#to show how deeply vulnerable he is in this moment

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-four: so close, yet so far

word count: 5.0k

warnings: this chapter includes descriptions of unhealthy behavior and alcohol abuse. reader discretion is advised.

thirty-three | thirty-four | thirty-five

They sat outside the little bakery, elbows brushing on the cramped metal table, half-eaten pastries between them. The hot chocolate here was decent — she wouldn’t go so far as to say good — and she teased him for it with a smile and a glint in her eye that made something in his chest warm a little.

They spent their time passing wordless judgement on the terrible playlist overhead, debating whether almond croissants were overrated, flicking stray crumbs at one another. Liam was unusually quiet, but she tried to let it be.

The two of them sat in the corner by the windows, sharing a perfectly toasted almond croissant and a pair of mismatched mugs. She furrowed her brows at how much of his drink still remained in his cup, likely gone. When she looked up at him, she found his eyes already on her.

He tilted his head with a knowing smirk. “What, have I got powder sugar on my face again?”

She smiled around the rim of her coffee cup. “Maybe.”

He chuckled, low and short. Then his eyes flickered back to the street outside, distant for a breath. It was then that she brought it up, all tentative and careful. “You mentioned your brothers. Um, the other night.”

The words felt like skipping stones — light on the surface, hiding how deep they wanted to go.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, drawing out the word like he was stalling. He stirred his coffee absentmindedly, though it didn’t need it. “I did. I mean, I do.”

“Will I…. ever get to meet them?” she asked, aiming for lightness but hearing her hesitation betray her.

The man across from her shrugged, casual but too quick about it. “Eh, they’re all usually pretty busy.”

It was a bad excuse. She knew it. He knew she knew it.

“They sound pretty important to you,” she said instead, trying again, busying her fingers by folding and unfolding her paper napkin.

You’re important to me too, she didn’t say.

Lando's posture shifted, barely, but enough. There was a slight stiffening of his shoulders, and a tension in his jaw. He still held the coffee, but he wasn’t drinking anymore.

It hit her then—that twitchy, haunted kind of defensiveness he slipped into when something precious was threatened. Like if he admitted it mattered, the world would hear it and take it away.

The wave of vulnerability had apparently passed, and she’d have to wait patiently until the tide rolled in again. That seemed to be a pattern with him, she’d noticed – sometimes he’d unknowingly show her a glimpse of his heart, holding it out with careful, trembling hands like it was something precious to be held. But moments later he’d retreat within himself once again as soon as he was aware of what he’d done. That’s when he’d put the soft parts of himself away where no one could reject or abandon them like he had once been.

Her gaze traced over his silhouette against the soft light that emanated through the murky sky outside, the passing clouds casting flickering shadows over the contours of his face.  

“Don’t leave me.”

“Just… please. Stay.”

“Last night… it shouldn't have happened.”

She breathed deeply and gave him a sad little smile, the kind that didn’t ask for anything back.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said softly. “I didn’t mean to push.”

I just wanted to be part of your world. I wanted to meet the people that matter most to you. I wanted to be part of your world the way you are part of mine.

He said nothing.

She set the napkin down. Even though it was soundless, it still felt loud to her somehow. “I was only curious. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

A beat of silence passed. Then another. She could just feel herself flushing with the awkwardness of it, a hot undercurrent of regret crawling up her spine as her face grew hot unpleasantly. 

Stupid, stupid, you always want too much—

But then he spoke, voice low and rough around the edges.

“I… Just…”

He seemed to struggle to find the words. 

“Give me a little time, yeah?”

She blinked, startled.

He wasn’t looking directly at her anymore — his thumb brushed over the rim of the mug like he needed something to do with his hands — but even she could tell that his words were real, earnest in a way that almost hurt to hear.

Her heart twisted, traitorous and tender all at once.

“Okay,” she whispered, smiling at him through it, even when it hurt. “Take all the time you need.”

I’ll wait as long as it takes.

The awkwardness didn’t quite leave after that, shifting and swirling between them like smoke. But there was something else beneath it too. It was a sincerity – a thread tying them together, thin and invisible, tugging a little tighter with every truth shared.

Outside, the clouds floated between all the shades of grey, like even the sky couldn't decide whether it was going to storm. Y/N watch people stroll past the windows, deep in conversation and huddled together, wearing their sweaters and light coats.

Inside, she watched Liam stir his coffee too many times and thought:

I’ll wait. As long as it takes.

Meanwhile, Lando’s thoughts had already drifted well beyond the cold coffee in front of him. Being reminded of his ‘brothers’ made a pang of guilt go through his chest. Even the image of his parents grave didn’t fail to remind him of a different one — the solid granite headstone that he placed with his own two hands after he buried his friend. 

He needed to be more careful if he wanted to make sure he didn’t make a mistake again. He would die before he let anyone lay a hand on them again. He’d die before he let anyone lay a hand on her. It would be a cold day in hell before he let them take someone else away from him again.

No matter how much he wished he could continue to live in these half-delusions of stolen moments of peace that lived far away from the blood running down the back alleys of Monte Carlo, he knew that he was also the one who would have to put his gloves on and get his hands dirty. 

After all, there was dirty work to be done, and there was no man in all of Monaco who was better at what he did than Lando Norris. 

It was a few days later when the large door to Lando’s office creaked open hesitantly.

When Carlos stepped through the heavy oak doors to the boss’s office, he half-expected to find it empty, like it had been most nights lately. Truth be told, the rest of the Circle still hadn’t quite gotten used to Lando being gone so much now, to him haunting someone else’s walls instead of his own more often than not.

But tonight, the old desk lamp was the only thing lighting the room, throwing warped shadows across the mess inside. Carlos stopped short.

When he looked inside, he froze.

Papers carpeted almost everything in sight – the desk, the floor, even pinned to the walls. The walls were littered with a hodgepodge of photos, CCTV stills, maps, receipts, scraps of connection that barely held together. A timeline snaked across the length of the room, erratic and angry with time stamps circled in red pen several times over. Eleven from where he stood, he could distinguish certain images in the sea of evidence. 

Grainy street cam images of a blurred figure moving past the caféA printed photograph of the type of knife used on DanielCross-references between the Leclercs and Gasly’s crew, the names scrawled with a furious hand. Points of contact. Suspected hideouts.

It looked like the inside of a man’s unraveling mind.

In the center of it all, Lando Norris stood like a statue, pale under the dim light, staring at it with the hollow-eyed intensity of a man who hadn’t slept right in days. Maybe longer.

One hand raked through his messy curls, his other hand drumming against a photo of the front of Brews & Books hard enough that the edge bent under his fingers. Lando didn’t look up when he spoke. His voice was low and scratchy, raw from misuse.

"Y’need something?"

Carlos swallowed thickly. "No, boss. Just… erm, I am just checking in."

For a long moment, the only sound was the relentless tap of Lando’s fingers. Carlos carefully stepped closer, unsure whether approaching was the right thing to do. It was only when came near that he was able to notice that the room wasn’t the only thing unusual. Lando wore an unfamiliar expression on his face, dark circles under his eyes and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath until Carlos came to stand beside him.

“There’s something missing," he said, voice low but shaking with fury. "I keep going over it. In my head, in the street cams, Logan’s pictures, the data—"

He turned around, his hand suddenly slamming down and sweeping across the desk, sending papers, pens, an old coffee mug crashing to the floor. Even the Spaniard flinched back, caught off guard.

"It doesn’t make any fucking sense!" he bellowed, chest heaving. Lando leaned over the desk, his hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles went bloodless. For a second, it looked like he might tear the whole thing apart with his bare hands.

Lando ran his hands through his hair yet again, standing up only to begin pacing his office back and forth like some caged animal. He spoke again then, but this time quieter, his voice colder than ice.

"I’ll kill them."

His dark eyes were wild, glittering in the dim light.

 "I’ll hunt ‘em down like dogs," he whispered. "Corner them like the fuckin’ rats they are.”

“Mate, what are you saying? If–”

It was like the Brit didn’t even hear him.

“I’ll break his fingers one by one so he can’t ever hold a weapon again. I’ll cut his tongue out before he can even think of fucking lying to me. I'll– I’ll find something he loves and rip it apart right in front of him so he knows what it feels like."

His voice dropped even lower to something more sinister. He stood, pacing the room, hands running through his hair, eyes wild as he rambled like a madman.

“What they took…” His voice trembled as if he could hardly speak the words, fury rising in his chest. “What they took from us, from me, from– from her…”

He froze, as if suddenly realizing something. His gaze darkened. “How dare they try to fuckin’ touch her? How fucking dare they?”

He turned abruptly, fixing Carlos with a look that made his blood run cold. “They made a mistake. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure they pay for it. I’ll teach them a lesson, alright. I’ll find their weakness because everyone has one. And when I do…”

He clenched his fists, teeth grinding together, his voice now dripping with malevolence. “I’ll find Leclerc. I’ll– I’ll rip him apart if I have to. I’ll leave him on the floor, gutted, so everyone will know. So everyone will see what happens when you try to take what’s mine!”

Carlos, still standing in the doorway, took a deep breath, forcing himself to swallow the knot in his throat. “Lando…” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “We need to talk about this, hermano. You are not thinking straight.”

But Lando didn’t answer him. He was already back at the desk, his eyes locked on the screens, desperately searching for something that would make everything fall into place, a last missing piece.

He wouldn’t rest until he found it.

Lando’s hands shook as he sifted through the files again, muttering to himself. He was practically stumbling now, so consumed by the need to find answers, to pinpoint the one thing that would make all of this make sense. His eyes were wide, dark with frustration, and the bottle of whiskey had already been cracked open, half-gone, and yet he kept reaching for it.

“Alright, no more drinks tonight,” Carlos grimaced, scrunching his nose at the pungent smell of alcohol from Lando’s breath. He took a half glass that Lando seemed to have forgotten about for the time being and poured it into a potted plant nearby instead. “And when is the last time you slept, eh?”

Carlos moved to the other side of the desk as he watched Lando focus intently on pouring himself a new glass. He gently plucked it from his hand and set it down far out of his rech, hoping he was too inebriated by now to go after it. He wasn’t too far off, it seemed, as Lando just went on, lost in his thoughts.

“Fuckin’ gunman was too smart,” Lando muttered, eyes glazed over. He didn’t even notice Carlos moving the glass. “He avoids all the cameras, didn’t leave a trace. Look, see? He uses the hat. I hate hats like that.”

Carlos turned his attention to where Lando was rapidly pointing between a series of photos, snapshots of the gunman leaving the scene of the shooting that killed that old lady. 

Lando continued, undeterred by the lack of audible response. “S’not… messy, y’know? He’s not– not arrogant like Gasly or Leclerc. They would’ve been more sloppy. They don’t give a shit No, this guy’s... this guy’s different. He’s, uh, tall. Tall and fast. Maybe… Maybe it could be Esteban? Yeah, yeah... but Esteban doesn’t have the cause…”

Carlos bit back a sigh, sitting down across from him. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he couldn’t let Lando keep spiraling like this.

“But if it’s not Esteban,” Lando continued, his voice rising in pitch, the frustration clear, and he stumbled over his words, “then who the fuck is it? Who’s fast enough, who’s quick enough to get in and out like that? The little one? What his fuckin’ name, the little Leclerc… Him, maybe?”

Carlos didn’t even get a chance to butt in, before lando cut himself off, mind whirling faster than even he could keep up. “It could, he’s fast, but–” He growled in frustration. “But– No, no, he’s too young, too dumb. Fuck! I don’t know.”

He slammed his fist onto the desk again, hard enough to make the bookshelves tremble against the walls.

Carlos’s voice was calm, soothing, though the older man was struggling to keep his own anxiety in check. “Lando, you need to take it easy, mate. You are not going to figure this out in one night. You need to sleep. You need to rest.”

But of course, Lando was well beyond hearing him. His mind was running a thousand miles a minute, trying to piece together the jumbled mess of thoughts that never seemed to fit. He was a man unraveling at the seams, and all Carlos could do was watch, powerless.

“Charles — no, it’s not him, not his height,” Lando muttered, shaking his head violently, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “It has to be someone on his fucking behalf. Someone quick, young, someone who could’ve gotten in and out fast... but who? Fucking who, Carlos?”

Carlos leaned forward, trying his best to keep his voice level yet again. “We don’t know, hermano. Let’s slow down, alright? We’ll figure it out, but you need to take a step back.”

But Lando’s eyes were wild, unfocused. He wasn’t listening. “It’s Pierre,” he hissed, almost to himself. “It’s Pierre who would’ve known about her shift—Kika works with her. He could’ve... he could’ve known when she was there.”

Carlos knew there was no use in trying to reason with him right now. Lando had worked himself into a frenzy, and the more Carlos tried to calm him down, the more agitated he became. It was like watching a man fighting himself, and Carlos wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Lando,” Carlos said, his voice sharp. “Stop! Just— stop it. You are not thinking straight. This isn’t right.”

But Lando wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even aware that Carlos had been speaking. He grabbed another file, tossing it across the desk, frustrated. “I’ve got the CCTV, I’ve got Logan’s pictures, I’ve got the bullet shells—what the fuck am I missing? What is it?” His voice cracked, barely audible now. “I’m so fucking close.”

That’s it.

Carlos sat back, his mind racing. He couldn’t let Lando keep going like this. It was clear he wasn’t going to listen to reason, not like this. The younger man was running on empty, and the all the liquor he’d consumed wasn’t helping. The man needed rest, not more whiskey. He needed someone to help him see past the blur.

With a deep breath, Carlos made the call.

“Max,” he said quietly, into the phone. “Lando’s... not alright. Can you come get him? He’s not in a good place right now.”

As the conversation ended, Lando continued to ramble, his words barely making sense, his movements jerky. “I’ll get them, Carlos,” he muttered, his voice lower, darker. “I’ll fucking get them for what they did. To her. To me. To Daniel.”

Carlos stood up, his hand on Lando’s shoulder, trying to guide him away from the desk. “Come on, mate. You’ve been at this for almost two days. You need rest. You’re not gonna get answers like this.”

Lando didn’t respond. He just stared at the wall, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes dull and bloodshot.

Max Fewtrell arrived moments later, his face taut with worry. He looked at Carlos and then at Lando, who had fallen silent, his body sagging as if the fight had been drained out of him.

“Take him home,” Carlos said, his voice resigned. “He needs sleep. He needs... something.”

Max nodded, walking over to Lando and gently taking hold of his arm. “Come on, mate,” he said softly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

There was an odd knock at the door. Not urgent or rhythmic, just... offbeat and uneven.

Unfamiliar.

Carefully, she opened it to find a stranger standing there, slightly out of breath, his arm slung firmly around a half-conscious Liam. Liam, who looked like he’d been poured into the shape of a man and then left out to dry, his form rumpled, sagging, his eyes glazed.

“Hi,” the stranger said, awkwardly clearing his throat. He appeared young, likely around Liam’s age, if she had to guess. He seemed well kept, so she could probably rule out him being one of those weirdos that lived down the block. “I— I’m Max. He’s, uh...” He gestured down to the weight dragging on his side. “He’s drunk. I think he could use some company tonight.”

She nodded once, her hand already reaching out for Lando’s weight. “Thank you for bringing him home, Max.”

Max gave a small smile, half-gratitude and half-apology. “Yeah. Of course.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but Lando groaned and shifted, and that was cue enough. 

Instead, what he said was, “He’s heavier than he looks. Good luck.”

With a nod, Max turned and disappeared down the hallway and into the night.

She eased Liam inside, his full weight slumping into her side until he was half-carried, half-dragged to the couch. He mumbled something that might’ve been her name, or perhaps it was a string of consonants meant to sound like it. Lando leaned more of his weight against her. “Smells like you,” he mumbled, somewhere between recognition and comfort, and she huffed a laugh, guiding him inside.

“Yeah, well. That tends to happen when you’re in my apartment.”

“Mm,” he hummed.

When she dropped him gently onto the cushions, he sighed as if he’d been holding tension in for hours.

Then, he blinked up at her.

“You were reading,” he slurred, his eyes falling on the book still splayed open on the armrest. “You always read.”

“Well, yes. I like reading,” she replied with a soft smile, moving to tidy up the blanket he’d bunched with his elbow.

He reached out suddenly, his fingers catching a lock of her hair between them. “I like your hair.”

Her breath caught, half-amused. “You told me that last week.”

“I did?” He frowned, like the thought surprised him. Then his face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Smart me.”

Once she got him settled on the couch, she helped him out of his jacket one sleeve at a time. He flopped back with a groan, arm over his face like the light hurt.

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hand dropped to the side, head turning until his gaze settled on the book she’d set face down on the coffee table.

Her fingers brushed the hair back from his forehead, and he sighed like the tension was melting from his spine. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The TV flickered quietly in the background, the only sound in the room besides the rhythm of his breathing.

“I don’t like being drunk,” he admitted softly, voice slurred but honest.

“Then why’d you drink?”

He paused at that. She leaned back to look at him , waiting patiently to listen to his answer like it mattered.

“Because if I stopped thinking tonight, I thought maybe I’d stop feeling too.”

She didn’t respond right away. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to say – so she settled for saying nothing. Instead, she just ran her thumb along his temple, slow and steady.

He looked up at her then — not smiling, not joking, just watching her like he needed to memorize the shape of her kindness.

“I like it here,” he said, voice quiet as if he was sharing a secret someone else might accidently overhear. “With you.”

She could’ve said something witty, or maybe even deflected like she always did. But tonight, she just whispered, “Good. You know you’re always welcome to stay.”

He smiled again, sleepier this time and let his eyes fall closed for a long blink as he leaned his head back against the couch.

“Don’t disappear, yeah?” he mumbled.

“I won’t,” she promised, soft and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”

After Y/N returned from the kitchen with some electrolytes and pain medication for the inevitable hangover he’d suffer tomorrow, she returned to find him sitting up again, halfway between sleep and consciousness. His eyelids were fluttering, barely hanging on. 

He reached for her before he could stop himself, one of his hands curling itself loosely around her wrist, the pad of his thumb tracing absent, slow circles against her skin. There was nothing sexual or even intentional about it – just a kind of tethering, like he didn’t want to drift too far.

“You’re good t’me,” he mumbled, barely comprehensible. “Don’t get it. But I like it.”

Her heart fluttered so rapidly that it felt like her breath had escaped her, and took anything she could have thought to say along with it. She focused on the only thing she still could, just brushing his hair back from his face with her, feeling something soft and stupid settle in her chest.

Finally, the soothing motion of her hand stopped, causing him to blink  groggily. “Alright, buddy,” she murmured, “let’s get you horizontal. You should probably get some proper rest.”

He blinked owlishly, looking up at her as if it was his first time ever seeing her. “But you were readin’.” he slurred.

She glanced at the book she’d put aside when she heard Max knock on the door. “Yeah, I was.”

“That’s nice. You read nice things.”

“I try to,” she laughed. “Come on, lay back before you fall over, stupid.”

“Nice,” he said, genuinely. “You’ve got the kind of face that should always be near a book. Or in a paintin’. Or…” He swayed. “In my lap. Wait—no. Me? My head. In your lap.”

She couldn’t help it — she snorted. “You’re so articulate when you’re drunk.”

“Mm, yes, ’m very talented,” he replied solemnly, then immediately missed the couch by a few inches and collapsed half-on, half-off it with a dull thump.

She rolled her eyes, crouching beside him to help maneuver his limbs. “Alright, Casanova, come on.” She guided him up and onto the cushions, and when she finally sat down, he immediately curled onto his side and nudged his head into her lap like it was where he belonged.

She froze for just a second — surprised at how naturally he did it, how much he seemed to trust her this way. Her fingers hovered over his curls, indecisive, before she allowed them to settle there gently, simply resting their comfortable weight.

Oh, Liam. Why do you do this to me?

It took what was probably a concerning amount of effort for her to try and breath very, very slowly in hopes that it would quiet the way her heart was hammering against her ribs. It would be quite embarrassing if he could hear it.

Mortifying, really.

Just as soon as she’d deemed her efforts mostly successful, his eyes fluttered closed before opening again slowly, like he was afraid he’d miss something if he blinked too long. 

His fingers brushed her wrist again, then lazily trailed to the hem of her sleeve. He smiled up at her, squinting like she was glowing under a sun only he could see.

“So pretty, you are,” he murmured, words thick and slow. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

Oh, fuck me.

You can’t just say things like that.

To his credit, however, it was hard to distinguish of he was even aware he’d said that aloud, or if he simply thought he was talking to himself. She raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m, uh, I am very real, I assure you.”

Apparently satisfied with her answer, his eyes fluttered closed. “Mm. Dunno, you feel like a dream. Like, the good kind. One of the good ones. The ones you wake up from and try to fall back asleep for.”

She swallowed, heart tripping over itself.

“Liam…”

Her heart gave a quiet, reluctant thud.

“You should sleep,” she said gently, brushing a few stray curls from his forehead. It was like she couldn’t help it – hopefully, he’d be too hungover in the morning to remember any of this.

“But you were reading.” He blinked up at her, almost pouting. “Read to me?”

“I’m not reading that to you,” she laughed, nodding at the very nonfiction-looking book. “You’ll have nightmares about European history.”

He hummed like that was a genuine concern. “You’ll protect me?”

She smiled despite herself. “From Napoleon?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Of course. Always.”

A beat passed. He blinked slowly, his long lashes brushing his cheeks. Y/N had always found it remarkably unfair how he naturally had such long beautiful lashes, ne that framed his eyes so perfectly it was like God personally wanted her to suffer knowing how beautiful his eyes were 

“I like your laugh,” he murmured, already drifting. “And your hands. And your whole… you-ness.”

She didn’t answer. She just kept brushing his hair back, slower now. His breathing evened out, lips slightly parted, finally quiet in a way she hadn’t seen him all week.

“Can you still read to me? I just… I like hearing your voice.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the way he asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Hm? Y- yeah, of course. Just relax, you can close your eyes too, if you want to.”

Lando’s lips twitched in a sleepy grin, and he gave her a slow nod, letting his body go limp. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her last words, but he wasn’t fighting it anymore — his tiredness was taking over. She turned to the book, brushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead as she began reading lowly in the quiet room.

He shifted a bit, restless at first, but she kept going, her voice steady and warm as she read. It wasn’t anything special, really — just the hum of her voice and the rustle of pages. But then he shifted again, and again, clearly unable to get comfortable.

She paused, glancing down at him. “Hey, something wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand, tentative and slow, stretched up from his side and reached for her free one. She blinked, unsure at first, but then she let him take her hand. He pulled it gently to his head, bringing her fingers to lightly brush against the soft strands of his hair, as if seeking permission.

This boy will be the death of me.

She didn’t question it. She just let him, sensing the need for something more than what words could give him right now.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she began to play with his hair, the soft, rhythmic motion easing into something natural. His head tilted slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he leaned into her touch.

Without saying anything else, she resumed reading. It was a slow, gentle ebb of words, her voice falling into a soothing lull as the minutes passed. By the time she reached the end of the page, his breathing had already deepened, soft and steady. 

He was out like a light — his face relaxed like’d never known anything but sleep as restful as this. Like he’d never known stress, or fear, or grief. Like those things would never be able to reach him again.

Even once she stopped reading out loud, she couldn’t help but smile to herself, continuing to run her fingers through his hair as he slept. Something in the quiet comfort of that moment made her chest tighten, but in the best way — like she was finally allowed to just be, without the weight of the world pressing down on her, or him. Like she was allowed one more glimpse of him, another sliver of this dream she’d begun to crave so deeply.

It was a pocket of peace, the two of them in this bubble. The last thought she remembered having as her own eyelids began to drift close was how much she wished she could freeze this moment in time, a snow globe capturing the sweetest of dreams.

a/n: i'm so sorry this wasn't out when promised. yesterday was a shit day. sorry if this is shit.

[tryandbehappy]

Let’s be real.

This is classic. Absolute classic.

Emotional rollercoaster storytelling 101.

The writers are doing exactly what they always do when they want us to lose our minds (in any show)

They’re turning the volume up to maximum pain

so we feel everything.

Because how else do you make the audience care?

You take us to the lowest low.

You give us a moment that feels like the end.

You hit us with that brutal injustice.

He loves her.He risked everything for her.

And now she thinks he betrayed her?

It’s so unfair it makes you scream.

He didn’t want this. He was cornered. And she doesn’t know.

And that’s the whole point.

The audience is supposed to yell:

“How can she not see it?!”

“Why is he being punished for loving her?”

“Doesn’t she love him back?”

“If she does she’ll forgive him.”

But let’s not forget something really important:

This is not the end.

If it were, they would have saved this for the final episode. They didn’t. They broke them right before the end.

Why?

To raise the stakes.

To make our hearts race.

And now they’re releasing all these doomsday interviews,

so we’ll cry, spiral, scream at the writers.

They want the drama.They want the social media chaos.They want Twitter and Tumblr and TikTok in full meltdown mode.

Because this level of emotional destruction?

They only do this with the main couple.

The one that’s central.

The one that matters most. Because they know we care the most about them.

They’re pulling us to hell

so that when they give us heaven we feel it ten times deeper.

They’re doing this because they need us to care.

To scream, to sob, to want it so bad we can’t breathe.

And yes, they did make it brutal.

But honestly?

It could have been worse.

Because we know Nick didn’t mean harm.

We saw what he was going through.

He’s been under insane pressure the past few episodes😭

Threatened with death.Risking himself over and over again to help June, her husband, her missions, her people!!! Had to kill people, had to lie, had to be under enormous pressure of the high commander.

And now he’s being punished?

Come on.

Add to that (what we learnt):

This is a boy who was abandoned by his mother.

Abused by his father.Came from nothing.

No safety. No legacy. No protection.

(Classic!!!)

Just a quiet, loyal heart.

Loving deeply, endlessly, without ever asking for anything back. Wishing he’d take her to Paris 💔

He’s not a soldier for Mayday.

He’s not a true believer of any cause.

He’s just a man who’s been saving her and loving her for six seasons.

Let’s sum up what we got only in that ep:

1. The Flashback

We learnt about Nick’s childhood lonely, unloved, emotionally starved. + their dreams about Paris

2. The Almost-Happiness

He confesses his love.She says “yes” like Luke doesn’t exist.For a moment, it feels like everything is finally aligning. They are getting their Paris

3. The Vulnerability

Nick opens up completely.He chooses her.

He asks her to come with him. He’s ready to run away with her. Finally.

4. The Collapse

It all falls apart. He’s forced into an impossible position.

She is devastated, not knowing the whole truth.

5. The Final Scene

Shot like a ghost story when he disappears. June stands alone.

Lana Del Rey plays a song of loss, It feels like grief.

Classic emotional structure:

give us almost-everything, then take it away

so when the payoff comes, we feel it twice as hard.

I’ve seen a lot of shows.

And sure, you never know for 100%.

Sometimes they mess it up

like they did with Peter Quinn in Homeland (still not over it). My god that was soooook brutal and I can’t even… bitches I hate you

But most of the time?

This is just the build-up.

This is what they do to make the happy ending feel earned.

This is what they do so that when they finally give us joy,

we cry harder.

Because we bled for it first 💔♥️

[thatswhatsushesaid]

happy sunday!! time to remember how small and alone and frightened and scared nie huaisang looks while held captive in qishan!

specifically, that moment when he finds out qinghe has been taken by the qishan wen, and asks that sentient sphincter muscle wen chao, "what happened to my big brother?!"

and wen chao just smiles at him and says, "what do you think?"

anyway it low key broke my heart!! someone give huaisang a hug 🥺

[chocottang]

the more i think abt goldica the more i like it

[fcrir]

Can't help but think of a theory I saw about Zack viewing the church as a place of healing and how it ties closely to his relationship with Aerith and the comfort he easily finds with her. He met her when everything he knew and trusted was beginning to fall apart, and in that storm she was there in her own little heaven, crafting her own happiness away from the world above and it's troubles. It's something he never realized he was lacking, a moment of peace from war and the active life of a SOLDIER. Although he's the kind to prefer to always be doing something, he needed to stop and think, especially after Angeal's alleged betrayal that he was desperate to understand. At these instances of confusion, he would turn to the church, to Aerith, whether they would stare at the flowers, have a simple conversation or do nothing at all, he almost always finds a sense of clarity at the end, maybe not a clear and definitive comprehension but peaceful acceptance. Zack isn't secretive and rather honest with his emotions, but he tends to avoid the negative, or more accurately, to stall it, always hoping he would find the best in the situation and turn any negativity into something of use. And So, he doesn't speak much of the unhappy, doesn't wish to bring anyone down with him. That said, even the brightest of people are bound to break, losing Angeal had a heavy impact on him, and in the haze of that raw ache he instinctively sought comfort from the one person who's presence alone would offer him healing, felt like he drop the act of bravery around her, letting his emotions flow without restraint, which is a telling sign of his deep trust in her.

[franzkafkagf]

the funeral (a grotesque display of two queens’ grief, forced on them against their will) being interjected by images of aegon beating blood into a bloody ruin says something about how women’s grief is exploited and paraded around as a virtue while male grief is only allowed to exist in conjunction with violence.

female sorrow is expected to be public, dignified, and even noble, it serves as a symbol of quiet strength and resilience. otto uses it as a tool to gain sympathy for their cause. notice how he forced alicent and helaena into it, while he allowed aegon not to participate. wouldn‘t the king being at the funeral send a powerful message? yes, it would. but otto looks at aegon with contempt, the other councilmen and alicent do not know what to do with his tears. the realm cannot be allowed to see the king grieve. not like this.

male grief is denied its own space and validity unless it manifests in aggressive or destructive acts. aegon realizes this to some degree too— he lashes out publicly by killing the rat catchers. he shows his grief by being violent, by spilling blood.

the toxicity of it all is very effectively shown at the end when aegon is crying by himself. did he retreat there to be alone and finally let it all out? his mother is either letting him have that moment alone or she’s deeply uncomfortable with it and chooses to leave. no matter what motivated alicent in acting the way she did— the moment still reveals how male vulnerability is something people fear. it shows that even the most human expressions of pain are not acceptable for some.

[simonscumdump]

Reuniting with Simon after a long mission.

It was a rough one, you’d be able to tell the moment his sluggish form stepped into the apartment.

The thud of his boots almost dragging against the floor was sign enough that he was drained, worn out even.

You’d greet him, the usual hug and quick kiss that whilst one would satisfy him…did very little for him in that moment.

He missed you.

Achingly, desperately. Yearning for the touch and affection of the woman who so easily owned his heart.

It would take little effort, he’d lift you up, carrying you over to the sofa before plopping down on it with a familiar grunt. Having you perched in his lap.

“Kisses, lovie.”

The words would escape him in a groggier tone than normal, and for a moment…they’d sound almost vulnerable.

Not one to deny your man the privilege of your affection, you’d press your lips to his. A kiss so gentle it borderline frustrated him.

He’d deepen it, simply relishing in the taste of you after so long without it. He would try to ignore the way his cock would twitch and throb to life beneath you. Not wanting to sour his innocent moment with you.

But with each kiss, a desperation clawed at him. His breath would grow ragged, soft little puffs into your mouth. Yet the moment he’d feel your tongue slide against his own, the aching throb in his cock grew too much.

“Please…I know m’tired…but I just…need to feel you love…please…”

It would croak out of him, seeping into the kiss in such a pathetic whisper of desperation that you simply couldn’t help but indulge.

Taking the time to help him strip, counting the new bruises and odd healing cuts, making sure to show love to each one…you’d be met with a sight so pitiful it would be embarrassing if it didn’t further solidify how deeply wanted you were by him.

The picture perfect sight of need…his boxers, that tightly strained with the weight of his cock pressing through the fabric, had the darkest patch of wet fabric right where his tip dug into it. A stark realisation that the man missed you enough for kissing to be enough to have him leaking beneath you.

“Love…quit starin’.”

It would be enough to motivate you to shred off the last bit of offending fabric, only to have yours follow shortly after.

And the moment he buried into your cunt, Simon relaxed, as if he could finally feel like he was home again. As close to you as possible.

[at0m-b0mb-baby]

“I love you.” — Arcane

how the main cast say “I love you” ft, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Jayce, Viktor, Ekko and Sevika.

Jinx

♡ Jinx would confess her love impulsively, likely in the middle of one of her chaotic activities. She’d blurt it out without much thought, then immediately try to brush it off as if it wasn’t a big deal.

♡ It would happen in a moment of manic excitement—maybe while building a new weapon or causing destruction together.

♡ “You know I… uh… I love you or whatever, okay?! Don’t make it weird!”

♡ After saying it, she’d pretend it didn’t happen, avoiding eye contact. Deep down, though, she’d be terrified of your reaction but desperately want you to feel the same.

Vi

♡ Vi would say “I love you” after a significant or intense moment, like after a fight or while patching you up. She’d want it to feel real and grounded, not just something she throws around casually.

♡ She’d keep it straightforward but genuine, her voice softening in a way that shows her tough exterior is cracking.

♡ “Look, I’m not great at this, but I love you. You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours. Always.”

♡ She’d look a little nervous but would quickly recover, smirking or teasing to lighten the mood if things felt too vulnerable.

Caitlyn

♡ Caitlyn’s confession would be deliberate and heartfelt, happening in a quiet, intimate moment. She’d want you to know she means it fully.

♡ It would likely happen during a calm evening, after she’s had time to gather her thoughts and find the right moment to say it.

♡ “I’ve been meaning to tell you… I love you. Truly. You’ve brought so much light into my life, and I can’t imagine it without you.”

♡ She’d watch you closely, her composure hiding subtle nerves. When you say it back, she’d smile warmly, radiating quiet confidence as she holds your hand.

Jayce

♡ Jayce’s confession would be grand and emotional, delivered with the same passion he pours into everything he does.

♡ He’d say it in a moment of triumph or vulnerability, possibly after a victory or while doubting himself and finding comfort in you.

♡ “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed. I love you, and I don’t want to go another day without you knowing that.”

♡ He’d look at you with loving eyes, his heart on his sleeve. Once you reciprocate, he’d pull you into a tight embrace, relieved and overjoyed.

Viktor

♡ Viktor’s confession would be quiet, understated, and deeply sincere. He wouldn’t make a grand gesture but would choose a private moment where his words would carry weight.

♡ It would likely happen late at night while he’s working, and you’re nearby keeping him company. He’d pause for a moment, realizing how much you mean to him.

♡ “I never expected to find someone who sees me… and accepts me as you do. I love you. I hope you know that.”

♡ He’d glance at you, his expression guarded but hopeful. If you say it back, he’d let out a soft, relieved sigh, his lips curling into a rare smile as he continues his work with renewed focus.

Ekko

♡ Ekko’s confession would be sweet and playful, with a touch of hesitation as he tries to gauge your reaction.

♡ It would likely happen during a casual moment, like while exploring the Lanes together or sharing a quiet conversation about your lives.

♡ “You know… you’re kinda my favorite person. Okay, scratch that—you are my favorite person. I love you. There, I said it.”

♡ He’d grin nervously, rubbing the back of his neck or looking away until you respond. Once you say it back, he’d laugh, relieved, and tease you lightly to mask how much it meant to him.

Sevika

♡ Sevika’s confession would be gruff, direct, and tinged with vulnerability she’d rather not show.

♡ It would happen in an emotionally charged moment, like after you’ve been in danger or during a rare quiet evening when the mood feels right.

♡ “I don’t say stuff like this. But… I love you. So don’t make me regret telling you, alright?”

♡ She’d watch you carefully, her eyes sharp but betraying a hint of nervousness. When you say it back, she’d exhale slightly, offer a small smirk, and likely distract herself with a drink to mask how much she cares.

[blythesarchives]

Manhandle. | L.H

summary: Feral-ish Logan is obsessed with you.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | Porn no plot | Soft dom!Logan | PiV | Unprotected sex | Swearing | Light degrading | Dirty talk | Cunnilingus | Aftercare

a/n: I will die on the hill that Logan loves his partners a little chubby. Idc. I didn't have the patience to edit this ignore mistakes pleaseee. Reposted after deleting, reprised a little bit but I didn't bother to edit it so ignore mistakes. ;; wc: 2.4k

Logan cannot stand you for one reason and one reason alone: You drive him crazy.

Why the fuck are you so soft? Why do your hips sway so much? Why are you so doe eyed and sweet smelling?

His cock twitches in his pants as he sees you talking to another mutant. Fuck. He doesn't like it. He wants you for himself. He needs you for himself.

That's exactly what he does.

He grabs you and tugs you along, you of course go with him, being so sweet and naïve...when you're alone, he practically rips your clothes off. He normally would tease and play with you more, but he can't help himself. He's too eager, his patience is diminished.

Your soft gasp when he tore the fabric from your body made his balls grow heavy and a low growl rumble out of him. You were beautiful to him, your body drove him crazy. He felt hotter than normal, like he was going to die if he didn't have you. You made the most pathetic sound when his hand pushed between your legs and felt your soft folds, his calloused fingertips finding that sweet little pearl. "Fuckin' wet for me...from rippin' y'r clothes off, huh? You like it like this? Bein' manhandled?"

You felt your face heat up and your legs trembled, threatening to give out at any second. You stammered, unable to come up with a solid reply as you pathetically tried while his thick fingers explored your folds confidently. They prodded your entrance, making you tense a bit.

"Y'r tight, my damn finger has a hard time gettin' in here...how are you gonna handle my cock, princess?" he grabbed your face with his free hand, tilting your head up as he kissed you. His lips were warm, the taste of cigar and whiskey on them, a hint of salt and jerky. You melted into his kiss, even though he was claiming you this way. His tongue pushed into your mouth, invading you and exploring every inch as if he owned you. His teeth gently bit your bottom lip, he didn't want to overwhelm you too much, not yet anyway.

"That's it...whimperin' for me...you love this, I can tell by how wet you are. Can't imagine my cock in there...it's so tiny...have you ever been fucked before?" he grunts deeply in your ear, the sound making your entire body react as you shake. Your nipples erect and feeling stimulated by the fabric of his shirt as he stands close enough to rub against you.

"Logan...I...mmn, I have I just...-"

"You've never been with me baby, I'll show ya what a real man can do. I know when y'r fakin' too, you won't have to do that with me." He chuckled, his hand moving away from your dripping core and he grabbed your plush hips, lifting you up while his hands massages and groped the meat of your ass and thighs. "Goddamn...these things..." He threw you onto his bed, his hand on your belly for a moment, kneading you.

"Logan-!"

"I gotcha...just let me take care of you..." Logan's voice was gentle, but he sounded slightly condescending as he spoke to you, the clear teasing undertone made you whimper in response. His hands pawed at you like a man who had seen a naked woman for the first time, on your breasts, sides, hips. Hs grabbed your thighs again, eagerly holding onto your flesh and spreading your legs apart for him. "Such a fat cunt you have, looks comfy, you'll treat my dick well won't you, sweet thing? Perfect little home for it...that's where it belongs isn't it? You're lost without my dick in you."

You squirmed below him, feeling vulnerable and exposed as he held you down. You couldn't deny how hot your pussy felt, you wanted to demand for him to stick it in, to just fuck you into the mattress, but you also didn't want to admit it, playing the game a bit. Besides, Logan was clearly enjoying how you were acting, so you kept it up.

"Ah...please..." You begged lightly, your legs falling limp and allowing him to open them wider. You felt so horny by now, Logan had a way of bringing it out of you. Your core felt like it was on fire, and you needed his touch more than air.

He placed open mouth kisses on your inner thighs, his teeth grazing the thin skin and biting your flesh teasingly. You could feel the slick, warm muscle of his tongue barely touch your sensitive skin as he continued to knowingly tease you. After his painfully slow movements, he finally got to your center, his pupils blown like he was on drugs.

Logan growled deeply, exhaling through slightly parted lips as his hands came around and held your thighs tightly. His head lowered, nose nudged your clit as this man took a deep inhale of your sex. Your face heated immediately, suddenly feeling embarrassed he was smelling you so intensely. His nose buried, your wetness covering it as he investigated further into you until he was satisfied memorizing your scent.

When he pulled up, he barely pulled away for you to say something about his little display and his lips latched onto your clit, knowing exactly where it was after mapping out your cunt mentally. He was torn between making you squirm and beg, or just taking what he wanted. You were intoxicating to him, he hadn't felt his cock throbbing to painfully before, patience was not an option right now.

You made the sweetest sound for him when his encased your clit in his mouth, his lips securing around that pretty pearl and he lightly sucked on it. His firm hands held you still while you naturally squirmed around from the stimulation, keeping you down even when you tried to buck into his mouth more. Logan pulled back enough for his breath to warm your swollen bud, and he grunted, "Stay still. You don't get to move. I'll make you cum, I'll decide when you've had enough."

The tiny whimper that left your trembling lips was enough encouragement, but he wanted to push a little more. So, the smug bastard leaned up and over you, glaring down, his wet lips shining against the dull light of the room peering through his always drawn curtains. Still, when the warm sunlight did peek through, he looked gorgeous.

"Say it. Say you understand."

"I...I understand..." you swallowed the thick lump in your throat, not realizing how tight it felt until you spoke again. He smirked down at you, his eyes raking over your form and he let his hands knead your body a bit more. "So soft...perfect for me. I can really throw you around hm? You can take it..." he groaned as he felt your body, his hands moving up to your breasts and holding them, massaging and pinching your nipples like an eager virgin.

Logan moved down again, his mouth drooled as he took your clit once more, his tongue lapping and teasing the bud before dipping inside your entrance. He tasted you, groaning like an animal at your taste as his tongue went deeper. You hooked your leg around his shoulder and pulled him closer, finding a loophole in keeping your hips still.

Luckily for you, he enjoyed it enough to allow it.

"Stop squirmin' princess...I've almost gotcha ready." He continued to work your pussy until he felt like you were ready enough. He pulled away and licked his lips, "Now...open those pretty lips." he swiped his fingers over your folds and then held them to your pouty face. "You're such a dirty girl...doing everything I say, aren't you?"

He lightly spanked your pussy, then pressed his dick into your folds and rubbed to slicken himself. When did he take his pants off?

You were interrupted when his fat head poked your entrance, forcing you to stretch out around the soft flesh and allow him in. You mewled desperately, the burn of it was so addicting. "Lo...Logan..!"

"Shh, sh, you can take it." he whispered and pushed until his head popped inside. You gasped, just his head made you feel dizzy. And he kept going.

Inch after inch.

You were squirming and crying softly, he was so big, ugh it felt amazing but overwhelming all at once. "L-Lo..Logan, I..aah," you blabbered, his thumbs swiped your temples as he chuckled down at you, his body keeping you warm. He pressed his scruffy cheek into yours so he could whisper to you while his hips rocked against you, his wet head smacking gentle, sloppy kisses to your swollen cervix.

"Shh, good girl, gooood girl," he praised you in a low, soothing tone, his voice contradicting what his body was doing to you. You felt like you were on fire, pleasure was shooting through every inch of you while that delightful burn remained as strong as ever. "Y'r doin' good...so good. Takin' all of me inside ya...knew you could."

Logan's hips moved faster inside you, driving himself in and out at a much better pace for the both of you. He held your legs up and watched himself move in and out of you, admiring the beautiful arousal that coated into his curls. He deliberately made slow, long thrusts so you could feel the mold of his cock perfectly.

Every vein, the spongy head, how his cock formed your velvet walls and made you adjust.

It was everything you could've wanted from him.

While you memorized the shape of his dick, he suddenly threw your legs around his waist and he leaned over you, causing your hips to come up and off the bed a little. He began to drive himself inside at an animalistic, rough pace while he held you. His teeth bared as he let out the deepest snarl you ever heard from him. "You make me fuckin' wild, baby...look what y'r doin'...I'm actin' like how I should. A fuckin' animal."

You sobbed lightly from the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you, his cock hitting that delicious spongy spot inside that made you see stars. "Logan!! M'gonna cum...!" you cried, your fists balling the sheets by your head as you let out all your little sounds you tried to hide.

There was no reason to hide them anymore, honestly.

He kept going just as he was, knowing his movements and pace were perfect for you. "That's it...yeah baby, cum on my cock, show me how much you like it, milk my cock." Logan held your hips firm, his fingers dug into your flesh as he focused on his thrusts, driving deeper and deeper.

You finally let out a strangled cry, your vision blurring as your body released around him, clamping down on his dick like a vice and almost messing up his rhythm. Logan hissed, "G-goddamn-"

"I'm cumming, fuck! Don't stop, keep going, keep fucking me!" you screamed desperately, reaching you and clawing his shoulder blades, your hips rocking against his thrusts as your mind just focused on riding out your orgasm for as long as possible. He moved with you until he finally let loose, one single thrust in and his cock swelled and exploded against your pretty cervix, spraying his cum inside and filling up your little hole. He dripped out of you as he continued to fill you up, cum squeezing past his cock plugging your pussy, but the sheer amount of it couldn't be contained completely.

Logan's chest rose and fell quickly, his skin in a thin sheen from sweat, as was yours, and you both stilled as you regained your breaths together. You were in a complete daze, your mind foggy from pleasure and good hormones, his dick still buried inside you and felt so right.

"Good girl...fuck, my girl." he grumbled and nudged your head to the side with his own, kissing your jaw. "Did so well...down we go, easy," he lowered your legs while speaking to you gently, pulling himself from your body and watching as his cum flowed out of you. You whined at the absence of him, he just tsked and shushed you.

"Ah, don't give me that...we have to get you cleaned up. Be good for me, and I'll make sure you're nice and cozy after." Logan chuckled at your dazed expression, lifting you up a bit and smirking at how you whined into him.

"Logan....noo, just a little longer..." You pleaded lightly, trying your best to convince him, but he was not going to give in. Instead he picked you up with ease, your weight didn't bother him in the slightest, and he carried you to the bathroom.

"Clean first, then we can lay all you want." He set you down in the bathroom, knowing you were very exhausted by now and most likely coming down from your orgasm high, so he made the clean up quick. His touches were gentle, carefully washing the rag over your body and between your legs, getting all the sticky cum washed away. He stood behind you and kissed the nape of your neck, giving you goosebumps even under the hot water. "Doin' good for me...keep it up, we're almost done princess..."

When you were finally finished, you were so relieved to lay on the clean bed. Your body was much more worn out than you thought, before you collapsed, your legs trembled and almost refused to hold you up. You snuggled into the sheets, smelling heavily of Logan plus a hint of the earthy cologne he rarely wears.

He joined you a few minutes later, his strong arms wrapped around you and held you close. His hand slowly caressed up and down your side, gently squeezing and massaging you. His presence and the tiredness hit you after cleaning, and the drop of hormones made you want to sleep. Your body turned towards him, your face burying in his chest as you let out a shaky breath.

"Easy...I gotcha...sleepy girl. Go on and take a nap, I'll stick with ya until you wake...promise." He kissed the crown of your head and held you firmly against him, knowing you were going to fall asleep any second. You drove him so wild but he also felt a strong need for you in other ways. He wanted you for himself in every shape and form, you were so beautiful, and he would make sure you believed it and saw yourself as he did.

If he couldn't convince you with words, well...he can always fuck you again and make you see.

Thanks for reading - em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest

[hans-wh0re]

DEVOTION |

Pairing: Bf! Chan x gf afab reader C.W: Established Relationship, Soft Dom Chan, Fingering, Mild Daddy Kink, Penetrative Sex, Overstimulation, Brief Mention of Bite Marks, Some good aftercare (i hope)….. A.N: Just was in the mood for something soft (?). M so bad at writing soft things lmao. Again, don't have high expectations!

"...that's it," Chan breathes, the words a rough prayer against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His voice is low, guttural, thick with the reverence he only shows when he has you like this – utterly vulnerable, utterly his to care for, to pleasure, to break down. You're sprawled back against a mountain of pillows on the bed, legs spread wide for him, hips slightly elevated by the cushion he meticulously placed beneath you moments ago. Every nerve ending is alive, singing under the anticipation, under the weight of his intense, worshipful gaze.

He kneels between your legs, not touching you yet, just looking. His eyes, usually warm and crinkled with laughter, are dark now, almost black, pupils blown wide with focused adoration and simmering control. He takes his time, deliberately cataloging every detail – the flush high on your thighs, the way your breath hitches in your chest, the glistening dew already beading at your entrance, offered up just for him. This slow, visual consumption is part of the ritual, part of his service, making you hyper-aware, making you ache.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, finally reaching out. Not with his hands, not yet. He leans forward, his hair brushing against your inner thigh as he presses a soft, reverent kiss high up, near the juncture of your leg and hip. Then another, slightly lower. He works his way down, slow, deliberate kisses punctuating his progress, leaving trails of tingling heat in their wake. He noses at the damp curls protecting your mound, inhaling deeply, possessively. "Smell so fucking good," he groans, the sound vibrating against your skin. "So sweet. "

His tongue darts out, finally, tracing the outer lips with painstaking slowness, mapping your folds, tasting your readiness. You gasp, fingers fisting in the sheets beside you, already starting to tremble. He ignores your reaction for a moment, continuing his worshipful exploration, lapping gently, deliberately avoiding the most sensitive spot, drawing out the torture and building the need.

"Open for me, baby," he whispers against your slick flesh. "Show me how wet you are. Show me how much you want this." It’s a command disguised as a plea, and you obey instantly, letting your legs fall wider, offering yourself up completely to his ministrations.

He rewards you with a low hum of approval before finally focusing his attention where you ache for it most. His tongue flicks out, finding your clit. Not hard, not demanding, but with an exquisite, almost unbearable precision. He swirls around it, laves it gently, uses the flat of his tongue to apply broad, wet strokes that make your hips lift instinctively off the pillow.

"Mmmm, yeah," he breathes, pressing his face closer, deeper between your thighs. "Taste so good. Like mine." He flicks harder now, faster, finding a rhythm that syncs perfectly with the frantic pounding of your heart. He uses his lips too, creating a gentle suction around the swollen nub, pulling, tugging, sending shockwaves of intense pleasure radiating through your entire body.

You're panting now, incoherent little whimpers falling from your lips. Your hands reach down, tangling in his soft hair, not to push him away, but to hold him there, closer, needing more. He allows it, leaning into your touch, but his hands come up, gently but firmly capturing your wrists, pinning them to the pillows beside your head.

"Uh-uh, baby girl," he murmurs against your clit, his voice thick with control now, the earlier reverence giving way to delicious dominance. "Hands stay right here. Can't have you distracting me from my work, can I?" He punctuates the words by sucking harder, pulling your entire clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue relentlessly around the ultra-sensitive peak.

A sharp cry rips from your throat. It’s too much, unbearably good. Your vision whites out for a second. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows precisely how to push you right to the edge with just his mouth, his tongue, his meticulous, worshipful attention that somehow feels more controlling than any rough demand.

He feels you starting to build towards release, feels the subtle clenching of your inner muscles and the way your breath hitches and quickens. He pulls back slightly, just enough to break the intense suction, leaving you whining, suspended in agonizing anticipation.

“Not yet,” he whispers, licking a slow, deliberate path from your clit down towards your entrance. He noses at your slick folds, inhaling deeply again. “Haven’t even tasted how deep you get for me.”

Before you even can protest, his tongue plunges inside you. Thick, strong and surprisingly long. He explores your inner walls with shocking intimacy, tasting your slickness, learning the tight channel that usually only his cock gets to know. He swirls, presses upwards against your G-spot drawing lazy circles. You gasp, hips bucking wildly now, straining against the phantom pressure, utterly helpless.

He moves back to your clit, tongue flicking rapidly, expertly, while simultaneously—fuck—he slides two fingers deep inside you. Stretching you, filling you, pumping in a steady rhythm that perfectly complements the frantic work his tongue is doing. The dual stimulation is insane. Overload. You feel the orgasm rushing towards you like a freight train, unstoppable.

“That’s it,” Chan breathes against your skin, his voice rough with his own barely contained arousal. He can feel you trembling violently, feel the way your cunt is clenching desperately around his fingers. “Let go for me, baby. Cum all over my face. Show me how good I make you feel.”

His fingers pump faster, harder inside you, while his tongue becomes a merciless blur against your clit. You scream, a raw, broken sound this time, as the orgasm finally crashes over you, hot and shattering. Your body convulses uncontrollably, inner walls milking his fingers, hot slickness flooding out, coating his chin and his cheeks. You feel utterly undone, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, lost in the consuming intensity of the release he so expertly orchestrated.

He doesn’t stop immediately. He keeps his fingers moving inside you, keeps his tongue pressed firmly against your still-pulsing clit, riding out the aftershocks with you, ensuring you feel every last tremor. Only when your frantic whimpers subside into soft, exhausted sighs does he finally withdraw, pulling his fingers out with a wet, sucking sound.

He lifts his head, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead. His face is flushed, lips slightly swollen, eyes dark and hooded with sated desire. Your slickness glistens on his chin, maybe even a smear near his temple. He looks utterly debauched. Utterly beautiful.

He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your quivering inner thigh, right beside the evidence of your release. Then he looks up at you, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

“See?” he whispers, his voice thick with possessive tenderness. “Told you I’d take care of you.” He reaches up, gently wiping a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Always taste best when you’re completely falling apart for me.” He pauses, letting his gaze drift down to his own lap, where his cock strains visibly against the fabric of his sweatpants, thick and undeniably hard. “Ready for me to return the favor?”

You're still trembling in the aftermath, muscles quivering, skin hypersensitive, cunt throbbing with a residual ache that’s more pleasure than pain. You stare up at him through hazy, blissed-out eyes, watching the blatant evidence of his arousal tenting the front of his grey sweatpants. The sight sends another wave of heat, less frantic now, more of a deep, pooling warmth, through your belly. You can only manage a weak, shaky nod in response to his question. Ready? You feel like you might liquefy if he touches you again, but god, yes. You're ready. You need it.

He smiles that slow, knowing smile again, the one that makes your insides melt. "Good girl," he murmurs. He doesn't rush. He reaches over to the nightstand, retrieving a small bottle of lube – not because you need it, fuck no, you're practically dripping for him – but because he likes the ritual, likes the feel of the cool slickness on his fingers before he touches you again.

He pumps a generous amount onto his hand, rubbing his palms together, warming it slightly. Then, those warm, slick fingers return to you. He spreads your folds gently, deliberately exposing your swollen, pink entrance, still glistening from your earlier orgasm. He circles the opening with one slick finger, teasingly, making you squirm and whine softly beneath his touch.

"So wet," he praises quietly, his voice thick with appreciation. "Always so ready for me." He slides one finger inside, easily finding the slick channel his previous ministrations prepared. Then a second, stretching you slightly, moving slowly, deliberately reacquainting himself with your inner contours. "Feels so fucking good, baby. So tight."

He adds a third finger, pushing deeper now, knuckles pressing firmly against your clit with each inward stroke. You gasp, hips lifting off the pillows again, chasing the sensation. He curls his fingers inside you, finding that sensitive spot high on your front wall, and applies steady, rhythmic pressure.

"Right there?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the way your breath hitches and the way your inner muscles clench around his invading digits. "You like it when Daddy presses right there?"

This time the title doesn't feel cringy. It feels... right. Earned. Acknowledging the power dynamic, the absolute control he has over your pleasure right now. "Yes," you choke out, voice trembling. "Please... Chan... Daddy... yes..."

Hearing you say it, hearing the desperation, the surrender in your voice, makes his own cock give a hard jump beneath his sweatpants. A low groan escapes him. He works his fingers faster now, pumping in and out, using his thumb to mercilessly rub your clit in frantic circles. He brings you up quickly, efficiently, building the pressure again until you're writhing beneath him, whimpering his name, begging.

"Almost there again, aren't you?" he whispers, leaning down, his forehead pressing against yours. Sweat beads on his upper lip. "So easy for me to make you come apart." He slows his fingers slightly, dragging out the torture. "But you want my cock now, don't you? Want to feel me stretching you open? Filling you up completely?"

"Yes! Please, yes!" you sob, utterly desperate now.

"Good," he breathes against your lips. He pulls his slick fingers out, leaving you aching and empty for only a heartbeat. He quickly shucks off his sweatpants and briefs, revealing his cock fully. Thick, long, vein-ridden, head glistening pink and weeping pre-cum. It’s beautiful. Intimidating. Perfect.

He positions himself between your spread thighs again, the head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance. He doesn't thrust in immediately. He pushes just the tip inside, stretching you slightly, letting you feel the blunt pressure. He watches your face intently, watches your eyes flutter shut, watches your lips part on a shaky sigh.

"Take me," he murmurs, his voice rough with need. He places his hands flat on your stomach, pressing down slightly, holding you in place. Then, slowly, deliberately, inch by agonizing inch, he pushes himself inside you.

It's an incredible feeling. Stretching, filling, a satisfying pressure that borders on pain but tips entirely into overwhelming pleasure. You gasp, eyes flying open, fingers digging into the sheets as he sinks deeper, and deeper, until he's buried completely to the hilt, stretching you fuller than his fingers ever could. He holds himself there, perfectly still for a long moment, letting you adjust, letting you both savor the feeling of absolute connection, of him completely possessing you.

"Fuck," he groans, dropping his head back, eyes closed now, a look of pure bliss mixed with intense concentration on his face. "Feels... incredible, baby. Always."

Then, he starts to move. Slow, deep, deliberate thrusts. Pulling out almost completely, feeling the drag of your inner walls clinging to him, before sinking back in with exquisite slowness, ensuring you feel every inch, every ridge, every vein. It’s not rushed. It's sensual. Controlled. Each movement is precise, aimed at maximizing the friction, the deep pressure against your cervix and the stimulation of your G-spot.

He whispers praises constantly now against your ear. "That's it... take my cock... feel how deep I am inside you... such a good girl... gripping me so tight... fuck, you feel perfect..." His words, combined with the slow, deep fucking, are driving you insane. The pleasure builds again, slower this time, deeper, coiling heavily in your core.

He senses it. He always does. He quickens his pace slightly, thrusts becoming deeper, harder, hitting that perfect spot again and again. His hands find your hips, gripping tight, tilting you just right, angling himself for maximum impact. His breath comes in harsh pants now, the control slipping slightly as his own pleasure builds.

"Chan... Daddy... I'm..." you gasp, feeling the familiar signs, the tightening low in your belly, the trembling in your thighs.

"Yeah, baby, F-uckkk, I know," he pants back, his forehead slick with sweat, pressing against yours again. "Cum for me again. Let me feel you break around my cock." He pounds into you, faster now, harder, abandoning the slow control for raw, driving need. He watches your face crumple, hears your breath shatter into ragged cries as the orgasm rips through you, even more intense this time, fueled by the sheer fullness of him inside you, milking him shamelessly.

Your climax triggers his. And with a final, guttural roar, he drives deep one last time, burying himself as far as he can possibly go, and floods you with his release. Hot, thick spurts pump inside you, coating your inner walls, filling you completely. He groans your name, shuddering violently, collapsing onto you, pinning you beneath his spent weight, his heart hammering against yours.

He stays buried inside you for long, languid moments, letting the echoes of both your orgasms fade, feeling the gentle pulse of your cunt settling around him. His breathing slowly evens out, the harsh pants softening into deep, steady breaths against your ear. He doesn't pull out immediately; there’s a possessive comfort in just being there, connected, filling you.

Finally, with exquisite slowness that makes your muscles clench weakly one last time, he withdraws, leaving you feeling hollowed out but strangely complete. He doesn't just roll away. No, Chan’s aftercare is as meticulous and focused as his fucking.

He props himself up on one elbow, his other hand immediately coming up to gently cup your cheek. His thumb strokes softly across your damp skin, wiping away a lingering tear track you hadn’t even realized was there. His eyes, still dark but no longer holding that fierce intensity, are incredibly soft now, filled with a profound tenderness that makes your heart ache in a completely different way.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice low and gentle, still slightly rough from exertion but stripped of all command. "You with me, baby girl?"

You manage a weak nod, blinking up at him through heavy lids, feeling utterly boneless, utterly cared for.

He smiles, a soft, genuine curve of his lips. "Good," he murmurs leaning down, and pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then the corner of your eye where the tear was. Each touch is impossibly gentle, worshipful. "You were incredible," he whispers against your skin. "Absolutely perfect for me. Took everything I gave you like a fucking dream."

The praise, so different in tone from the filthy demands earlier, still sends a warm flutter through you. He pulls back slightly, his gaze drifting down your body, taking in the flushed skin, the faint bite mark already purpling on your shoulder from before, and the slickness still glistening on your inner thighs. There's no judgment in his eyes, only appreciation. Adoration, even.

"So beautiful," he breathes. "All messy and mine." He reaches for the rumpled duvet, pulling it gently over your lower body, tucking it around your hips with careful hands, cocooning you in warmth.

He slips off the bed, padding quietly towards the ensuite. You hear the sound of water running. He returns moments later with a warm, damp washcloth, smelling faintly of the gentle soap he uses. He kneels beside the bed again, his movements unhurried, focused entirely on you.

"Lift up a little for me, sweetheart," he murmurs. He helps you shift slightly, then begins to gently clean you. His touch is reverent as he wipes away the mingled fluids from your inner thighs, the slickness from your stomach, the drying come from his own body that might have transferred onto you. He's careful around your still-sensitive clit, his touch light, respectful, a silent apology for the earlier intensity. There's no shame in his actions, only care. It feels incredibly intimate, profoundly soothing.

Once he's finished, he tosses the cloth aside and retrieves a soft towel, drying you with the same gentle care. His fingers linger on the angry red bite mark on your shoulder. Before he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right onto the mark. "Mine," he whispers again, the word now purely possessive tenderness.

He pulls a clean, oversized t-shirt – his t-shirt – from his drawer and helps you sit up, sliding it carefully over your head. It smells like him, clean and comforting, engulfing you in his scent, before he guides your arms through the sleeves, his fingers brushing softly against your skin.

He disappears again, returning with a glass of water. "Drink," he urges softly, holding it to your lips, helping you take small sips, and watches you intently, making sure you're okay, his brow furrowed slightly with concern now, the dominant edge completely replaced by gentle solicitude.

Finally, he slides back into bed beside you, pulling you carefully against his side. He wraps his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin, his body still warm and solid against yours. He doesn't initiate anything more, just holds you, his hand stroking slowly, rhythmically, up and down your back.

"Just rest now, baby," he murmurs into your hair. "You earned it." He presses a final kiss to the top of your head. "Did so good for me. Always do."

And wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his scent, lulled by the steady beat of his heart against your ear and the soft cadence of his quiet praise, you finally drift off, feeling utterly cherished, utterly safe, utterly his.

A.N: This was unexpectedly long, sorry. M not 100% satisfied by how this turned out (i told u m so bad at writing soft things bye i wanna cry), but yeah posting it is better than letting it rot in my drafts. Anyways, plz be nice in the comments 🥹🥹

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ baby fever .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

��� after babysitting eri, bakugou develops unexpected baby fever, leading to sweet and heartfelt moments with yn as he imagines future with her.

⋆˚✿˖° j speaking . . .

- I got inspired by @sweeturavity story that is also called baby fever. I hope you don’t mind, I can take it down if you want to!

It wasn’t something Bakugou ever expected to feel. The mighty future Number One Hero, Katsuki Bakugou, did not get distracted by the thought of tiny humans with chubby cheeks and big eyes. Or so he told himself.

But lately, it had been hard to ignore.

It all started when he babysat Eri for an afternoon while Aizawa had an emergency. Bakugou was initially hesitant—kids were loud, sticky, and unpredictable. But when Eri reached out her small hand to hold his and gave him a shy smile, something in his chest did a funny flip. She had fallen asleep on his lap while watching cartoons, and Bakugou couldn’t stop staring at her peaceful face.

From then on, Bakugou started noticing babies and kids everywhere. During a trip to the mall with his friends, a toddler waddling around in a dinosaur onesie caught his eye. At a park nearby, a dad was teaching his little boy how to kick a ball, and Bakugou found himself watching longer than necessary.

He was annoyed with himself. He was Katsuki Bakugou. He didn’t have time to think about babies. But the thought of a tiny hand gripping his finger wouldn’t leave his head.

And then there was YN.

YN had always been the calm to his storm, the quiet presence that softened his sharp edges. She had a way of making him feel seen, understood, even when he didn’t say much. They weren’t officially a couple—yet. But Bakugou was sure she felt the same way he did.

Today, Bakugou found himself sitting on the couch in the dorm common area, scrolling through his phone. He wasn’t looking at training videos or hero interviews. No, he was watching videos of babies giggling at their parents’ silly antics.

“You okay, Katsuki?”

He nearly dropped his phone at the sound of YN’s voice. She was standing behind him, her head tilted in curiosity.

“Tch. What do you want?” he muttered, locking his phone quickly.

YN walked around the couch and sat beside him, her soft smile disarming him as always. “You’ve been acting weird lately,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “Are you sure everything’s fine?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Her gaze drifted to his phone, which was still unlocked on the home screen. “Were you watching baby videos?”

Bakugou froze. “No!” he barked, his face going red.

YN’s laugh was light and sweet. “It’s okay, you know. Babies are adorable.”

“I wasn’t—ugh, fine!” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, okay? Ever since I babysat Eri, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“About what?” YN asked gently.

“About… having a kid. Someday,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. He refused to meet her eyes, staring instead at the coffee table. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? I’m too busy trying to be a hero to think about crap like that.”

YN’s heart softened at his vulnerable confession. She placed a hand on his arm, and he finally looked at her. “It’s not stupid,” she said softly. “It just shows you have a big heart. You’d make a great dad one day, Katsuki.”

He blinked, startled by her words. “You think so?”

She nodded. “You’re tough, but you care deeply. You’re protective and hardworking. Any kid would be lucky to have you as their parent.”

For the first time, Bakugou felt a weight lift off his chest. He allowed a small smile to tug at his lips. “You’d make a pretty great mom too, you know.”

YN’s cheeks turned pink, and she looked away, flustered. “Oh, um… thanks.”

Bakugou smirked at her reaction, feeling a rare sense of peace. Maybe one day, when they were both ready, they could tackle the adventure of parenthood together.

For now, he was content knowing he wasn’t alone in his thoughts—and that maybe, just maybe, his future wasn’t so far out of reach after all.

[eddie-van-munson]

What is my favorite Steve Harrington moment? Thank you so much for asking. It's "Oh..."

When Robin comes out to Steve, there is a moment where we're unsure about how he'll respond.

"But...Tammy Thompson's a girl."

"Steve..."

It's tense. He thinks for a moment, realizes what she means, and responds "Oh..."

There are so many ways that tiny little line could've been delivered. It could've easily portrayed disgust. It could've sounded surprised or confused or angry. It even could've been played for a laugh.

But somehow, Joe Keery managed to deliver that line in a way that is so unbelievably full of tenderness. It is soft and surprised, yes, but also comforting and apologetic. It's like he's realizing there's this whole part of her that he hasn't even noticed. It is understanding. It is empathy.

Every time I watch this scene, I can feel the tension that Robin is feeling, but I can also feel the relief that follows after that one little "Oh..." It's a far cry from the way we see Steve interact with characters in vulnerable positions like that in earlier seasons. Unbelievable amounts of growth are shelled in that "Oh".

How ridiculously impressive on Joe Keery's part that he was able to tell such a convincing story from one little sound. One of the most impactful examples of platonic love that I've ever seen in media. Maybe It sounds silly or like I'm reading too much into it, but I've always felt it so deeply no matter how many times I watch the show. It is so earnest.

[onceinablueberrymoon]

made for this | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | series masterlist scenario: pregnant!reader has a doctor’s appointment and wants to help husband!salesman by recruiting some new players at the clinic. the salesman has a different idea in mind… setting: a couple months after the events of season 1; sequel to this but can be read as a stand-alone fic warnings: pregnant!reader; a bit of spice and a lot of fluff; both reader and salesman feel morally superior to others; no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 931 notes: thank you all for the love on the first part! i hope i didn’t make the salesman too ooc, i try to keep things as accurate to the show as possible! but i think he is somewhat capable of having soft moments, although very rarely. i have at least one more idea for this series (if it can even be called that), so be on the lookout for that ٩>ᴗ<)و (also if anyone has any ideas for this ship, send them my way!) please enjoy! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“Hey, can I borrow some business cards? I have an appointment at the clinic today and thought I’d pass some out.”

At your call, your husband walked into the bedroom to find you standing in front of the mirror next to your shared bed, adjusting your outfit for the day. He crossed his arms.

“I don’t think so. Any public involvement with the Games could endanger you,” his gaze lingered on your swollen stomach. He sighed, “You can’t defend yourself in your condition, no matter how much you think you can.” 

You just rolled your eyes and shot him a piercing look. 

“My pregnancy doesn’t impact my job, though. I can take care of myself just fine.” You took a couple steps towards him. “Who’s the one who befriended Gi-hun again? You?” You looked around the room before you pointed at yourself. 

“Me, that’s who,” you grinned proudly, only for your husband to cover his face with his hands, his patience clearly running thin.

“Besides,” you shrugged, “it’s not like I’ll be playing ddakji and smacking people. No, my dear husband, that’s your thing.” You brought a finger up to your lips. 

“I have my own ways to play.” You flashed a wicked smile towards your husband, causing him to shiver. 

Right there and then, you knew that you had won the battle.

…or so you thought.

In the blink of an eye, your husband swept you off your feet and pinned you on the bed with only one arm. Your startled expression pleased him judging by the wild look on his face. His unoccupied hand came to gently press on your growing stomach, adding to the tense situation. He brought his lips up to graze your ear.

“See how vulnerable you are? Just think,” he lightly bit at your helix, “others won’t be so nice.”

It was your turn to shiver. 

When you didn’t respond, he continued nibbling at your ear with his hand still firmly planted on your belly.

Soon after, he lifted his head and asked, “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He kissed you deeply, only breaking away to gasp for air. The most smug expression was plastered on his face. 

“Oh wait, I do.”

How cheeky of him. And cheesy, too! 

You huffed, “Wow, already starting with the dad jokes? And not even the good ones either.” His eyebrow quirked upwards before he bent down to press his nose against yours.

“Do you really want to play this game?” He whispered softly, causing you to shudder. “You know I always win.”

Turning your head to the right, you let out a small chuckle.

“Oh really?” You retorted, “Prove it.”

This sent him into a borderline frenzy as he started planting kisses down the side of your neck. You threw your arms around his neck, a smile on your face. Sometimes it was just too easy to manipulate him.

As he was about to leave a mark, a sharp movement stopped him in his tracks. He blinked, snapping out of his trance. You were both confused when there was another movement, although not as sharp as the first.

The two of you looked down at your rounded stomach, and your husband removed his hand. The baby’s kicks continued nearly every minute, while you both just watched, not moving a muscle. Then, your husband lifted himself up off of you, moving to sit on the bed beside you. You sat up and, taking one of his hands, gently laid it on your stomach. Your husband carefully wrapped an arm around you, now acting as if you were made of glass.

“They’re so active. Do you think,” he paused, then in a whisper, asked, “Do you think I hurt them?” 

“No… I think they’re just making themselves known,” you kissed him on the cheek. 

Both of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, only to soon realize that you were now running late for your appointment.

“Is there any chance I can still get those business cards?” You pleaded. 

Your husband chuckled, “Absolutely not. In fact, I’ll accompany you.” 

“I thought we weren’t allowed to be seen together in public?” You furrowed your eyebrows. 

He let go of you and turned to open his briefcase at the foot of the bed. Pulling out some files, he nodded, “There’s quite a few prospective players residing at that hospital. You attend your appointment, I’ll recruit more players.” He flashed his signature smirk, putting the files back in his briefcase.

“Wow, I thought you wanted to come to my appointment with me!” You laughed, giving him a light shove.

Your husband gave you a knowing look, “I can’t do that. But I expect a copy of the sonogram.” He stood up, holding out a hand for you to take.

“What a gentleman.” You took his offer and stood up.

Placing a hand on your husband’s chest, you teased, “Try to take it easy at the hospital, hm? Most of the prospects there are already on the verge of cracking. We don’t want to break them before the Games – it wouldn’t make for a good show.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist, your husband pouted, “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Giving them a tiny sliver of hope, only to eventually rip it away…” You looked him straight in the eyes. “The suspense is so thrilling, don’t you think?”

“And here I was starting to think you weren’t cut out for the job,” he chuckled. He checked his watch, noting the time.

“We should get going – it’s rude to be late.” 

a/n: by the way, i don’t think i have it in me to write full-on smut, the most i can probably do is a bit of lime lol

tags: @preppyfella

[rmview]

crushing on you, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — headcanons of what the stray kids boys are like when they have a crush, and want to pursue you!

contents — fluff, no warnings.

bang ෆ chan

⟶ bang chan isn’t one to jump into feelings recklessly. he’s incredibly observant and would notice the small things about you and these details would only deepen his crush. ⟶ around you, he’d become even more attentive, always making sure you feel comfortable. he’d check in often with a gentle “are you okay?” or a kind smile that lingers just a little longer. ⟶ he’d show his feelings through actions rather than words initially; carrying things for you, helping with your tasks, or even creating playlists of songs he thinks you’d like. ⟶ bang chan would only confess if he felt there was a strong chance his feelings were reciprocated. he’d analyze your behavior meticulously, looking for signs of interest in the way you respond to his jokes or how often you seek out his company. ⟶ he’d overthink every interaction; did that smile mean something? was the hug a little tighter than usual? his groupmates would notice his distracted state and tease him about it. ⟶ when he decides to confess, he’d rehearse his words a million times. despite his confidence as a leader, matters of the heart would leave him feeling vulnerable. ⟶ the confession would be heartfelt but cautious. “i’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while... i like you. a lot. but if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. i just needed you to know.” ⟶ he’d make it clear that your comfort comes first, reassuring you that no matter your answer, he values your friendship deeply. ⟶ if you return his feelings, he’d be overjoyed but still grounded, wanting to take things slow and cherish every moment. if not, he’d handle it gracefully, though he’d need time to process his emotions privately. ⟶ once together, bang chan would be the most caring and supportive partner, always putting your needs above his own.

felix ෆ

⟶ felix would be adorably obvious about his feelings. his entire face would light up when he sees you, and he’d gravitate toward you in any group setting. ⟶ felix is naturally affectionate, so he’d find excuses to touch your hand, pat your head, or offer hugs. these gestures would carry a deeper meaning when it comes to you. ⟶ one of his love languages is food, so he’d bake you cookies or other treats, shyly handing them over with a hopeful smile. ⟶ felix would thrive on positive reactions from you. if you compliment him, his face would turn red, and he’d get giddy for the rest of the day. ⟶ felix wears his heart on his sleeve and would confess even if he wasn’t entirely sure of your feelings. his bravery comes from the belief that honesty is important, even if there’s a risk of rejection. ⟶ “i know this might be unexpected, but i really like you. like, more than just a friend. it’s okay if you don’t feel the same; i just wanted to be honest.” ⟶ if you don’t feel the same, he’d smile through his disappointment, assuring you that he values your friendship and respects your feelings. ⟶ if you like him back, he’d probably hug you immediately, his joy evident in the way he holds you close. ⟶ felix would want to make every moment special, surprising you with sweet gestures and heartfelt words to show how much you mean to him. ⟶ once together, he’d shower you with love, making you feel adored and appreciated every single day.

lee ෆ know

⟶ lee know wouldn’t be the type to act on his crush immediately. he’d observe you quietly, taking note of the things you like and dislike before making a move. ⟶ his feelings would show in the way he teases you; his humor would become more lighthearted and specific to your inside jokes. ⟶ he’d look out for you in subtle ways, like making sure you’re safe or stepping in to help when you’re struggling, all without making a big deal of it. ⟶ lee know would hesitate to confess unless he was almost certain you felt the same. he’s protective of his heart and wouldn’t want to risk ruining your friendship. ⟶ while usually composed, his softer side would come through when he’s around you. he’d smile more and his voice would take on a gentler tone. ⟶ he’d choose a private moment to confess, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his nerves. “i like you. more than i probably should. i just thought you should know.” ⟶ if you don’t feel the same, he’d take a step back, giving you space while ensuring things don’t become awkward. ⟶ if you return his feelings, he’d be quietly thrilled, showing his happiness through actions rather than words. ⟶ lee know isn’t overtly expressive, but his love would show in the way he remembers every little detail about you and prioritizes your happiness. ⟶ once in a relationship, he’d be fiercely loyal, showing his love in quiet but profound ways that make you feel truly special.

hyun ෆ jin

⟶ hyunjin would fall hard and fast, envisioning scenarios where he sweeps you off your feet like in a romance movie. ⟶ he’d channel his feelings into creativity, sketching you or writing poetry inspired by you, though he might be too shy to share them right away. ⟶ around you, hyunjin would be a mix of giddy excitement and nervous energy. he’d stumble over his words but recover with a charming smile. ⟶ hyunjin would want to build a strong bond before confessing. he’d spend time learning about you, making sure you’re comfortable around him. ⟶ he’d replay every interaction in his mind, analyzing your words and actions for signs that you might feel the same way. ⟶ when he confesses, his emotions would be on full display. “i’ve liked you for a while now, and it’s been driving me crazy. i just need to know; do you feel the same?” ⟶ if you don’t return his feelings, hyunjin would try to be strong, but his emotions might get the better of him. he’d need time to process, but he’d still want to stay close as a friend. ⟶ if you reciprocate, hyunjin would pour his heart into the relationship, making every moment feel like a grand romantic gesture. ⟶ he’d constantly remind you of how much you mean to him, both through words and actions, ensuring you never doubt his feelings. ⟶ once in love, hyunjin would be fully committed, treating you like the muse and center of his world.

i.n ෆ

⟶ jeongin would notice his feelings for you slowly. at first, he might brush them off, thinking he’s just being overly attentive. but soon, he’d realize how much he enjoys being around you. ⟶ around you, he’d become quieter, not out of disinterest but because he’s overthinking everything he says. his usually cheeky demeanor would soften into something sweeter. ⟶ he’d try to make you laugh more than anyone else. every giggle you give him would feel like a small victory, boosting his confidence bit by bit. ⟶ jeongin wouldn’t rush into confessing. he’d want to build a stronger connection first, ensuring you see him as more than just a friend or the “younger brother” figure. ⟶ without realizing it, he’d show his feelings through small gestures, like holding doors open for you, saving your favorite snacks, or sharing his headphones with you. ⟶ when he decides to confess, it would be straightforward but hesitant. “i’ve been thinking about this a lot... i like you. i don’t know if you feel the same, but i wanted to tell you.” ⟶ if you don’t return his feelings, he’d be hurt but wouldn’t let it show too much. he’d focus on maintaining the friendship, even if it stings for a while. ⟶ if you reciprocate, he’d be elated, though his excitement would be understated. he’d want to make sure you’re happy and comfortable every step of the way. ⟶ once in a relationship, jeongin would surprise you with little gifts or kind gestures, always thinking of ways to make you smile. ⟶ despite his younger status, jeongin would be fiercely protective of you, proving that he’s dependable and mature in the ways that matter.

han ෆ

⟶ han would be the kind of person who accidentally makes his feelings obvious. he’d stammer, blush, or trip over his words whenever he’s around you. ⟶ han would joke a lot, often deflecting serious moments with humor. if you catch him staring at you, he’d laugh it off with a silly excuse. ⟶ he’d try to impress you by being extra funny or showcasing his talents, hoping to make you notice him in a different light. ⟶ if you’re close to someone else, he might get a little jealous but wouldn’t say anything directly. instead, he’d act sulky or make sarcastic comments. ⟶ han might blurt out his feelings in a flustered moment, like, “why do you have to be so amazing all the time? it’s driving me crazy!” then he’d freeze, realizing what he just said. ⟶ when he confesses intentionally, it would be heartfelt but tinged with nervous humor. “i like you, but honestly, i have no idea why you’d like someone like me. i just had to tell you.” ⟶ if you don’t feel the same, he’d try to laugh it off but would probably need some time alone to process. he’d eventually come back with a smile, determined to stay friends. ⟶ if you return his feelings, he’d be over the moon, probably hugging you on the spot and thanking you for liking him back. ⟶ once together, han would keep the relationship fun and lighthearted, always finding ways to make you laugh and feel loved. ⟶ despite his goofy exterior, he’d have a romantic side, surprising you with sweet notes, songs, or spontaneous dates.

seung ෆ min

⟶ seungmin wouldn’t make his crush obvious. he’d watch you from afar, taking note of your habits and preferences without making a big show of it. ⟶ he’d tease you in his signature dry and witty way, but there’d be a gentleness to his tone that sets you apart from everyone else. ⟶ seungmin would take his time figuring out his feelings and yours. he’d want to be sure of everything before taking the next step. ⟶ he’d show his affection through quiet acts, like remembering your favorite drink and bringing it to you without being asked or offering to help with your tasks. ⟶ seungmin would only confess if he’s reasonably sure you might feel the same. his confession would be calm and straightforward: “i’ve been thinking about this for a while. i like you, but i don’t want to rush you into anything.” ⟶ if you don’t return his feelings, he’d handle it maturely, though he’d likely need some time to adjust before things could go back to normal. ⟶ if you reciprocate, seungmin would be attentive and reliable, always looking out for you in subtle but meaningful ways. ⟶ he’d prefer to keep affection private, valuing moments shared between just the two of you rather than public displays. ⟶ seungmin would thrive on deep conversations and shared interests, making sure your relationship is built on mutual understanding and respect. ⟶ once committed, seungmin would be your rock, always steady and unwavering in his support and affection.

chang ෆ bin

⟶ changbin might act confident around others, but when it comes to you, he’d get adorably shy. his usual boldness would waver, and he’d fumble over his words. ⟶ he’d tease you as a way to mask his feelings, throwing out cheeky comments or jokes to gauge your reaction. ⟶ changbin wouldn’t be subtle about showing his affection. he’d go out of his way to do things for you, like carrying your stuff or making sure you’re always comfortable. ⟶ he’d constantly showcase his skills, whether it’s rapping, working out, or cooking, hoping to earn your admiration. ⟶ changbin would step in if he ever saw you struggling or upset, his concern evident in the way he’d drop everything to be there for you. ⟶ he’d eventually gather his courage and confess in a straightforward but endearing way: “i like you. i’ve been trying to show it, but i think i’m better at saying it outright.” ⟶ if you don’t feel the same, he’d be deeply hurt but would try to play it off with a smile, wanting to preserve the friendship. ⟶ if you reciprocate, he’d be ecstatic, probably telling his closest friends immediately and planning how to make you the happiest. ⟶ changbin wouldn’t shy away from showing his affection publicly, always holding your hand or throwing an arm around you. ⟶ he’d balance romance and playfulness perfectly, making every moment with him feel exciting and full of love.

notes: first time writing fluff for the stray kids boys! hope yall enjoyed!

[missarchive]

american jesus ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; What starts as a seemingly innocent exchange quickly escalates into a game of trust, control, and desire. Spencer offers you more than just financial stability; he gives you attention, adoration, and a connection so intimate it leaves you breathless. From whispered words over the phone to moments of vulnerability, he knows exactly how to unravel you, guiding you to discover sides of yourself you never knew existed.

But with every dollar he deposits into your account and every command that leaves his lips, the boundaries between professionalism and pleasure blur. As you dive deeper into this intoxicating arrangement, you can’t help but wonder: are you just another outlet for his control, or has this brilliant man fallen for you just as deeply as you’ve begun to fall for him?

cw; +18 minors dni, masturbation (f), hints at masturbation (m), nudes, spencer calls reader "little girl" once, phone sex, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk

an; this is the first part in my new series! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

The idea had been absurd from the beginning—a drunken suggestion tossed out during a late-night study break, your friend’s cheeks flushed from the cheap wine you’d both been sipping.

“You should totally do it,” she’d said, her voice a mix of mischief and daring as she scrolled through her phone. “It’s not like you have to… do anything. Just talk. Flirt a little. Get someone to pay for your coffee—or your rent. What’s the harm?”

You’d laughed it off then, brushing aside her suggestion with a half-hearted joke about the kind of people who used those sites. But now, with your landlord’s polite but insistent emails piling up, along with the crushing weight of tuition bills and credit card debt, her words didn’t seem so laughable.

Desperation, you’d learned, had a way of reshaping your boundaries.

So, against every instinct that told you to slam the laptop shut and find another way, you clicked the link she’d jokingly sent that night.

The homepage was a garish blend of pink and gold, its polished glamour doing little to mask the transactional nature of it all. The tagline—"Where connections are made"—was a cruel euphemism for what this really was: a marketplace. A place where companionship, or at least the illusion of it, had a price tag.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time before you finally typed in a username: laceandliterature.

The flood of messages came almost instantly.

@ hungandrich; Hey, beautiful 😘

@ olderseekingyounger; I can show you the world 🌍💎

@ MrNaughty4U; $5k a week to be my princess. No strings attached 💵

It was overwhelming, a cascade of propositions ranging from saccharine to predatory. Some were masked in politeness, others made no effort to conceal their intentions. Your stomach churned as you skimmed through them, the realisation sinking in that you were just another product on a shelf.

And then, just as you were about to close the browser and pretend this had never happened, a new message pinged.

It was short, direct—refreshingly so:

[new chat from: @ thefourthdoctor]

@ thefourthdoctor; Intriguing profile. Shall we talk?

No emojis, no extravagant promises. Just a simple, confident statement.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you clicked on the profile. The picture was blurry, as if taken in haste, but it revealed enough: dark, wavy hair that framed sharp, intelligent eyes behind a pair of glasses. His bio was sparse but intriguing, mentioning books, travel, and a keen interest in "meaningful conversations."

Something about it—about him—felt different. Not just the lack of overtly transactional language, but the quiet assurance in his words.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

This was a bad idea. You knew it was a bad idea. But against your better judgment, you typed out a response.

@ laceandliterature; I suppose that depends on what you want to talk about.

The reply came almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting.

@ thefourthdoctor; Anything but the obvious.

The words were simple, but the subtext was unmistakable: he wasn’t here for what everyone else seemed to want. Or maybe he was just better at hiding it. No sleazy innuendos. No dick pics. No hollow promises of private jets or weekend getaways. Not even the tired clichés of "Hey, gorgeous" or “What’s your body count?”—just a question.

It was startling in its simplicity, almost disarming. And for that exact reason, it made you pause. The absence of the usual vulgarity felt almost like a trick, a trap designed to lure you into a false sense of security. You had learned the hard way to be cautious online. Yet, despite yourself, you couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you glanced at his username again.

A click brought up his profile, your curiosity outweighing your skepticism. The photo was blurry, clearly taken without much thought to lighting or angles. It wasn’t like the polished, professional headshots some of the other profiles sported. Still, you could make out the basics: slightly messy, long curly dark hair, intelligent eyes framed by glasses, and an awkward sort of handsomeness that felt... real.

The bio was brief—almost frustratingly so.

"Bibliophile. Traveler. Interested in meaningful conversations and unconventional connections."

It lacked the arrogance and ostentation of the others you’d scrolled past, the ones who listed their wealth or their penchant for “petite brunettes.” Instead, it was vague, yet oddly specific in its sincerity.

Your chest tightened, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity tugging at you. Was this calculated, or was it simply honest? And why did it feel more dangerous than the others?

Still, you typed.

Your heartbeat quickened as you debated your next move. The smart thing would be to leave it at that, maybe even block him. After all, you weren’t here for emotional entanglements. This was supposed to be transactional—a simple trade: your time and charm for their money and attention. A means to an end.

Yet, against your better judgment, you stayed.

@ laceandliterature; The obvious is easier to avoid than you think, but meaningful conversations? That’s a tall order here.

There was a long pause, long enough that you started to wonder if you’d misjudged him. But then, the reply came:

@ thefourthdoctor; It depends on who you’re talking to.

You stared at the screen, the simplicity of his words sending a ripple of unease through you. There was no bravado, no performance. He was direct, confident, and—most dangerously—intriguing.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you debated what to say next. This was different from the other messages. He wasn’t dangling wealth in front of you like a shiny object or trying to buy your interest with empty promises.

And yet, the very absence of those things made you wonder what he wanted. Because he wanted something—everyone on this site did. That was the nature of it.

@ laceandliterature; Okay. What do you want to talk about?

His reply was immediate, as if he’d been waiting for you to ask:

@ thefourthdoctor; Tell me what brought you here.

The question hit like a dart, sharp and precise. Your stomach tightened as you read it again, the blunt honesty of it stripping away the thin veil you’d been hiding behind. No one had asked that before—not like this.

Most of the messages you’d received had operated on unspoken rules: you pretend this is normal, and they pretend they’re just being generous. But this man wasn’t pretending. He was asking you to be real in a space built on pretense.

And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you felt compelled to answer.

Your fingers trembled slightly over the keyboard. What could you even say? The truth? That you were drowning under the weight of your bills, your student loans, your own stubborn pride? That desperation had led you here, to a website where relationships had price tags and intimacy was commodified?

But what stopped you wasn’t the shame of your situation—it was him. The way he asked, as if the answer mattered. As if you mattered.

The tension in your chest twisted tighter as you typed.

@ laceandliterature; The same thing that brings everyone here, I suppose. Necessity.

You hit send before you could overthink it, before you could soften the edges of the truth. The reply came quickly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Necessity takes many forms. Which is yours?

You stared at the screen, his words pulling something loose inside you. This wasn’t idle curiosity. He was pushing you, peeling back the layers you hadn’t even realized you were wearing. And damn it, you wanted to push back.

@ laceandliterature; Does it matter?

You wrote, the edge in your tone slipping into the words.

The pause before his reply was longer this time, long enough to make you wonder if you’d misstepped. But then it came, and it was nothing you expected.

@ thefourthdoctor; It matters if you want it to.

The simplicity of his words sent a jolt through you, more potent than any overture of wealth or charm could have been. There was no condescension, no judgment. Just quiet, unnerving confidence.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. These conversations were supposed to be easy—shallow exchanges where you could slip into a version of yourself that didn’t feel the weight of real life pressing down on her. But with him, there was no slipping into anything.

He wasn’t letting you.

@ laceandliterature; What about you?

You typed, throwing the question back at him, daring him to offer you the same vulnerability he was asking of you. 

@ laceandliterature; Why are you here?

His reply was immediate, almost as if he’d been expecting the question.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity.

You frowned at the screen, the single word both frustrating and enticing. It was vague but deliberate, leaving just enough room for interpretation to keep you hooked.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity about what? 

The next message sent a shiver through you:

@ thefourthdoctor; You.

Your breath caught. One word, and yet it felt like he’d reached through the screen, pulling you closer, tethering you to him in a way that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

You hesitated, the heat rising in your cheeks as you considered how to respond. This wasn’t the typical transactional banter you’d anticipated when you signed up. He wasn’t offering money or promises of luxury. He wasn’t trying to seduce you with extravagance. Instead, he was drawing you in with something far more dangerous: attention.

And the worst part? You wanted it.

@ laceandliterature; Careful. That kind of curiosity can be expensive.

This time, the pause felt deliberate, a beat of silence meant to let your words settle. When his reply came, it was sharp, confident, and devastatingly effective.

@ thefourthdoctor; I don’t mind paying for what I value. Isn’t that what this is about, anyway?

Your breath hitched, the implications of his words hitting you like a shockwave. This wasn’t flirtation—it was a proposition. But not the kind you’d grown to expect on this site. He wasn’t offering to buy your time or affection outright; he was telling you that he saw something in you worth pursuing.

And that made him infinitely more dangerous.

Your heart raced as you stared at the screen, torn between the instinct to pull back and the magnetic pull of his presence. This wasn’t just about money anymore. This was about control, power, the careful dance of who would give and who would take.

You sat frozen, his last message glowing on the screen like an unspoken dare.

"I don’t mind paying for what I value."

The words reverberated through you, sharp and calculated, leaving no room for misinterpretation. This wasn’t a line meant to charm or impress. It was a statement of intent—a declaration of control.

And it was working.

Your chest tightened as you typed, your fingers moving before your brain caught up.

@ laceandliterature; Value is subjective.

The moment you hit send, you regretted it. It felt flippant, like you were trying to undermine the weight of his words. But maybe that was exactly what you needed to do—to wrest back some semblance of control in this conversation that was starting to feel far too intimate.

The reply came after a pause that felt excruciatingly long:

@ thefourthdoctor; It is. But I’m a man who knows how to discern.

Your throat tightened, the confidence in his words striking a chord deep within you. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was setting the rules. And despite yourself, you found it maddeningly enticing.

@ laceandliterature; Discernment is rare here. 

You replied, leaning into the dynamic, testing the boundaries of this strange connection.

His next message came faster this time, as if he’d been waiting for you to lean in:

@ thefourthdoctor; So is honesty. Tell me, how rare are you?

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing as you stared at the question. It wasn’t what you expected—not here, not from someone you’d never met. And yet, it was the kind of question you couldn’t dismiss with a coy quip or vague answer.

@ laceandliterature; Enough to know my worth. 

You typed, surprising even yourself with the boldness of your response.

His reply came swiftly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then you’ll understand why I won’t insult you with empty offers. Tell me what you want.

Your pulse quickened. There it was—the shift you’d been waiting for, the moment the conversation turned from hypothetical to concrete. But this was different from the others. He wasn’t throwing numbers at you, wasn’t dangling luxury in front of you like bait. He was putting the power in your hands, asking you to decide the terms.

It was intoxicating. And terrifying.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. What did you want? Money was the obvious answer—wasn’t it? That was why you were here in the first place. But now, with him, it didn’t feel so simple.

@ laceandliterature; That depends… What are you offering?

The pause before his response was agonizing, each second stretching longer than the last. And then it came:

@ thefourthdoctor; Time. Money. Attention. Answers, if you’re brave enough to ask the right questions.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. He wasn’t offering material things, at least not yet. He was offering something far more valuable—and far more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your palms damp as you considered your next move. He’d shifted the power dynamic yet again, pulling you deeper into a game you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to play.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you want in return?

The question leaving you more vulnerable than you cared to admit.

His response was immediate, his words a quiet, commanding echo in your mind:

@ thefourthdoctor; Exactly what you’re willing to give me.

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than any declaration of wealth or desire could have. It wasn’t just about money or power or control—it was about you. Your choices, your limits, your willingness to engage in this careful, intoxicating dance.

And that realisation sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you stared at the screen, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You could walk away now. Close the laptop, block his profile, and pretend this never happened. But the truth was, you didn’t want to.

Because for the first time since you’d joined this site, you felt seen. Not as an object, not as a commodity, but as a person.

His words clung to you, each syllable daring you to define what you were prepared to offer. He was turning the mirror back on you, forcing you to confront not just the situation but yourself.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t playing by the rules you expected, and that made him unpredictable. Dangerous. But it also made him irresistible.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a clever way of saying nothing. Ambiguity suits you.

The reply came quickly, almost as if he’d anticipated your deflection.

@ thefourthdoctor; Clarity can be earned, if you’re willing to play the game.

Your breath hitched. There it was again—that quiet, assured confidence that pulled you in despite every warning bell ringing in your head. He wasn’t offering platitudes or empty promises. He was offering a challenge, one that was as maddening as it was magnetic.

@ laceandliterature; And what game is that? 

The pause before his answer felt deliberate, a calculated silence that only heightened your anticipation. When his message finally appeared, it sent a shiver through you:

@ laceandliterature; The one we’re already playing. You just haven’t realised it yet.

Your pulse quickened, your palms damp as you stared at the screen. He was toying with you, but not in the way you’d experienced before. This wasn’t about cheap thrills or transparent power plays. This was about control—subtle, seductive, and entirely in his hands.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t recall agreeing to any rules. 

The sharpness of your words masking the unease curling in your chest.

His reply was swift, the confidence in his words cutting through the haze of your thoughts:

@ thefourthdoctor; You didn’t have to. You agreed the moment you responded.

The audacity of his statement left you momentarily breathless. He was right, of course, and that infuriated you. But it also thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself

You shot back, your fingers trembling as you hit send. The response came almost immediately.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is the privilege of knowing what you want. Do you?

Your chest tightened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. What did you want? It was supposed to be simple—a means to an end, a way to solve your financial problems without complicating your life. But now, with him, it felt far from simple.

You hesitated, your mind racing. This wasn’t like the other conversations you’d had on this site. He wasn’t just offering money or gifts; he was offering an exchange of a different kind. One that blurred the lines between power and vulnerability, control and surrender.

@ laceandliterature; I think you already know the answer.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then we’re getting somewhere.

You exhaled sharply, the tension in your chest both exhilarating and suffocating. He had you cornered, and he knew it. But the worst part? You didn’t want to leave.

@ laceandliterature; And where exactly is that? 

The question both a challenge and a plea. His response sent a chill down your spine.

@ thefourthdoctor; Where we figure out if you’re ready to trust me.

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable. Trust. It was a loaded word, especially here, in a space where every interaction felt transactional. But with him, it didn’t feel like a demand—it felt like an invitation.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as you typed your response:

@ laceandliterature; Trust is earned, Doctor. How do you plan on earning mine?

The pause before his reply was excruciating, every second stretching longer than the last. And then, finally, his message appeared. 

@ thefourthdoctor; Patience. Honesty. And just enough mystery to keep you coming back.

Your breath caught, the sheer confidence of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was rewriting the rules, pulling you deeper into his orbit with every word.

And despite the warning bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

@ laceandliterature; Then I suppose we’ll see how well you play. 

@ thefourthdoctor; We already are.

The message lingered on the screen, a challenge and a promise all at once. And as you stared at it, your heart racing and your mind spinning, one thing became clear:

Here’s the continuation, intensifying the emotional and psychological stakes, as well as the power dynamics:

You could feel it in the way your heart raced, in the way your mind struggled to pull together coherent thoughts. It was maddening. Dangerous. And yet, some part of you craved the thrill of it.

@ laceandliterature; What makes you so sure of that?

@ thefourthdoctor; Because you’re still here.

Your lips parted in a soft exhale, the truth in his words sending a shiver down your spine. He was right—you were still here, still engaged, still drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; Maybe I’m just curious.

His response was immediate, his confidence unshaken.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity is the first step to surrender. And you’re closer than you think.

Your pulse quickened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t realized was exposed. Surrender. The word hung there, heavy and intoxicating, pulling you deeper into his web.

@ laceandliterature; Surrender isn’t in my vocabulary. 

The sharpness of your reply more for your benefit than his.

@ thefourthdoctor; That’s because no one’s ever taught you how to do it properly.

The breath left your lungs in a quiet rush, your body betraying you with a thrill that raced down your spine. He wasn’t just confident—he was audacious, pushing boundaries you didn’t even know you had.

@ laceandliterature; And you think you’re the one to teach me?

@ thefourthdoctor; I know I am.

Your throat tightened, his certainty pulling you further into the undertow. There was no pretence with him, no fumbling for the right words to impress or seduce. He spoke with a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore—and even harder to resist.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself, Doctor.

You wrote, the name a deliberate choice, a way to remind yourself that he was still just a man on the other side of a screen.

But his next message stripped away any illusion of simplicity.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is earned. You’ll see.

The promise in his words sent your mind reeling, the tension in your chest building with every passing second. He wasn’t offering wealth or gifts or superficial praise. He was offering himself—his attention, his intellect, his dominance—and it was unlike anything you’d ever encountered.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady your breathing. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a collision of wills, a power struggle where the stakes felt dangerously personal.

@ laceandliterature; And if I decide to stop playing? 

His reply came slower this time, each word calculated, precise.

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But we both know you won’t.

Your breath caught, the quiet confidence in his message leaving you stunned. He wasn’t trying to trap you—he was daring you to walk away. And that made him even more dangerous.

@ laceandliterature; You seem very sure of my choices

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of your curiosity. And that’s enough.

You stared at the screen, your heart pounding, your mind spinning. He was right—you were curious. About him, about this, about where it could lead. And that curiosity was already pulling you deeper, binding you to him in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

And as you sat there, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, one thought echoed in your mind:

You weren’t just playing his game anymore.

You were losing.

His words were a masterstroke, the kind of deliberate confidence that didn’t demand submission but invited it, coaxed it out of you with unsettling precision. He wasn’t forcing you into anything. He didn’t have to.

You were leaning in all on your own.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity is dangerous. 

The words meant as both a warning and a defense. You weren’t sure if you were telling him or reminding yourself.

His reply came almost instantly, as if he’d anticipated your hesitation.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, in the wrong hands. But I think you know by now—I don’t intend to hurt you.

Your chest tightened, the unexpected gentleness in his response catching you off guard. It wasn’t a dismissal of your fears; it was an acknowledgment, a reassurance that felt disarmingly genuine.

@ laceandliterature; What do you intend to do, then? 

The pause before his reply was deliberate, stretching just long enough to heighten the tension without breaking it.

@ thefourthdoctor; Challenge you. Teach you. Protect you, if you let me.

Your breath hitched, his words striking a chord deep within you. The power in his offer wasn’t in its force but in its certainty, its quiet promise of control without cruelty, dominance without destruction.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a tall order.

@ thefourthdoctor; I’ve never been afraid of a challenge.

The simplicity of his answer left you momentarily stunned. He wasn’t boasting, wasn’t trying to impress you. He was stating a fact, one that resonated with an authority you couldn’t ignore.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you get out of this?

@ thefourthdoctor; The pleasure of watching you grow. The satisfaction of knowing you’re safe. And maybe, if you’re willing, a connection worth more than either of us expected.

Your chest tightened, his words threading through the cracks in your defences with startling ease. He wasn’t just offering a transaction; he was offering something far deeper, something that terrified and intrigued you in equal measure.

@ laceandliterature; You make it sound so simple.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, if you trust me. But I won’t rush you. This is your choice.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you. He wasn’t demanding anything from you, wasn’t using manipulation or coercion. He was giving you the space to decide, to choose whether to step into the unknown or retreat to the safety of your walls.

@ laceandliterature; What if I don’t know how to trust someone like you?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll show you how, baby. Step by step. But only if you’re willing.

The kindness in his words was a stark contrast to the intensity of his presence, a reminder that his control wasn’t about overpowering you—it was about guiding you, supporting you, meeting you where you were and pulling you gently forward.

@ laceandliterature; And if I’m not?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But I don’t think you want me to.

The truth in his words hit you like a jolt, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. He was right—you didn’t want to let him go. You didn’t want to retreat into the safety of solitude, not when he was offering something so intoxicatingly rare.

@ laceandliterature; You’re very sure of yourself

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of you. And I’m willing to wait until you are too.

The words lingered on the screen, a challenge and a reassurance all at once. He wasn’t just pulling you into his world—he was offering to walk beside you, to guide you through the uncharted territory of trust and surrender.

And as you stared at his message, your pulse thrumming in your ears, one thing became abundantly clear. You wanted to see where this could lead.

Your fingers trembled as you typed your reply.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t know where this is going.

His response came swiftly, his dominance tempered by kindness:

@ thefourthdoctor; Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time.

When the evening settled and the quiet of your room enveloped you, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone. His last message still lingered there:

"Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time."

Trust. The word had seemed so monumental when he’d said it, and now it felt even heavier in the quiet intimacy of your room.

Your eyes wandered to the package on your desk, the one that had arrived just days ago. The lingerie you’d bought with the money he’d sent—not something you’d ever imagined doing, much less showing anyone. But his insistence had stayed with you.

"This is for you," he’d written. "Because you deserve to feel special."

You’d laughed at the time, unsure how to process the sincerity in his words. But now, with the soft lace spread out in front of you, you felt the weight of his kindness.

On impulse, you slipped it on, the delicate fabric hugging your body in a way that felt both indulgent and empowering. It wasn’t something you’d ever have bought for yourself, but now, wearing it, you understood the quiet confidence it offered.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks flushing as you adjusted the straps. The blush-colored lace was intricate and feminine, the perfect balance of modesty and allure. You hesitated, biting your lip as your phone buzzed in your hand.

Finally, you snapped a photo—nothing overly revealing, just the curve of your body hinted at in the soft light, the lace framing your figure. It felt daring, intimate, and, most of all, you felt like his.

With a shaky breath, you typed a caption for the image. 

@ laceandliterature; Thank you. I thought you should see where your funds are going.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, your heart racing as the message left your screen.

@ thefourthdoctor; You’re so beautiful, my little angel.

Your breath caught at the simplicity of his words. There was no embellishment, no flourish—just a quiet, sincere acknowledgment that made your chest tighten.

Another message followed, slower this time, as if he’d chosen each word carefully.

@ thefourthdoctor; Thank you for trusting me with this. How does it make you feel?

His question sent a ripple of warmth through you. He wasn’t just admiring you; he cared about how you felt, ensuring that this moment wasn’t just for him.

@ laceandliterature; It feels… different. In a good way.

The dots danced on the screen before his next message appeared.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. That’s exactly how it should feel. You deserve to feel confident and cared for.

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth of his words cutting through the lingering nerves. He had a way of making you feel seen, like every action, every choice you made mattered to him.

@ laceandliterature; I wasn’t sure about sending it, I’ve never done anything like that before.

You admitted, your honesty surprising even you.

@ thefourthdoctor; You don’t need to worry. You’re safe with me. Always.

The reassurance in his words settled something deep inside you. He wasn’t just saying it—he meant it, every word carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Before you could respond, your phone vibrated in your hand, his name lighting up the screen. You hadn't expected him to call so soon, but the smile that spread across your face at the sight of his name felt entirely natural.

Your throat pinched, the air suddenly feeling all too warm. Neither of you had ever initiated a call before, what would he sound like? Deciding to push your nerves to the side, you answer the call.

"I was thinking you might not pick up for a moment there," his voice was low and smooth, a hint of amusement dancing through his words. "I hope you know this isn’t just about the photo. It’s about you. What you need, what you want. If you’re ever unsure, tell me. I’ll always listen."

"I guess I just couldn’t help myself," you teased, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks at the memory of how vulnerable you'd felt.

"Yeah? Am I living up to the expectation?" he murmured, and you could hear the laughter in his voice. It wasn’t a mocking sort of amusement, just a quiet acknowledgment that you both knew where this conversation was heading. And that, he hoped, neither one of you would shy away from it.

You laughed, a softness you'd never known you were capable of settling into your chest. There had been something so unexpectedly freeing about the experience—about wearing it made you flush with warmth.

“You could say that…”

“What were you hoping for, when you sent me that photo?”

The thought sent an immediate ache through your body, the suggestion of his touch, of the things he might do to you, sending a wave of desire through you. Your mind raced with images of “him” above you, of his hands pinning your wrists to the bed as he thrust into you. The thought was enough to make you flush, the ache of need between your legs becoming almost unbearable.

"Nothing.” You couldn’t even pretend to feign nonchalance when his words had been so unflinchingly honest, when the promise of what lay ahead was so tantalisingly clear.

"I’ll make it easier for you, then. What are you thinking about right now?" he said bluntly, his words sending a rush of heat through your entire body. There was nothing ambiguous or hesitant about his command; he wanted this, and he expected you to do it. "Tell me what you want, angel. I can give you that."

You twist the fabric hem of the lingerie around your fingers nervously, chewing at the dry skin on the edge of your lips. “I- I don’t know how to do this.” 

He chuckles softly, voice still full of kindness. “Then you don’t have to do anything, let me do all the work, baby.”

You’re quiet for a moment, pondering your options. Before nodding to yourself, deciding you’d have to let go of your nerves for the time being if you wanted this to continue.

“Okay.” You whisper, almost inaudibly. He wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he’d not been paying such close attention.

You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of boldness. "I... I've always had this fantasy of being guided by a man... someone who knows what he wants and can show me new pleasures. I’ve never had that chance before… I was hoping maybe that could be you."

"Oh, angel, you have no idea how much I want to fulfil those desires," He purred. "I can be your guide, your teacher, and your lover all in one."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you felt your core tighten with anticipation. "I... I think I'd like that very much."

"I want you to relax and get comfortable for me, can you do that, baby?. Dim the lights, light a candle, whatever you need to do."

Obeying his instructions, you lit a scented candle, filling the room with a soft, flickering glow and a hint of vanilla. You kicked off your shoes and slid under the covers, your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's it, sweet girl," He whispered. "Now, I want you to imagine my hands on your body, caressing your skin, exploring every inch of you. Feel my touch, soft and gentle, as I trace your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts."

As you listened, you closed your eyes, visualising his strong, masculine hands on your body. You imagined his fingers brushing against your sensitive nipples, causing them to harden in response. Soft whimpers escaping your lips as you reach up to cup your breasts, mimicking his touch.

"That's right, angel," he encouraged. "Touch yourself for me. Feel how soft you are, how sweet.”

Your fingers obeyed, teasing your nipples, rolling and tugging at the sensitive peaks. You arched your back, pressing your breasts into your palms, and let out a soft cry of pleasure.

"Do you like that, little girl?" He asked, his voice thick with desire. "I wish you could see what you do to me."

"Yes, Doctor," you breathed, your voice heavy with arousal. “It feels so good."

"Now, slide your hand down your stomach, past your navel, and into the heat between your thighs," he instructed, his voice a seductive command. "Feel how wet you are for me, how your body responds to my words."

Your hand trembled as you obeyed, slipping beneath the covers and finding your way to your core. Your fingers brushed against your wet folds, and you gasped at the sensation.

"Oh, god, baby. You're so wet, aren’t you? I can hear it," He growled. "Rub your fingers along your pussy, coat them with your sweetness.”

You did as he said, moaning as your fingers slipped into your tight cunt. You were so wet, so ready, and the sensation of filling yourself sent waves of pleasure through your body. Taking the phone down your body, you hold it in front of your dripping pussy. Your microphone picking up on the sounds as your fingers slip through your folds.

"What a noisy fucking pussy, that's it, that's my girl," he encouraged. "Fuck yourself with your fingers, slowly at first, imagine it's my cock inside you, claiming your tight little cunt."

Your fingers moved in and out, your pace increasing as your pleasure spiralled. You imagined Spencer's thick, hard length filling you, his powerful body driving into yours.

"Yeah, fuck yourself for me," he urged. "Let go, angel girl. Come for me, and let me hear your sweet cries."

Your fingers worked frantically, your body on the brink of ecstasy. His words, his deep, commanding voice, pushed you over the edge. With a cry of release, you climaxed, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered, whispering soft praise over the phone, his voice filled with satisfaction. "That sounded like a lot, hm? You still with me, beautiful?."

"I know that wasn’t easy for you, but it was beautiful to hear." His voice was soft, filled with sincerity. 

You lay there, breathless and sated, your body still humming with pleasure. "Y-yeah, m still here. Thank you."

"You did so good, such a well behaved girl. Check your phone for me, baby. Look what you did to me."

You froze for a moment, your mind struggling to process exactly what you were looking at. And then it registered—the smooth skin of his stomach, the slight curve of his hip. A moment later, you saw it; his cock, flushed pink tip, half-hard and resting against his stomach. A small pool of cum rested near his belly button.. You flushed all over at the thought, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the photo. There was something so undeniably intimate about the image; something that spoke to the fact that he'd been pleasuring himself while thinking of you.

With a final, breathless goodbye, you end the call. Your heart is still racing, your body tingling with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure. His voice still echoes in your ears, warm and commanding, and the weight of his presence seems to fill the room even though he's no longer on the line. You lean back against the soft cushions on your bed, eyes fluttering closed, letting the soft glow of the lamp wash over you.

You let out a slow exhale, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with the buzz still pulsing beneath your skin. There’s something thrilling, intoxicating about the way he’s able to draw you out, make you vulnerable and yet so sure of yourself all at once. But the moment feels almost too surreal, too indulgent, and you try to calm your racing thoughts when a ping breaks through the haze of your afterglow.

You glance down at your phone, blinking at the notification that has just popped up.

$500 has been deposited into your account.

-for my pretty girl

Your breath catches in your throat as your fingers instinctively swipe open the message. You freeze, your eyes scanning the details with a quickness that betrays your curiosity.

"Doctor Reid," it reads, alongside the substantial amount.

For a moment, time seems to stop, your gaze fixed on the screen as your pulse quickens once more. The money sits there, cool and impersonal, yet its presence is anything but. It’s a gesture—one that feels undeniably generous, but also loaded with unspoken meaning. This isn’t just a transaction. This is him, and everything that came with the promise of his control, his attention, his care.

You’ve known that he was willing to give, but this—this feels different. The amount is so much more than what you’d expected. What did he mean by it? What does he expect now?

You glance at the digits one more time, the weight of his name anchoring the moment. It feels strange to see it. So he was a doctor. 

A tight knot forms in your chest, mixing nerves with something else—something like desire, maybe even gratitude. You bite your lip, unsure how to feel. It was just a phone call, just a moment of shared vulnerability between you. Yet the fact that he’s followed through with this kind of gesture makes everything feel so much more real, so much more complicated.

With a heavy sigh, you set your phone down and run your fingers through your hair, your mind racing as you try to reconcile the thrill of the moment with the heavy responsibility that now feels like it’s creeping in.

At least now you had his name, Doctor Reid.

next part

[starmaidengarden]

idia : malleus : x gn!reader. no cw/tw. soft relationship headcanons. pt3!

idia shroud ༉⋆｡˚

Dating Idia Shroud is like entering a world of late-night gaming sessions, anime marathons, and unexpectedly deep emotional connections. He might be shy and reclusive, but once he trusts you, you become his safe place.

Getting Together

Idia has had a crush on you from afar for months but actively refuses to acknowledge it. He convinces himself that you’re way out of his league.

Painfully clear. Every time you talk to him, his hair turns bright pink and he full-on shuts down. His brain blue-screens, avoiding eye contact, and randomly vanishing from rooms when you enter.

Ortho eventually gets tired of it and drags him into confessing. Idia’s idea of a confession? "Uhh, statistically, the rejection probability is 90%, so it’s fine, but I—I like you. Okay, BYE—”

he immediately collapses into a nervous mess. Internally screaming. Externally panicking. But also lowkey floating with happiness.

In a Relationship

Online dates > Going out. He’d rather stay in and watch shows, play co-op games, or binge movies than go on traditional dates. (If you insist on going out, he’ll drag himself along—grumbling but secretly enjoying it.)

He loves doing co-op games together, and if you dont play games, he’ll happily teach you (while holding back to let you win).

He starts coming out of his shell for you. Like—willingly going outside?? Sitting next to you in the cafeteria?? “I’m only doing this because your stats are maxed in ‘Affection,’ okay?!”

He talks about you constantly to Ortho. “Y/N said my hair looks cool today. That’s like… a critical hit to the heart.”

malleus draconia ༉⋆｡˚

dating Malleus Draconia is like stepping into a fairy tale—romantic, magical, and filled with deep, old-fashioned devotion. Since he’s a fae prince, love is no casual thing to him; it’s eternal.

Getting Together

Malleus falls in love deeply and deliberately. He doesn’t experience fleeting crushes—when he realizes he loves you, it’s serious.

He doesn’t realize he’s being obvious. Everyone—including Lilia, Sebek, and even Silver—knows he’s in love. If you don’t catch on, Lilia might “accidentally” push you both into a romantic setting.

He doesn’t confess in a traditional way. Instead, he starts courting you in an old-fashioned, fae-like manner—bringing you rare flowers, inviting you on moonlit walks, and speaking to you in poetic secrets.

When he finally confesses, it’s grand, poetic, and old-fashioned. “I have lived through countless moonrises and starfalls… but never has anything stirred me like you. If you would allow it, I wish to be by your side… eternally.”

(He’s completely serious. You’re trying not to short-circuit.)

In a Relationship

Deep devotion. Malleus treats love as sacred. Once he’s with you, he is yours forever. He’s an old soul, so he speaks to you with deep sincerity. "You are precious to me" means everything when he says it. He often calls you his treasure or his beloved.

Loves spending quiet time with you. Whether it’s stargazing, reading together, or just walking through a forest, he enjoys simple yet magical moments.

Affection is slow He's not used to being touched—so the first time you hug him, he literally freezes. He doesn’t rush into physical touch, but when he does, it’s gentle and reverent. He loves holding your hand like it’s something fragile and precious.

Talks about the future easily. Unlike humans, fae think in centuries—he naturally includes you in his long-term plans, as if your love is inevitable and eternal.

He brings you gifts from other worlds—enchanted trinkets, preserved flower petals from Briar Valley, even weather in bottles.

Also? He watches you sleep. Not in a creepy way—just in awe. “How do humans look so soft when they are vulnerable?”