sooyoung worships your balls. "Lick his fucking balls, good girl," YoonA says.

"That's good, that's good. You wanna make me fucking cum, don't you?" YoonA asks, you pounding her harder than ever and pressing her body against her bedsheets. "Oh, fuck yeah," you start groaning, getting closer and closer to your orgasm. "AHH, AHH, AHHH, AHHH," YoonA screams.

"You wanna let him cum in your mouth?" YoonA asks Sooyoung. You pull out of YoonA, sliding your cock between their mouths as you prepare to cum. Sooyoung bobs her head on your cock as YoonA licks your balls. "Come here," you say, stroking your cock and pointing it at Sooyoung's face.

"I wanna see your cum all over her pretty face," YoonA tells you, getting her wish rather quickly as you ejaculate in Sooyoung's mouth as soon as she says those words. "Look at that boy, tasty juicy cum all over your mouth," YoonA says as Sooyoung enjoys it, kissing the tip of your cock to thank you. "Share with me," YoonA commands, Sooyoung dropping your cum into her mouth as the two share kisses and swap it in front of you. "Swallow," YoonA says, Sooyoung obliging. "What a good girl," YoonA continues, taking your cock in her mouth one last time.

The day with YoonA is over, and what a day it was. You take your belongings and leave her house, already missing her as you walk across the street. You are ready to take a taxi back home until a luxurious car stops in front of you.

"Get in there," YoonA says, you taking the backseat as Sooyoung and she are at the front.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask YoonA. "You'll find out soon," she answers.

YoonA stops the car close to a house where you can already hear the loud noises of a party building up. She arrives, and a group of 6 more girls comes to greet her. "You're late, birthday girl," Taeyeon says. "But now the party can truly begin," she continues.

"We have a surprise you're really going to enjoy, YoonA," Yuri says to her. "Hell yeah, Tiffany, can you please make the announcement?" Seohyun says.

"BRING THE BOYS OUT!!!!" Tiffany screams on the microphone. A bunch of dudes appear out of nowhere, one for each girl, as they start to take their clothes off in front of the girls.

"Are you ready for an all night orgy?" Taeyeon asks YoonA.

"You didn't even need to ask, unnie."

[saeamy]

OWL (OUR SON)

itoshi rin x reader

summary ۫ ꣑ৎ you're waiting for rin to return from blue lock, but something is missing from his room content: fluff! probably ooc! rin wc: 997 a/n: this is a draft from like 2 years ago that i kinda tried fixing up as best i could lol. this was like my first time writing so i hope you enjoy ^^ also didn't know what to name this...

giving gifts to rin wasn’t just hard. it was a whole mission.

but for his last birthday, you felt like you really came through with his gift. you had spent hours making sure it was absolutely perfect, no flaws or miscounted rows. a crocheted owl plushie. rin’s birthday embroidered on the bottom of the foot, and you made an additional cute scarf and sun hat for the owl, with both yours and rin’s initials.

when you first gave it to him, he had just stared at it for a few seconds, before letting a small smile make its way to his face. and from then on, the owl was always lying somewhere in his room, whether it be on his desk or on his bed. 

you even noticed how rin would change the owl’s clothes depending on the weather and season, but you’d never tell him, he’d just roll his eyes and deny it. 

but now, you were sat on his bed, scrolling through your phone while you waited for rin to return from blue lock. his mum loved you, and let you in, treating you as if you were a daughter. it’s been around 3 months since you last saw rin properly, only communicating with him on texts and short calls when it was allowed. 

you had seen him play against the japan u20, and the way you had tried your best to comfort him after his face-off with sae. 

you glance at the time, and get up to stretch your legs a bit. he should be here soon. you couldn’t wait to see him properly, talk to him without any distractions. your eyes flit around the room as you pop your back, and you see something out of place. or rather, a lack of something.

everything was as it should be. his shelves full of trophies that he had earned, a picture of sae and him (yes, he put it back up) and a picture of you and rin from your second date. 

but the owl was missing. it wasn’t on the bed when you had sat down, or on his desk. neither was it on the shelves next to his trophies. you didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but your heart clenched a bit. 

maybe he didn’t like it that much, and only kept it around to keep you happy. did he throw it away, was it too childish for him? but you swore rin’s eyes had lit up when you had first presented your little project, all bundled up in a basket alongside some other small gifts! 

but you didn’t have much time to think about it when you heard a familiar voice speaking to ms itoshi in the kitchen. 

footsteps padded towards you, and the door opens to reveal your boyfriend, standing with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“rin! you’re home!” 

you quickly move to wrap your hands around his neck, squeezing him tightly. rin’s hands fall around your waist, his head dropping onto your shoulder, his dark hair tickling your neck. “i’m back,” he mutters gently.

you both pull away, and he sets his bag down, but you promptly reach out to grab it. 

“i’ll unpack it real quick, so you won’t have to do it later!” 

rin just nods, completely forgetting what was in his bag. you start taking out his clothes while he flops down on the bed, thankful for the peace provided away from his teammates at blue lock. “rin?”

rin can already hear the grin in your voice, and he sits back up, raising a suspicious brow. “mhm?” 

he looks at you, and sees your wide smile. while unpacking, you found his owl, bundled between some of his clothes, and rin’s ears quickly flush pink as he realises what you’re getting at. “you took it with you?” 

rin groans, burying his face between his knees, but he hears the smugness and elation in the question you already knew the answer to. rin didn’t get rid of it after all, he had literally taken the owl you made him for the entirety of the 3 months he was at blue lock. 

“you missed me that much?” 

now you were stretching it. he rolls his eyes, trying to keep his cool demeanour up, despite failing miserably. the red flush from his ears was slowly making its way down to his neck. “don’t let it get to your head. i just needed…” 

needed what? something to remind him of you when you couldn’t talk? but he’d never admit that to you. not that rin needed to. you already knew, but you like to tease him and watch him get flustered. “whatever, he probably just accidentally landed in the bag while i was packing.” 

rin raises his head to look at you, and he groans when he notices your wide eyes. “what now?” 

you snicker, not bothering to hold any of your chuckles to yourself. “so he’s a he now? does he have a name too, rinnie? it would be shame to leave our son nameless now would it?”

rin was sure that if you were to touch anywhere on his body, you’d feel the way he burned like he was running a 39.5 degree fever. he just grabs your wrist and yanks you up from where you were kneeling next to his bag. 

“just shut up.” he grumbles like an angry kitten, and shifts your bodies so that you’re both laying down, his face buried in your back so you can’t see the expression on him. you can feel the warmth emanating from his flushed face and you just hum contently. “i’m really glad you liked your gift rin. it makes me really happy.” 

he clicks his tongue. “i’d like anything you give me, stupid.”

and your eyelids flutter closed, happy to be back in your boyfriend’s arms again, even if just temporarily, rin will always carry something from you with him, whatever it may be. 

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