#wall says some days i feel like i can barely keep it together - you me dad it's all i've got - )

[candiedspit]

SARAH & THE GREAT BIG NOTHING

The world was against me that summer; all the worries hung on my back like a bag of rice, a monkey that kept banging his golden cymbals in my ears. There wasn’t much on my plate. A few numbers at work, an email or two. The parents calling from New Hampshire. The rosebuds are so delicate in the sunlight. And the garden, you’ve got to see the garden. I worried about the worms in the rain. I worried about the pollution in the skies. I worried most about the girl I was seeing who was lost in the dark woods. I felt zapped even saying her name out loud. 

Sarah, my statuette shrouded in deep mist. I loved her on the moon. I loved her in the wobbling Ferris wheel train at Coney Island. But she was lost, more than most. When I touched her, I was reading braille. I couldn’t explain it well when Edwardo–the only friend I had, the only person I felt comfortable talking to, everyone else was alien and couldn’t ward off evils as he could–asked about what she was like. Sarah was a man at dusk staring into the heaving bleeding sunrise. Sarah was a chandelier fallen to the ground, the shrieking and the clunks of glass. Sarah was a year older than I was and wore her age like a purse dog. There was a stock market crassness about the way she dressed. I saw her in long silk skirts and delicate dresses, golden bangles and purple tights. But when we spoke, she turned small. 

They would have put me in the freak show, I told her once as we laid on my carpet, naked and smelling of listerine and sex. If they could see me prancing in the fields, I’d be put in some kind of hospital. 

Sure, but you’re alright, she told me. I’m the one with the second head, the cranium sawed in half and screaming about comedians and smoking Cambodian scent out of a pipe. I’m barely alive. I can’t speak. I’d have to be thrown into a cage until the speech came back like starved dogs to a piece of chicken on the road. Do you know? That feeling?

What feeling? I asked, watching the fan spin in endless circles above us. 

It was Sunday evening, and the upcoming week mocked me. The burnt coffee machine and the quiet politics that came along with typing numbers in an office with other broken people. Anna hands me paperclips and winks. Anna is nothing. Anna is blonde dust. But during her lunch break, Anna turns herself on with fantasies of poking me with a pen, the blue crooked mark the pen might leave. 

The feeling that the room might shatter beneath you, Sarah said. That the drinks might spill and you’ll be the clown everyone knew you were. And through the windows the sun is dark and depressed, hardly hanging there. That everything is black? That you can try and slash through the trough of green, the huge leaves, the warfare. But you’ll be left alone in a field, dumbly holding a gun you don’t know how to use. And the nation doesn’t know your name. That someone is smoking in the theatre? That everything is delicate and you might make the wrong movement. 

What do you do with that feeling? I asked, removing an eyelash from her cheek with my fingers. 

She was a red-head. She had long arms. She played piano in clubs, sometimes. And did makeup for stage actors other times. She had her things. I had my things. I liked the time we spent together, but I never wanted to leave. What’s another day? A couple? The numbers could wait. The numbers would always be there. I wanted to keep her with me on a keychain, in my coat pocket. I asked her for a piece of her hair and I kept it in a love box on my coffee table. Sometimes, I smelled it when I needed peace. It was often that I needed peace. My little red princess. Only she could dial the sound down. Only she could win the game. I needed her like I needed seasons. 

I like to drink about it, she said. It’s awful but I love the wobbles, the holding of walls, the dribble of flavorful laughter about nothing. I love anything like that. I tried being a monk. I held myself in the apartment for twenty one days eating nothing but saltines and tuna, writing down what I felt in a notepad, meditated and waited for the rush of elevation. 

Did it come? I asked. 

That’s the thing, she said. I did my best and nothing happened. I couldn’t defeat the beast. So, I tried the opposite. I went to bars and fucked in Times Square, in some green-lit bathroom. I drank until I couldn’t see. I did pills that made me forget days. I let someone stick a needle in my arm. But the beast would not leave. I have a beast and I must live with him. And Frankie? 

I looked into her eyes, the color of a clean pool table. I was touching her stomach and felt her voice travel through her skin. 

Yes? 

I think you have a beast, too. 

I thought about this. The nothing I felt. I went to Japan once. And felt nothing among the bright, dirty lights and the live squid in my mouth. And felt nothing most of the time. An ailment?

Hm, I said. What are we to do about this? 

Things like this need patience. And acceptance. Have the moments. Go to the lake when it’s frozen and worry that you might fall through. Go to the woods and run your hand over the wild moss. Go to Russia and listen to the foreign, beautiful language. But understand that it is not within you to feel these things. You are a glass. You are meant to be filled and then emptied again. It is painful. It is a ring of hell. But there’s beauty in it, too. 

I love you, I said. That is one thing that I know for sure. 

And I do too, she said. But we’re going to live long and empty lives. Are you ready? 

I nodded. And kissed her chin and kissed her stomach and legs and ankles. I loved her scent, like marmalade and a cold sweat. 

In the years ahead, we made snow angels and broke mirrors and swam in the black oceans and dressed like royalty and begged on the street and watched the neons of every sunset and lived in a farmhouse and ate lollipops in South America and saw plays and took cabs and dressed like clowns at funerals and I loved her and I loved her and we never beat the beast but we gave him a rough time. At the end, I buried her first, then went home and ate a bullet. 

It was the best thing I ever did.

[weidli]

oh so 1x22 really is exactly calculated to make me specifically go fucking feral huh

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

[be4chywritez]

sweet like honey | max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!reader

"you're to sweet for me."

Max doesn't like how nice you are towards him.

beachy’s masterlist🐚

prompt list

Max isn't sure why he doesn’t like you. You’ve never wronged him, never talked bad about him, or been rude in any way. But for some odd reason, Max hates you.

Maybe it’s the Verstappen genes kicking in, that innate tendency to be an asshole. Or maybe it’s bred into him to keep sweet things like you at a distance. So, you can imagine his shock and horror when he sees you perched on the couch, flipping through a book in his friend’s Italian villa.

Your eyes meet his, and a smile graces your lips. You place the book in your lap, and he watches as your eyes brighten at the sight of him, the same way they might light up at the sight of a pretty flower.

Your small yellow sundress barely covers your upper thighs, and Max can’t help but stare before quickly looking down at his phone, not wanting to be too obvious about his boyish gawking.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice warm and rich like honey, drawing his attention whether he wants it or not.

He hears you, of course, but pretends to focus on his phone. His thumb moves slowly over the screen, though nothing he sees holds his interest. It’s the way you say his name that sticks in his mind, making it impossible to ignore.

“It’s nice to see you,” you continue, your tone sincere as if you mean it more than you should. You settle back into the cushions, your dress slipping a little higher on your thighs, and he catches himself glancing before looking away again.

Max lets out a quiet huff, his eyes still fixed on his phone, but his attention is all on you now. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, almost guarded.

You shift, crossing your legs under you, the air feeling warmer, closer. “A surprise, I guess,” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips, the kind that lingers, soft and effortless.

Max clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look back at his phone. Still, he’s hyper-aware of your presence, of the subtle scent of your perfume lingering in the room. He swallows hard, trying to steady himself, even as his chest tightens.

“Yeah,” he mutters, almost under his breath, like he’s afraid to say anything else, and you let the moment settle, content with the quiet between you.

Just then, his best friend Jamie stumbles in, holding a glass of chardonnay. “Maxie,” he coos, squishing Max’s cheeks together, making his lips pucker. Close behind comes your best friend, Mila—Jamie’s girlfriend.

A few others join the group, a mix of Jamie and Mila’s friends, and Max’s brow furrows as he realizes that they’re all couples. He internally groans, watching your eyes flit around like a lost puppy.

“Alright, everyone,” Mila announces with a clap of her hands, “time to head up. We’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow.”

One by one, the group starts dispersing, grabbing their things and heading upstairs. Max lingers, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, but he’s acutely aware of you standing up from the couch, smoothing down the hem of your dress.

You move with an easy grace, slipping past him with a soft, “Goodnight, Max.” There’s no sarcasm, no bite—just genuine kindness that he doesn’t understand. You flash him a small smile before heading toward the stairs.

Max’s jaw tightens as he watches you go. You’re far too calm, far too kind for his liking. It makes him uncomfortable, like you’re holding a mirror up to the way he behaves, forcing him to see the stark contrast between you.

He takes a deep breath, tucking his phone into his pocket, and follows behind the group. The villa is beautiful, the soft glow of the lights casting long shadows across the walls as everyone makes their way to their respective rooms. His room is at the far end of the hall, and as he reaches it, he notices you standing just outside the door next to his.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” you say lightly, your voice warm and soft. You hold your toothbrush and a towel, your yellow sundress replaced by pale pink silky pajamas, and there’s something almost disarming about how comfortable you seem.

Max nods, his expression neutral. “Yeah.”

You don’t push the conversation, only smile again as you step into your room. “Sleep well, Max,” you say over your shoulder, as if you mean it.

He huffs quietly, more out of habit than frustration, and slips into his own room. The door closes with a soft click, and he leans back against it, rubbing a hand over his face.

For a moment, he stands there, in the silence of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He doesn’t know why your kindness unsettles him so much. It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, but that’s exactly the problem. You’re too nice. Too understanding. And for some reason, it gets under his skin.

Max changes into a T-shirt and shorts, moving about the room on autopilot. He keeps hearing your voice, soft and sweet, lingering in his thoughts.

Finally, he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, trying to shut everything out. But it’s quiet now—too quiet. And even though you’re just on the other side of the wall, he can’t stop thinking about you.

In the middle of the night, he’s still awake, tossing and turning, when there’s a soft knock on his door. Max sits up, frowning slightly, wondering who it could be at this hour.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pads across the room, opening the door just a crack. It’s you, standing there, a little sheepish, your arms crossed lightly over your chest.

“Sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… my room's really hot. I think the AC is broken.”

Max blinks, unsure of what to say at first. Part of him wants to tell you to deal with it yourself, but another part of him can’t ignore it.

His eyes linger on you more than he’d admit—your hair sticking to your neck from sweat, your cheeks flushed, and you nibble your lip nervously. Your tank top has ridden up, a sliver of your hip exposed, and Max does everything in his power to push those thoughts away.

“Uh… you could just crack open a window,” he suggests, his voice a bit rough from sleep. He knows the words sound hollow even to him. He doesn’t want you in his space, yet part of him doesn’t want you sweating alone either.

You fidget slightly, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I tried, but it didn’t help. I just thought… maybe I could crash in here?” The words hang in the air, hopeful yet tentative.

Max’s heart races at the idea. The prospect of sharing the bed makes his palms sweat. It’s one thing to be in the same room, but sharing a bed? He hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek as he weighs his options.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but there’s a hint of something deeper in his tone. The image of you curled up beside him—too close for comfort—sends a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” you offer a nervous smile, clearly not wanting to invade his space, so you back away, ducking into your room. He watches you until the door is shut behind you.

Max stands in the doorway, his heart racing as he processes the moment. He’s not sure why he feels such a strong urge to call you back, to insist that it’s okay, but the words remain stuck in his throat. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling a mix of irritation and something else—something he’s not ready to name.

As he paces back to his bed, he tries to shake off the lingering image of you standing there, your flushed cheeks and nervous smile. He lies down again, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you’re just a wall away.

A few moments pass before he hears a soft, muffled noise from your room—a sniffle, maybe? It makes his chest tighten at the thought of you crying because you're uncomfortable.

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself, tossing an arm over his eyes. He’s not going to sleep if he keeps thinking about you like this.

After what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, he finally sits up, his decision made. He stands up, his heart pounding in his chest, and makes his way to your door. He raises his hand to knock but hesitates, uncertainty flooding in.

“Why the hell am I doing this?” he mutters, his self-doubt creeping back in. But the thought of you feeling uncomfortable alone is enough to push him through. He knocks softly, the sound barely more than a tap.

“Hey,” you call from inside, and he can hear the surprise in your voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, his voice worse than he intended. “I… just thought maybe you could come back. It’s probably not that hot here.”

There’s a brief silence, and he can imagine the look on your face—surprised and perhaps a little hopeful. “Really?” you ask, and he can’t help the slight smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

The door swings open, revealing you still in your silk-clad pajamas. He rips his gaze away, feeling a tightness in his throat. He doesn't utter a word, just turns around, walking to his room. He can hear your feet padding behind him, and you close the door behind the both of you.

Max keeps his back to you as you quietly follow him into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The air feels heavier now, thick with unspoken tension as you stand there in the dim light, waiting for him to say something. But Max doesn’t. Instead, he heads straight for the bed, pulling back the covers on one side, his movements stiff and a little too deliberate.

“You can take the right side,” he mutters, not looking at you, as he slides under the covers on the left. His heart is pounding, though he tries to act like everything is fine.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to thank him or just keep quiet. Deciding not to push it, you simply nod, even though he isn’t looking at you. You cross the room and slip into the bed beside him, careful not to make any sudden movements.

The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he can feel the same tension thrumming between you that you do. The bed feels impossibly small now, the space between you a thin sliver of air that crackles with awkwardness.

You lie still, facing away from him, but you can feel his presence—so close and yet so distant. The sound of his steady breathing fills the room, and you wonder if he’s doing the same as you, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to sleep.

Minutes stretch on, and the silence between you is deafening. Every creak of the bed, every shift in the sheets seems louder in the stillness of the night. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice so soft it barely breaks the silence. You don’t expect a reply, and for a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of your own breathing.

Then, finally, Max shifts slightly beside you. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, his voice low and rough, but there’s something different in it now. Something that isn’t as cold as before.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Maybe he isn’t as indifferent as he wants you to think. You curl up a little more, trying to make yourself comfortable, even as the tension lingers in the air between you.

As the night drags on, you begin to drift in and out of sleep. The heat from the earlier part of the night is gone now, replaced by a cooler breeze that drifts in through the open window. The sheets are soft, and for the first time since you entered Max’s room, you start to relax.

Just as you’re on the edge of sleep, you feel something shift again. Max turns slightly, the mattress dipping as he moves closer—just barely, but enough for you to notice. His arm brushes against yours, and the warmth of his skin sends a small jolt through you.

You stay perfectly still, wondering if he did it on purpose or if he’s just restless. Either way, you don’t move, afraid to disturb the delicate balance between you.

Your mind races—what if you roll over onto him in your sleep? What if you start snoring?—and the nerves bubble up, spilling out before you can stop yourself.

“So… I haven’t slept in a guy’s bed in ages,” you blurt out, staring at the ceiling. Max barely reacts, his only acknowledgment a low, noncommittal “Mhm,” but it doesn’t stop you from talking.

“Yeah, it’s been, like… a long time. I’m more of a 'sleep with a thousand pillows' kind of person, you know? Gotta have the right setup.” You laugh a little, mostly to yourself, feeling the need to fill the quiet. Max doesn’t respond, but you keep going, too nervous to stop. “Oh, and I’m really bad with directions, like, I get lost in grocery stores. Once, I ended up in the freezer aisle for thirty minutes just trying to find the cereal.”

“Mhm.”

His replies are half-hearted at best, but you don’t mind. If anything, the sound of his quiet indifference weirdly helps soothe your nerves.

“Oh! And I can’t swim,” you say with a laugh, thinking it’s just another random fact to throw out there. But this time, Max’s head snaps toward you.

“You came to the amalfi coast, and you can’t swim?” he asks, his voice sharper than before, with a hint of amusement. His eyes narrow slightly, and you can’t help but grin.

“Yeah,” you reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Figured I’d just, you know… stay on the shore.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s stupid.”

“Maybe,” you say, laughing softly, your nerves easing a bit. “But I’m good at other things. Like… did you know I can recite the entire script of Finding Nemo? Well, mostly.”

Max rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Great skill.”

You keep talking, the words flowing easier now. Your voice fills the room, soft and rhythmic, and even though Max doesn’t say much, you can feel the tension in the air start to shift. His body relaxes slightly, the space between you feeling a little less awkward.

“And another thing, I’m a terrible cook. Burnt spaghetti once. Didn’t even think that was possible. It’s water and noodles, right?” You laugh again, and this time Max lets out a quiet huff—almost like a chuckle, though he’d never admit it.

Your voice is like a steady hum, lulling the room into a gentle calm. You talk about everything and nothing, the words spilling out in a quiet stream. Max listens, his responses becoming softer, almost inaudible, but it doesn’t matter. His breathing slows, his eyes fluttering shut as your voice washes over him.

You don’t notice when he finally drifts off, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. But somehow, you feel it—the way the energy in the room has shifted, his earlier sharpness melted away into something softer, more relaxed.

The next morning, sunlight spills through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You stir first, the warmth of the bed enveloping you, your body reluctant to wake. For a moment, you forget where you are, and then it hits you—Max’s bed, Max’s room. You blink your eyes open slowly, turning your head slightly to see him still there, asleep.

He’s lying on his back now, the sheets tangled around his waist, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. His face is serene, the harsh lines you’ve come to associate with him softened by sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, giving him an almost boyish look, something so different from the hard-edged man who usually glares at you.

You feel a strange flutter in your chest as you look at him, this version of Max—unguarded, vulnerable. It’s a side of him you never thought you’d see, and it’s almost too intimate, too close. You shift a little, trying not to make any noise, but the bed creaks softly under your weight.

Max stirs, his brows furrowing slightly as he slowly wakes up. His eyes open halfway, still hazy with sleep, and for a brief moment, he looks at you without the usual edge in his gaze. It’s like he’s forgotten for a second who you are, where he is.

Then, reality seems to settle back in, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly, though there’s no real malice there. Just a kind of gruff annoyance.

“Mornin’,” he mutters, his voice rough and low, thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply softly, offering a tentative smile.

He shifts, pushing himself up on his elbows, the sheet falling further down his waist, revealing more of his toned torso. You can’t help but glance, quickly averting your eyes when you realize you’re staring.

Max runs a hand through his messy hair, yawning as he glances at you. “You talk a lot in your sleep too, or is that just when you’re awake?” he asks, a hint of that familiar sarcasm creeping back into his tone, though there’s no real bite behind it.

You chuckle lightly, relaxing a little. “Only when I’m awake, I promise.”

He grunts, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence between you less awkward than you would’ve expected. It’s almost… comfortable.

Max stretches, his muscles flexing slightly as he does, and you try not to let your eyes linger too long. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t seem to notice.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “how’d you sleep?”

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrugs. “Fine, I guess.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, almost begrudgingly, “Didn’t mind all the talking.”

Your heart skips a beat at that, the small admission catching you off guard. You smile, warmth spreading through you. “Glad to know I didn’t annoy you too much.”

Max doesn’t respond, just grabs his phone from the nightstand and checks the time. But you catch the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips before he turns away.

He stands, pulling on a shirt and running a hand through his hair again before heading toward the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast soon,” he mutters. “Don’t take too long.”

He steps out before poking his head back in his face serious, “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he says gesturing a finger around towards you and him, right asshole Max is alive and well.

“Right.” you deflate, but none the less walk to your room. You notice the AC now works. 

The warmth of the Italian sun is already starting to filter in through your window as you slip into your pale yellow babydoll dress. The soft fabric feels light against your skin, perfect for the warm weather and the laid-back vibes of the villa.

When you finally make your way downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries fills the air, and you can hear the familiar hum of laughter and chatter. The villa’s terrace is bathed in sunlight, with everyone seated around the large outdoor table, enjoying breakfast. 

Max is already seated, of course, his usual stoic expression in place. He’s leaning back in his chair, sunglasses on, making it impossible to tell if he’s even noticed you. 

An array of colorful fruits and pastries litters the table, couples chatting and laughing as you offer everyone a warm smile while taking a seat next to Mila, who returns the gesture. “How was the room, darling?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea. You can feel a pair of laser beams on your face, as if Max is staring into your soul.

“Oh, it was truly nice,” you reply, feeling the tips of your ears heat up with nerves. Mila seems to buy it and turns to address the entire group.

“So, guys, today we’re going to take the yacht around,” she announces, eliciting a few excited hoots from your friends. Your stomach tightens at the thought of being stuck on a yacht, but you brush the anxiety aside.

As the chatter around the breakfast table grows, the knot in your stomach tightens at the mention of the yacht. You toy with the edge of your napkin, trying to suppress the wave of nerves that accompanies the idea of being out on the water, especially since you can’t swim.

Max, still leaning back in his chair, tilts his head slightly in your direction, as if he senses the unease radiating off you. His sunglasses shield his eyes, but you swear you can feel his gaze tracing over you. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can almost hear his voice echoing in your mind: “You came to the Amalfi Coast, and you can’t swim?”

You swallow hard, forcing a smile as you join in on the group's excitement, even though the thought of being surrounded by water sends a shiver down your spine. Mila stands, gathering everyone’s attention, and starts guiding the group toward the dock.

The villa’s outdoor space spills into a sprawling garden, leading to a private path that takes you to where the yacht is docked. The sunlight glints off the water, almost blinding in its brightness, as you walk with the others toward the sleek, luxurious yacht. Everyone seems thrilled—laughing and talking about the views they’ll see—while you stay quieter than usual, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves.

You tug at the sleeves of your oversized polo, the fabric bunching slightly in your grip as you focus on steadying your breath. The path to the dock feels longer than it actually is, the sounds of the group’s lively chatter fading into the background. You glance at the shimmering blue water ahead and bite the inside of your cheek.

Max lingers just a few steps behind, and you can feel the weight of his presence even without looking. His footsteps are slow and deliberate, as if he’s watching you closely, waiting for any sign of weakness. You try not to dwell on it, though the image of him smirking at your fear lingers in the back of your mind.

As the group finally boards the yacht, you become hyper-aware of the water surrounding you. The boat rocks gently as everyone gets settled, and you grip the railing tightly, trying to hide your discomfort. Max watches you for a moment before walking past you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours.

“Relax,” he mutters under his breath, not even looking at you, but there’s something almost reassuring in his tone. You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to take a seat with the others, letting the warmth of the sun and the sound of conversation distract you from the vast ocean around you.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you try to focus on the scenery. The Amalfi Coast is breathtaking—cliffs draped in greenery, colorful villas dotting the shoreline, and the ocean sparkling beneath the golden sunlight. Everyone around you laughs and soaks up the beauty of the day, but your hands remain clenched in your lap, your mind preoccupied with the endless expanse of water.

Despite your nervousness, you find yourself stealing glances at Max. He’s sitting at the back of the yacht, one arm draped casually over the side, sunglasses shielding his eyes as he stares out at the water. He looks so at ease, completely unaffected by the swaying of the boat or the openness of the sea.

The breeze picks up, ruffling your hair, and as you turn your attention back to the group, you feel the yacht slow down. Mila claps her hands, announcing that they’ve anchored near a beautiful cove, perfect for swimming.

Your stomach drops.

Everyone begins shedding layers, excitement buzzing through the group as they prepare to jump into the water. You stay seated, gripping the edge of your chair as they leap overboard, laughter echoing around you.

Max stands, pulling off his shirt and revealing the defined muscles of his back and shoulders. Your eyes linger for a moment longer than you intend. He catches your gaze just before he moves toward the edge of the yacht, that same smirk playing on his lips.

“You coming in?” he asks, his voice low, almost challenging.

You shake your head quickly, offering a small laugh. “No, I think I’ll just… stay here and enjoy the sun.”

Max arches an eyebrow, clearly not buying your excuse, but he doesn’t push it. He gives you one last look, his smirk still in place, before diving effortlessly into the water.

You watch as your friends giggle and enjoy themselves. Mila waves up at you, and you give her a fake salute. She giggles and goes back to swimming. A few minutes later, several members of the group come up to take a break, Max among them. You hate to admit it, but you watch the water droplets roll off him, his cheeks flushed from the sun, and a tight feeling blooms in your core as you force yourself to look away.

The group is lively, and at one point, Jamie, always the instigator, starts playfully shoving friends toward the edge of the boat, teasing and laughing. You stand at the back, watching, hoping to stay out of the chaos.

But in a moment of playful exuberance, Jamie swings his arm and accidentally nudges you forward. Time seems to slow as you lose your balance, and before you can even process what’s happening, you tumble over the side of the yacht. The water crashes around you, and as you hit the surface, the cold rush envelops you, sending panic gripping your chest. Instinctively, you kick your legs, but the water pulls you under, and you flail in confusion. The world above disappears, and the muffled sounds of laughter and splashing fade into silence.

Just as you start to lose hope, a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back to the surface. You gasp for air, blinking the water from your eyes, and find yourself face-to-face with Max. His expression is intense, irritation etched on his features.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps, though his grip is steady and reassuring as he keeps you afloat.

You can’t help but laugh nervously, trying to shake off the fear. “I didn’t want to go in!” you manage to sputter, still clinging to him for dear life.

Max rolls his eyes, the frown returning, though it’s softer this time. “You need to stop thrashing around,” he says, his voice lower now.

As he helps you back onto the yacht, the warmth of the sun hits your damp skin once more. Laughter and cheers erupt from the group as they realize you’re okay, but Max’s presence is the only thing that matters to you in this moment. He doesn’t say anything; his expression remains unreadable as he sets you down.

You catch your breath, water dripping from your hair and running down your arms. “Thanks, Max,” you say, trying to brush off the embarrassment. His usual smirk is absent, and for a split second, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he cares.

But as soon as you’re on the boat, he steps back, leaving you with the others. “Try not to drown next time,” he says, his tone flat as he pulls his shirt back on, the fabric clinging to his damp skin. It feels more like a reflex than a genuine jab, but you let it slide, laughing it off. “I’ll try my best.”

He turns away, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. You shake your head, trying to focus on the laughter around you as Jamie and Mila check to make sure you’re okay. “Really, I’m fine,” you assure them, even as your heart races from the close call.

Just like that, everyone goes back to normal. Lunch is served, and as the yacht heads back to the dock under the fading light, you’re the first one off, eager to touch solid ground once more. You don’t bid anyone goodnight; you’re all too tired for that. You head upstairs to your room, closing the door behind you and shrugging off your damp polo and swimsuit. You hop in the shower, rinsing the salt water off your skin.

After your shower, the soft sound of knocking pulls you from your thoughts. You wrap yourself in a towel and open the door to find Mila standing there, concern etched across her features.

“Hey, just wanted to check on you,” she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes scan your face, searching for any signs of distress. “That fall looked pretty rough.”

You chuckle softly, waving it off. “I’m fine, really. Just a little embarrassed.”

Mila raises an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto her face. “You sure it’s not because of Max? I saw the way he pulled you out of the water. It looked pretty… intimate.”

The mention of Max sends a warmth flooding through you, one that you quickly dismiss. “Oh, please. He was just being a jerk, as usual.”

She smirks, crossing her arms. “Or maybe he just likes the attention.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, but a small part of you can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it. “He’s just… Max. You know how he is.”

Mila studies you for a moment, trying to read between the lines. “Well, just think about it. He’s not always the way he acts, you know?”

With that, she leaves, and you find yourself lost in thought, her words echoing in your mind. What if Max really did care?

Later that night, curiosity gets the better of you. You stand in front of Max’s door, your heart racing as you knock softly.

“Come in,” he calls, and you push the door open cautiously. He’s lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone, and for a moment, you’re struck by how at home he looks.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft. “I just wanted to thank you… for earlier.”

Max looks up, a flicker of something in his gaze before he masks it with indifference. “You mean for saving your ass?” he quips, his smirk returning. “Don’t mention it.”

You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room. “You know, for someone who supposedly doesn’t care, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

His expression shifts, annoyance flickering across his features. “What do you want me to do? Throw you a parade for not drowning?”

“Maybe just a little acknowledgment would be nice,” you counter, crossing your arms defensively.

He stands, taking a step closer, and the air between you crackles with tension. “I don’t like how sweet you are,” he says, his tone sharp. “It’s annoying.”

“Annoying?” you challenge, feeling a rush of defiance. “Is that really all you’ve got? Because it sounds like you’re just scared of someone actually caring.”

Max’s eyes darken, and for a moment, you think he might snap back. But instead, he steps even closer, invading your personal space. “You think you’re so great, don’t you? All sunshine and rainbows, but it doesn’t work with me.”

Before you can respond, he closes the distance, and suddenly, his lips are on yours—fervent and demanding. His warmth envelops you, slightly chapped against your own, igniting a spark that sends a thrill coursing through your entire body. You’re caught off guard at first, but your instincts take over, and you melt into the kiss, feeling his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer.

As the kiss deepens, you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He presses you against the door, his body firm and solid against yours, radiating heat that makes your pulse quicken. The kiss is intoxicating; every second stretches into eternity—his lips moving against yours in a dance that feels both wild and tender.

When you finally pull away, breathless, your heart races as you search his eyes. “Wait… Max—”

He leans in again, his breath mingling with yours, heavy with longing. “You taste sweet,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, a smirk tugging at his lips.

A rush of warmth floods your cheeks at his words. “Is that all you have to say?” you tease, a smile breaking through your fluster.

Max steps back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as he watches you intently. “What do you want me to say? That I’m an asshole who can’t help but want you?”

The air between you buzzes with unspoken tension—a mix of frustration and attraction. You feel exhilarated yet confused, unable to ignore the thrill of being this close to him, the chemistry crackling like electricity.

“Maybe you could start by admitting you actually care,” you challenge softly, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Maybe,” he replies, a hint of seriousness in his tone before leaning in again, capturing your lips with his. This time, it’s even more intense; his hands grip your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he can’t get enough of you.

But as the moment stretches on, you pull back slightly, breathless. “Max—”

He leans in again, and you find yourself needing to physically stop him, your hands resting on his chest. “Wait, we can’t just—”

“Why not?” he presses, his voice low and needy, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

You’re both panting, caught in an electric moment. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” you say, a smile creeping onto your lips despite the chaos swirling around you.

Max smirks, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, but you like it.” He crashes his lips against yours once more, and as he pulls away, he runs his tongue along his lower lip, a boyish smirk breaking through. “Sweet like honey,” he teases, prompting you to laugh and tilt your head back. Without thinking, you pull him down by his shirt collar, kissing him again, lost in the moment.

[pucksandpower]

Mirror Mirror

Day 12 → Mirror Sex 💋 Oscar Piastri

Warnings: 18+ content and body image issues

Kinktober Masterlist

Oscar swings open the door of the apartment, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The training session ran longer than he expected, and every muscle in his body aches with that familiar, satisfying burn. His shirt sticks to his back as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“Hey, I’m home!” He calls out, already loosening his shoes by the door.

There’s no immediate response, just the quiet hum of life within the walls. The soft sound of typing, a quick, anxious tap-tap-tap, echoes from the living room.

Oscar frowns. “You in there?”

He rounds the corner and catches sight of you sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees, fingers moving at a furious pace across the keyboard. There’s something about the way you're hunched over the screen that makes him pause. Your shoulders are tense, like you’re trying to shield the screen from view, your eyes darting up only when he steps into the room.

You slam the laptop shut so fast it nearly snaps.

His brows furrow, eyes narrowing as he approaches. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out, standing up quickly, a little too quickly, the laptop clutched in your hands as if it’s a lifeline. “Just … work stuff.”

Oscar doesn’t buy it for a second. “Work stuff?” He takes another step forward, his voice low, suspicious. “Since when do you hide work stuff from me?”

You swallow hard, eyes darting toward the bedroom as if you’re calculating the distance. “It’s nothing, Oscar. Just let it go.”

But he doesn’t. He’s not the kind of guy who lets things slide, especially when something feels off. And this? This feels way off.

Before you can react, he reaches out, fingers closing around the edge of the laptop, pulling it out of your grip with a swift, practiced motion. You make a sound of protest, stepping forward to try to grab it back, but he’s already moving, holding it up and out of your reach.

“Oscar, please,” you say, your voice tight with panic now. “Just don’t-”

Too late. He flips the screen open, eyes scanning the tabs that fill the screen.

Silence.

Plastic surgeons. Breast augmentation. Rhinoplasty. Procedures. Prices. Clinics in Monaco.

Oscar’s jaw clenches. His entire body stiffens as he scrolls through the endless pages of information, his mind trying to piece together what he’s seeing, trying to make sense of it.

He looks up, his voice low, controlled, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. “What the hell is this?”

You’re standing there, rooted to the spot, hands trembling slightly at your sides. Your eyes are wide, like you’ve been caught doing something unspeakable, something you’ve been desperately trying to keep hidden.

“I-” you start, but your voice cracks. You look away, like you can’t stand to meet his gaze, like his disappointment, his shock, is too much to bear.

He doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at you, his grip tightening on the laptop, like he’s trying to hold onto some version of reality that isn’t unraveling right in front of him. “Why?” He asks, his voice still low, but now there's something almost pleading in it. “Why are you looking at this?”

You blink, eyes glistening with tears that haven’t yet fallen. You open your mouth to speak, but it’s like the words are stuck in your throat. Finally, you force them out, barely a whisper. “Because … I don’t … I don’t look like them.”

Oscar frowns, confused. “Like who?”

“The other girls,” you say, your voice breaking now. “The other girlfriends. The WAGs. I’ll never … I’ll never look like them.”

Oscar just stares at you for a long moment, completely blindsided. “What are you talking about?”

You let out a shaky breath, finally looking at him, your eyes pleading for him to understand. “I see them, Oscar. Every time we go to a race, every time I’m at the paddock. They’re all so … perfect. Their bodies, their faces … they all look like they belong there. Like they’re meant to be with someone like you.”

He feels something twist painfully in his chest, something dark and heavy that he wasn’t prepared for. “And you think you don’t?”

You shake your head, blinking away tears. “I don’t. I mean, look at me. I’m not … I’m not like them.”

Oscar sets the laptop down on the coffee table, the sound of it hitting the wood sharp and final. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, trying to push through the wave of disbelief that’s crashing over him. He steps closer to you, his hands reaching out, grabbing your arms gently but firmly, like he needs to hold you steady, like he needs to make sure you don’t slip away from him.

“Are you serious?” His voice is rough now, the controlled calm slipping. “You think you need to change something? For what? To look like them? To, what, fit in?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

“I can’t believe you’d even think this. I can’t believe you …” His voice trails off, and he releases your arms, stepping back like he needs the space to breathe, to think. "You’re not … them. You’re you. You’re the person I wake up next to every day, the person I chose. And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You think I care about … what? If you fit some stupid image of what a WAG is supposed to look like?”

You shake your head, but you’re still crying, silent tears that slide down your cheeks, and Oscar feels like his heart is breaking in a way he’s never known before. He steps closer again, softer this time, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your shoulders slump, and you wipe at your face, frustrated with yourself, with the tears, with the words that won’t stop spilling out. “Because I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to … fix it, or say something just to make me feel better. It’s my problem, not yours.”

“No,” he says firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “No, it’s not just your problem. It’s our problem. You’re my girlfriend. What affects you affects me, too. How could you think that changing yourself like that would fix anything?”

You look at him then, really look at him, and it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, like you didn’t expect this from him, this depth, this intensity.

“I just …” you start, and then falter, shaking your head. “I just feel like … I’m not enough.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He’s never heard you say anything like that before, never thought you could feel that way. He takes another step closer, his hands finding yours, holding them tight. “You’re more than enough. You always have been.”

Oscar’s voice is steady, but there’s a fire in his eyes now, something burning there, something fierce. “You don’t need to change a damn thing about yourself. Not for me. Not for anyone.”

You let out a shaky breath, tears still spilling down your cheeks, and he reaches up, brushing them away with the pad of his thumb, his touch gentle, careful. “You’re perfect the way you are. I need you to see that. I need you to believe that.”

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, and for a moment, the world feels quiet again, like the storm that’s been raging inside you has finally begun to settle.

Oscar’s jaw tightens, and he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear. He presses his lips to the top of your head, murmuring against your hair, “I love you, just the way you are.”

And as he holds you, as the silence stretches between you, he makes a silent promise to himself. He’s going to show you. Every day. Until you see yourself the way he sees you.

The most beautiful woman in the world.

***

Oscar watches you sleep beside him, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the peaceful expression on your face. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, he can still see the faint traces of yesterday’s conversation lingering in your features. The vulnerability in your voice when you said you weren’t enough echoes in his head, and it’s all he can think about.

You had fallen asleep easily, but Oscar couldn’t. His mind had been racing, going over every word you said, every tear that slipped down your cheek. You didn’t see yourself the way he saw you, and that truth made his chest ache in ways he didn’t know were possible.

You stir slightly, your hand curling around the edge of the pillow, your face turning away from him as you sink deeper into sleep. His fingers itch to touch your cheek, but he holds back, not wanting to wake you.

Instead, he slips out of bed, moving silently across the room and into the hallway. He has to do something. He can’t just let you go on feeling this way, believing that you aren’t enough, that you need to change yourself to measure up to some imaginary standard.

His phone buzzes in his hand, and he glances down at the notification. It’s an email — one of the many he sent in the middle of the night, after tossing and turning with frustration and resolve. It’s the response he’s been waiting for.

Oscar’s thumb hovers over the screen for a second before he taps the email open. He skims it quickly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The installation can happen today.

It’s a risky plan, but Oscar’s never been one to shy away from a challenge. He’s already planned every detail down to the minute, ensuring that everything will be in place before you come home from work. The hardest part was keeping this a secret — and making sure the logistics didn’t fall through.

Money, thankfully, speeds things up.

Oscar pads back into the bedroom, careful not to make a sound as he crawls into bed beside you. His body is buzzing with excitement now, anticipation humming under his skin. He pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

You let out a sleepy murmur, shifting slightly in his arms, and he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering there.

“Good morning,” you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning.” His voice is soft, but there’s an energy behind it that you don’t seem to catch. Not yet.

You blink a few times, still disoriented from sleep, and roll over to face him. "You're up early."

“Just couldn’t sleep,” he says with a small smile. “You have work today?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to go in for a meeting,” you reply, rubbing your eyes. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

Oscar nods, trying to keep his excitement in check. “Good, good. I’ll probably just do some stuff around here. Get a workout in.”

You stretch, still half-asleep, and he watches you with a soft smile. He wonders if you’ll notice the change when you get home, or if it’ll take a little prompting. Either way, the plan is in motion, and there’s no going back now.

***

As soon as you leave the apartment, Oscar is a man on a mission. He paces the living room, waiting for the delivery crew to arrive. He checks his phone constantly, looking at the notifications from Life360 to track your movements. He doesn’t have much time, and every minute feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

Finally, there’s a knock at the door.

He practically sprints to open it, greeting the installation team with an eager wave. "You guys are here. Great, come on in."

The lead installer, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense expression, steps inside, glancing around. "So, we’ve got the specs here. Full ceiling mirror in the bedroom, right?"

Oscar nods, ushering them down the hallway to the bedroom. "Yeah, I need it to cover the entire ceiling. Exactly like we discussed."

The installer inspects the space, his eyes scanning the ceiling as he whistles under his breath. "Alright, shouldn’t be too complicated. We’ll need a couple of hours to get everything up and secured."

Oscar glances at his phone, calculating the time. You’ve been gone for about an hour. There’s a small window — tight, but doable. "That’s fine. Just make sure it’s done before two. She’ll be back around then."

The installer raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. "We’ll get it done."

Oscar watches as they bring in the equipment, laying down protective sheets to keep the floor clean. The mirror panels are large, delicate things, and the precision required for the installation is intense. He finds himself pacing the hallway, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listens to the distant sounds of drills and hammers.

Everything has to be perfect.

He knows it’s a bold move. Some might even call it crazy. But Oscar doesn’t care. He wants you to see yourself every day, to have no choice but to confront the truth: you’re stunning, exactly as you are. He doesn’t need you to be one of those women in the paddock, doesn’t need you to conform to some ridiculous image. You, in all your imperfections, are everything he could ever want.

He glances at his phone again — two hours left. The installers are moving quickly, efficiently, but it still feels like time is slipping away faster than he can keep up with.

The crew works in near silence, their movements calculated and precise. They measure the ceiling, check the panels, and begin the painstaking task of securing each mirrored piece in place. Oscar hovers nearby, watching them work, his nerves jangling like live wires.

“How much longer do you think?” He asks, not for the first time.

The lead installer doesn’t look up from his work, but his tone is patient. “We’re on schedule, mate. We’ve done this a hundred times. Just give us a bit.”

Oscar nods, forcing himself to step back. He paces again, trying to distract himself with his phone, but his mind keeps drifting back to you — to your face when you told him you didn’t feel like you measured up.

He needs this to be perfect. For you.

At long last, the sound of the drill ceases, and the lead installer steps back, wiping his hands on a rag. He surveys the ceiling with a critical eye, then turns to Oscar with a nod. "All done."

Oscar steps into the bedroom, and his breath catches in his throat.

The mirror covers the entire ceiling, gleaming and pristine, reflecting the room in perfect detail. It’s stunning — sleek, modern, but most importantly, it’s exactly what he envisioned.

“Looks great,” the installer says, clearly satisfied with the job.

Oscar nods, still staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah. It’s … perfect.”

The installers gather their things, and Oscar sees them out, barely able to contain his anticipation. He checks his phone one last time as the door closes behind them.

Life360 pings with a notification.

Y/N has arrived at home.

Oscar’s heart leaps into his throat. He has maybe five minutes before you walk through the door. He rushes back into the bedroom, doing a quick sweep to make sure everything is in place. The bed is made, the room is spotless, and the mirror … the mirror is flawless.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can hear your footsteps approaching the door now, the jingle of your keys as you unlock it.

This is it.

The door opens, and you step inside, calling out, “Oscar? You here?”

“In the bedroom!” He calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, casual.

You walk down the hallway, setting your bag on the floor as you approach. “I thought you were working out or something.”

Oscar stands by the bed, watching as you enter the room. For a second, you don’t notice it. You’re too busy taking off your jacket, distracted by the mundaneness of the day.

But then, as you move toward the bed, your eyes flicker upward, and you freeze.

“What the …”

Your voice trails off, your gaze locked on the ceiling, on the massive mirror that now dominates the room. You stand there, stunned, your mouth slightly open as you take it in.

Oscar watches you closely, his heart pounding. He takes a step closer, his voice low, almost tentative. “What do you think?”

You blink, still staring at the reflection above you. “You … put a mirror on the ceiling?”

He nods, stepping behind you, his hands finding your waist, pulling you gently back against him. “I wanted you to see yourself.”

Your eyes flick to his in the reflection, confusion mingling with curiosity. “What do you mean?”

Oscar leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice soft but firm. “Every day, you’re going to wake up, and you’re going to look at yourself. You’re going to see what I see. The most beautiful woman in the world.”

You swallow, your eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat. “Oscar …”

He turns you around slowly, guiding you until you’re facing him. “You don’t need to change a thing. Not your nose, not your body. Nothing. You’re perfect, just like this.”

Oscar’s hands slide from your waist to your hips, slow and deliberate. His eyes never leave yours, but in the mirror above, he can see the reflection of both of you, bodies so close, your breath mingling with his. There’s a moment of quiet between you, tension hanging in the air like a thread about to snap.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his voice low and steady. “Let me show you.”

Your breath hitches, and you bite your lip, your eyes flicking between his face and the mirror. You don’t say anything, but you don’t resist, either. You’re standing still, waiting, nervous but trusting him completely.

Oscar takes his time. He starts by pulling at the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing your skin as he lifts it slowly over your head. You lift your arms for him, and the shirt falls to the floor. His hands return to your hips, sliding up to your waist, fingers tracing the soft curve of your ribs, then higher.

You shiver under his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips, but he doesn’t rush. He’s watching you in the mirror, your body, your face, your eyes — taking in every reaction, every small shift in your expression.

“Look at yourself,” he says softly, his voice firm but gentle. His fingers move to the clasp of your bra, and with a quick flick, it comes undone. He pulls it away, tossing it aside, and you’re left standing in front of him, exposed.

Your eyes flicker up to the mirror, but you don’t linger on your own reflection. You quickly glance back at Oscar, as if seeking reassurance.

His hands are on you again, warm and steady, guiding you back toward the bed. He lowers you gently onto the mattress, your body sinking into the softness of the sheets, and you feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness swirling in your chest.

Oscar climbs onto the bed with you, his movements controlled, deliberate. He kneels beside you, his eyes burning with something deep, something raw, as he looks down at you. The mirror above reflects everything — the way your chest rises and falls, the soft flush creeping up your neck, the way your body reacts to the intensity of his gaze.

He reaches for the waistband of your pants, his fingers sliding under the fabric. “Lift your hips,” he murmurs, and you do as he asks, allowing him to peel the material away from your skin. The cool air of the room makes you shiver, but it’s the warmth of his hands that sends a surge of heat through you.

Oscar lets out a quiet hum of approval, his gaze tracing the lines of your body, admiring every inch of you. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your belly, just above the waistband of your underwear, and you feel a jolt of electricity run through you.

“Look,” he whispers, his voice commanding yet soft. “Look at yourself.”

You hesitate, your eyes flicking toward the mirror but not quite settling on your reflection. You’re still unsure, still caught in the doubt that’s been gnawing at you for so long.

But Oscar won’t let you hide.

He trails his kisses up your body, his lips brushing the curve of your breast, then higher, to the sensitive skin near your collarbone. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips barely leaving your skin. “You’re perfect.”

You close your eyes, trying to absorb his words, trying to believe them, but the insecurity lingers.

Oscar’s hand moves lower, sliding down your body, his fingers grazing the waistband of your underwear again, but this time he tugs them down, pulling them off completely. You’re laid bare before him now, vulnerable, exposed, but you trust him. You trust him with everything.

He shifts, positioning himself between your legs, and you feel the heat of his body so close to yours. His hands find your thighs, gently parting them, and he leans down, his breath hot against your skin. His lips press a kiss to your inner thigh, and you shudder, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.

“Oscar,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he moves higher, his mouth tracing a path up your thigh until his lips are where you need them most. The first touch of his tongue is slow, deliberate, and it sends a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body.

You gasp, your back arching slightly off the bed, your hands flying to grip the sheets tighter. He takes his time, his tongue moving in slow, measured strokes, teasing you, building the heat in your core until it feels like you’re going to unravel.

But he doesn’t let you. Not yet.

His hand moves up your body, finding your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in the same slow, teasing rhythm. Your breath comes in ragged gasps now, and your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

“Look at yourself,” Oscar says again, his voice low and commanding. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

You force your eyes open, glancing up at the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, your body laid out beneath Oscar, your skin flushed, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You see the way his hand moves over you, the way his mouth works between your legs, and it’s a surreal, intimate moment — seeing yourself through his eyes, the way he sees you.

You bite your lip, a moan escaping your throat as Oscar increases the pressure, his tongue circling that sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that makes your legs tremble. You feel the tension building inside you, the heat growing unbearable, but just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back.

You let out a desperate whimper, your hips bucking involuntarily toward him, but he doesn’t relent.

“Not yet,” he says, his voice firm. He leans up, his body hovering over yours now, his face inches from yours. “Not until you say it.”

You blink up at him, breathless and confused. “Say what?”

“Say you’re beautiful,” Oscar murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Say it, and I’ll let you come.”

Your heart races in your chest, the vulnerability of the moment crashing into you. You’ve never said those words, not out loud, not with any kind of conviction. But the way Oscar looks at you, the way his hands move over your body, it makes you want to believe it — makes you want to see yourself the way he does.

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you whisper, “I’m beautiful.”

Oscar’s eyes darken with approval, but he’s not done. He presses his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Say it again. Louder.”

Your body is aching for release, every nerve on fire, but you know he won’t let you have it until you give him what he wants — what you need to believe.

“I’m beautiful,” you say again, louder this time, your voice shaky but filled with more certainty.

Oscar’s hand moves between your legs again, his fingers teasing you, his touch deliberate, precise. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now say it one more time. Like you mean it.”

You gasp as his fingers press against that bundle of nerves again, your body writhing beneath him, the pleasure so intense it’s almost unbearable. But you force yourself to say it, to believe it, because in this moment, you do.

“I’m beautiful,” you cry out, your voice breaking with the force of the admission.

And that’s when Oscar lets you go.

His mouth is on you again, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm, and the pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. You arch off the bed, your hands flying to his hair, your body trembling as you finally, finally fall over the edge.

Oscar doesn’t stop. He keeps his pace steady, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, until you’re shaking, gasping for breath, your body limp and boneless beneath him.

When you finally come down, your chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears, Oscar moves up beside you, his body pressing against yours, his arm wrapping around your waist.

He kisses your forehead, his voice soft but firm as he whispers, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. Don’t ever forget that.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believe him.

[sai-int]

hihi i recently discovered your blog and i am in love with you writing!! it’s so beautiful and i wish i could wallpaper it to the insides of the brain tehe i’m super interested to see how you’d write daddy kink with either price or simon (or whoever else you see most fit)! i wanted to keep this req general/basic so you could really do anything you want with it but here are some dynamics/au’s/etc. that i find enjoyable, in general, in case it sparks anything: soft dom, leashes/crawling, wild west au (bonus points for boot riding 🫣), boxer au, butcher!char x florist!reader, and ballerina!reader. (sorry felt like that list was all over the place LOL.)

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! And ooooou anon. The way I evilly rubbed my hands together when I read this... Also, if you're looking for price and boot riding, look no further.

Here's some butcher!simon x fem!florist!reader, plus a sprinkle of softdom!simon w a daddy kink

The bell over the shop door chimes, delicate and bright—a sound far too gentle for the man who steps inside. Simon's too big for a place like this, too heavy with the scent of blood and metal. The air, thick with lavender and roses, should soften him—but instead, he makes the space feel smaller, like the walls close in just for him.

You barely look up from the bouquet in your hands, carefully tying off a bundle of peonies. "You're late," you murmur, but there's no real scolding behind it, just soft acknowledgment.

Simon grunts, gently shutting the door behind him. His boots hit the wooden floor with their usual weight as he steps closer, watching you with an unreadable, steady gaze. "Had a long day," he mutters. "Some tosser ordered a full side o' beef last minute. Took me the better part o' the afternoon t'quarter it."

You frown, already wiping your hands on your apron, instinctively stepping toward him. "Oh, Si," you hum, reaching to brush your fingers over his forearm. "That sounds awful. You must be exhausted."

His fingers twitch, his gaze dropping to where your soft hand press against his skin. You always touch him so freely, without hesitation—like he wasn't too big, too rough, too covered in things you had no business being near.

Simon exhales, his shoulders shifting. "I can handle it."

"I know you can," you say, voice soft, warm. "Doesn't mean you should have to."

That makes him pause. He tilts his head, watching you carefully, his hands already finding their place at your waist, large and warm. You fit against him so easily, so naturally, like you belong right there.

Your eyes flick downward, catching the faint streak of something crimson near his elbow.

"Simon." You frown, taking his wrist between your hands, your delicate fingers turning it slightly. "You've still got—"

"Blood," he supplies flatly.

You swallow, your fingers smoothing gently over the stain. "You should've washed up more before coming here."

His lips twitch. "Didn't want t'keep y'waiting, dollface."

Your heart squeezes at that, warmth blooming in your chest. He's never the type to say much, but little things like this—small, quiet acts of care—spoke louder than words ever could.

You wrap your arms around him, looping them around his middle, pressing yourself against his broad chest. He's solid as ever, warm as always. You hold him tightly, sighing against the fabric of his shirt.

"You take such good care of me, you know that?"

His hands flex on your waist, his fingers spreading wide, like he's trying to feel all of you at once.

"Yeah?' His voice drops to something lower, something rougher.

You nod, rubbing your cheek lightly against his chest. "Mhm. You always make sure I'm safe— always there for me." You smile softly against him, letting yourself sink into his warmth. "So good to me."

His arms tighten around you, pressing you firmly against him, one hand trailing up your back, fingers tangling briefly in the little bow of your apron. "Course I am," he mutters, his voice thick with something deeper, heavier. "Gotta look after what’s mine, yeah?"

That makes your stomach flutter, your breath hitch.

Your voice softens, warmer, something meant just for him. "That's why I love being yours," you breath, your breath warm against his skin. You let the words linger, let them settle between you, before you add, in a whisper full of quiet, saccharine affection—

"Daddy."

Simon tenses in your hold, a sharp inhale cutting through the air. His hands tightens at your waist, fingers digging in, just shy of rough.

Posessive

"Fuck, dove" he rasps, voice strained. Then, in a rough whisper, like he was barely holding himself together— "Right here? In the middle of y'shop?"

You giggle, shaking your head. "No, not here," you hum, still teasing, still warm against him. "But I get off in an hour."

His grip stayed firm, his nose brushing against your temple, his voice dropping even lower.

"I could get you off in less."

Your mouth falls slack in shock before you huff, swatting at his arm. "Si!"

He chuckles, smug as ever, his grip on you unrelenting. "What?" His lips ghost the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Just sayin'"

You swat at him again, though it was weaker this time, warmth blooming in your chest, your stomach twisting with anticipation.

Simon leans back slightly, reaching into his front pocket to pull out a folded bill. With a casual ease, he slips it between his fingers, glancing down your shirt, his height making it effortless, before tucking the bill into your bra.

"F'the flowers," he said, voice rich with amusement. "Bring home somethin' nice, yeah? Something' soft."

His gaze drops to your lips before flicking back up to your eyes, dark and unreadable. "Not everything I touch has to bleed." He gently presses his lips to yours, savoring the taste of you until he can get you to himself at home.

And with that, he heads home, leaving you warm, breathless, and counting down every second until you can lock up for the night and let him keep his promise.

[wintersoldiersoul]

Happy Accident

A/N: This is kind of short and I also don't love it but I really really just wanted to get something up so I hope you enjoy this quick fluff moment

Warnings: super light smut, throwing up

It was the third morning this week that you had to run to the toilet. You made it just in time before leaning over and emptying the contents of your stomach. Exhausted, you leaned against the bathroom wall catching your breath. 

As you brushed your teeth, your phone lit up with a call from Bucky saying he was on his way back from his early morning run and would be home soon. But it wasn’t the text that caught your attention. It was the date at the top of the screen. You were late. You had never been late before in your life. But right now, you were. 

Panic quickly arose within you. You couldn’t be pregnant. There was no way. You always took your birth control on time. But then you remembered that one night when you and Bucky had drunkenly fucked after a night out. You had missed your pill that night. 

“Baby,” you recalled Bucky’s moans as he pounded into you relentlessly. “Gonna cum so hard for you, gonna fill up this tight little pussy. Gonna fill you up so good you’ll be leaking and then I’ll fuck it all back into you with my tongue.”

You had wanted to protest, to tell him to pull out. But it felt too good. And the thought of his hot cum spilling into you was too much to resist. You had fully intended on taking a morning after pill the next day, but the two of you were called off to a mission at the crack of dawn. And now here you were. Throwing up, and late for your period. 

The two of you had never talked about if you wanted to have children. Despite the seriousness of your relationship, it wasn’t something that you had discussed. Your lives were just too busy with constantly having to save the world. You barely got time to sit down and watch a movie together, let alone dissect the nuances of your future. Deep down, you knew that you wanted to have kids at some point. But what if Bucky didn’t? What if this was the final straw and he abandoned you? 

With shaking hands, you hunted through your closet for a pregnancy test. You always had a few on hand, just in case. And then you waited for those excruciating two minutes. Two minutes had never felt so damn long. Pregnant, it said. This isn’t happening, you thought, your mind immediately going to the worst case scenarios. What if Bucky left you? What if all of those times that he talked about having children with you it was all just a lie? What if you didn’t know how to be a good mother? 

You stood staring at the test for what felt like hours. “Y/N?” Bucky called, appearing in the doorway. Quickly, you hid the test behind your back. “What’s that?” He raised an eyebrow. “You feeling alright? You look a little pale.” 

You opened your mouth to answer, but words failed you. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t. You just held out your hand and showed him the test. 

“Y/N this isn’t a funny joke,” he remarked. His expression was serious. He’s going to leave me, you thought. 

“I-,” you stuttered. “It’s not a joke, Bucky. I’m pregnant.” 

“Are you serious? This isn’t a joke? You’re pregnant?” His emotions were impossible to read. You braced yourself for an oncoming outburst of anger as you nodded. “Oh my god,” his eyes lit up. “We’re having a baby?” His words were full of wonder and disbelief, his stoic demeanor falling away. 

“Well we don’t have to keep it, we can discuss options and-” 

He cut off your rambling. “Honey, are you not happy about this?” 

“I am but you don’t have to be.”

He looked at you with shock. “Are you kidding me? Y/N, of course I’m happy about this! I’m fucking thrilled! Look, if you don’t want to keep this baby, then I will respect your decision and whatever you want to do with your body. But if your hesitation is at all due to me, get that out of your head. I want nothing more than to have a baby with you.”

Slowly, the worries started to leave your body. The butterflies that had represented your nerves shifted to excitement. “Really?”

The way he was looking at you right now was too much. His eyes were so full of love, of passion, of protection. “Yes, really. You’re my entire world. And I’ve always wanted to be a father, I just… I gave up on that dream, you know? I never thought it would happen for me. But this…” he took a deep breath, steadying his own emotions. “Having a baby with you? With the love of my life? Oh honey, I’m so happy I don’t even know what to do with myself.” 

The raw honesty and love in his voice was enough to set you off. You started to cry, overwhelmed with the heat of the moment. You were pregnant. You were having his baby. Your little creation, half Bucky, half you was growing inside of your body. 

Bucky enveloped you into a tight hug before pulling away and looking in your eyes. “Are these happy tears?”

You laughed. “Yes. The happiest.”

[mashtatosworld]

some peace of mind

summary: life on tour brings tears

You don’t tell him.

Not at first. Not when he finally calls between rehearsals, his voice soft but rushed. “How was the appointment, jagi?”

Or when he texts a few hours later, “Send me a pic of the ultrasound, I wanna see our little bean.”

You don’t tell him, because it was ruined for you. The nurse had smiled too wide, voice too casual when she let the gender of your baby slip. The translation took a moment to register in your head but it was there. Despite you and Jiyong agreeing to keep it a surprise, you knew. And he didn't. Because he wasn't there.

You had lay there, hands folded over your rounded belly, blinking at the wall as the moment you’d imagined - the moment you were supposed to share with him - slipped through your fingers like sand.

And now, it’s too late to get it back.

So you lie. Or, at least, you let him believe the truth is still waiting for him.

“Everything was fine.” “The baby’s healthy.” “I miss you.”

Because you do. More than ever.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

It happens over something stupid.

You’re both tired. You’re both stretched thin. He walks in late, again, smelling like sweat - his hair slightly damp and stuck to the back of his neck. He barely glanced at you before collapsing onto the hotel room couch.

And you’re being unfair, you know that. You knew the schedule before you packed your bags and got on the plane. You knew this wouldn’t be easy.

But then he sighs, absentmindedly rubbing his temples, and it’s enough to make something inside you snap.

"I don’t know why I even bothered coming on tour."

Jiyong looks up instantly, his brows pulling together. “What?”

"It’s not like we’ve spent more than five minutes together since we got here."

He blinks at you, confused and exhausted. “Baby, I told you -”

"Yeah, you told me. I know you’re busy, Jiyong. I know you’re tired. But so am I.” You gesture down at yourself, frustrated. You were six months along in the pregnancy now. “I didn’t think I’d feel this… alone.”

His expression shifts - guilt flickering beneath the frustration. “I didn’t ask you to come just to leave you alone, okay? I wanted you here.”

"Then be here!" The words come out too sharp, too raw. And before you can stop yourself, you add -

"God, Ji, you weren’t even there when they accidentally told me -"

You freeze.

Jiyong’s whole body stills. The air in the room goes thick.

"What?"

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Because now he knows.

And the look on his face - the realization that he missed it, that you’ve been carrying this alone for days - makes your chest ache.

"You know?" His voice is small. Careful.

You swallow hard, tearing your gaze away.

"Yeah."

Jiyong just stares at you. His hands curl into fists like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Like he wants to be angry but doesn’t know where to place it.

Finally, he exhales - shaky and quiet. And it feels like the fight drains out of both of you at the same time.

Neither of you say another word.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Later, when you’re curled up under the sheets, facing the wall, the mattress shifts behind you.

A familiar weight. A familiar warmth.

He slides in carefully, hesitantly, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed. Like he’s waiting for you to push him away.

But you don’t.

Instead, you feel him exhale against the back of your neck. And then - tentatively, reverently - his hand finds your round belly.

"Tell me." His voice is barely a whisper.

You close your eyes. Take a breath.

“It’s a girl.”

Jiyong sucks in a breath. You feel him press his forehead against your shoulder, his fingers tightening over your stomach.

“A girl.” His voice is shaky. “We’re having a daughter.”

And for the first time in days, your chest doesn’t feel so heavy.

"Yeah."

He stays quiet for a long time. Then, softly -

"I wanted to be there."

"I know."

"I hate that I wasn’t."

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I know that too.”

It’s not a solution. But it’s enough.

For now.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of soft rustling.

Jiyong is sitting at the edge of the bed, his back to you, fiddling with something in his hands. His hoodie is loose, his hair still messy from sleep, but there’s a quiet focus in the way he moves.

"What are you doing?" you mumble sleepily.

He turns, startled. His lips twitch like he’s about to say something, but then he just sighs and holds out a small, red box. The logo on the front is one you recognise instantly. Cartier.

"Jiyong…"

"I should’ve been there when you found out." His voice is low, steady. "I should’ve been there for you. I'm sorry that I wasn’t."

He gently places the box into your hands.

You hesitate, still drowsy, before slowly flipping the box open.

Inside, resting on soft velvet -

A tiny gold bracelet. Delicate, beautiful. Too small to be for you.

Your chest tightens.

"It’s hers." His voice softens. "For when she’s here." Then, after a pause - "I got one for you too."

You blink up at him. And that’s when he reaches into his pocket.

Pulls out a second, matching bracelet. He already had stacks of the branded bracelets on his own wrist, as did you, it was your thing. But now it was something that belonged to the three of you.

Your family.

That’s it. That’s what breaks you.

The weeks of frustration, of loneliness, of feeling like you were going through this alone. The weight of it crashes into you all at once.

You don’t even try to stop the tears.

Jiyong notices instantly. His eyes widen, his hands reaching for you. "Jagiya, don’t cry - "

But you’re already gripping the front of his hoodie, pulling him into you. He stumbles slightly, then melts, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

"You’re such an idiot," you sniffle into his shoulder.

"I know." His lips press to the side of your head. "But I love you. And I love her already."

Your fingers tighten in his hoodie. "We love you too."

And as his arms hold you tighter, steadier, like a silent promise -

You finally, finally feel like you aren’t doing this alone.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

this has been sitting in my drafts toooo long

belongs to the world of everything i wanted <3

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse

[captainreecejames]

Can't Have a Good Thing || My ex is a footballer LS2 edition

[masterlist][my ex series masterlist]

summary you go from dating an american footballer to an american driver

pairings ex!christian pulisic x reader, logan sargeant x reader

warnings probably a little anti pulisic but i still love my baby

notes pictures are from pinterest so thank you to all those lovely users (as I wrote this my english teacher from 11th grade came into my job and it was not fun!)

May 2023 ynusername posted -------

liked by cmpulisic, reece and others

ynusername final chelsea game of the season, love you guys

chelseafc awww we love you too yn ❤️ by author

cmpulisic always love having you there ↳ ynusername wouldn't want to be anywhere else

username1 look at my girl dawg, chelsea is embarrassing her ↳ username2 please, christian didn't even play

reece once a blue always a blue ↳ username3 NAH WHY IS THIS SO CRYPTIC ↳ username4 you can't say shit like this then leave DUDE

username5 that chrisyn interaction screams for help ↳ username6 i wouldn't be surprised if they're not dating anymore but trying to keep up appearances ↳ username7 breakup statement incoming ↳ username8 can we get fabrizio to comment on wag breakups please!! ↳ username7 lol can you imagine a here we go! breakup is official! peak comedy

cesarazpilicueta 💙 ↳ ynusername love you too capitan!

July 2023 real life ---------

It’s been a rough few months in the house for the two of you. Christian’s time at Chelsea was most likely coming to an end, and you had just started a new project at work, so your time was filled with that. Nights spent making dinner and laughing together turned to plates left in the microwave and lights out early. Mornings started with short wake up kisses to hardly whispered goodbyes.

In fewer words, the relationship was falling apart. You barely knew what was going on in each others lives anymore, it’s no surprise when he tells you he’s leaving Chelsea.

Chris is still in Florida with his family, enjoying the last few days off before preseason. You had been with him for the 4th of July, but needed to fly back to London almost immediately for a new project and you’re exhausted. When he Facetimes you it’s almost 11:30 at night and your still sitting in your home office, but with how excited Chris is, he can’t tell that you’re operating on extremely low levels of energy. You want to be excited for him, but you can see the writing on the wall.

“Hey babe.” You know what’s coming, but it doesn’t make the shock any less. “I’ve got some big news.” He waits for you to say something, but all you do is blink and nod. “AC Milan are going to sign me.” He waits again for you to say something. “Did you hear me? I’m leaving Chelsea.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” Your lack of enthusiasm confuses Christian.

“Then why aren’t you excited?”

Your apathy turns to frustration quickly and you shift in the chair. “Because, Christian, I’m not just going to blow up my life in London to follow you to a new city. I’ve got a job here and it’s going well. I don’t want to have to start all over again. Not to mention learning a whole new language. Have you considered how isolating that would be for me?”

“So what, I just rot at Chelsea because you don’t want to move?” He is now just as defensive as you, words biting at the holes that have formed in your relationship, making them grow.

“I didn’t say that!” You sit up even straighter, putting your phone down against the computer so it stands on it’s own.

“Well it sounds like you don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want to pack up my life and move to a new country where I don’t know anyone.”

You could see the fight leave his body as he came to the same realization you did. “What’s going to happen to us?”

“I think we’re done Chris.” You can feel your heart break that last little bit with the words you say. You love Christian, but with everything you’ve gone through, it’s not enough.

twitter ---------

September 2023 real life ------

In one hand you held your phone, looking down at the details of your train back to London, in the other a hot chocolate to warm you up in the brisk wind of Oxford. It’s how you missed the body in front of you and ended up falling straight on your ass because of it, hot chocolate splashing onto your shirt.

“Fucking hell,” you whispered, pulling your shirt away from your body so it didn’t burn.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” said an American accent. You groaned in your head, not wanting to deal with this. “I should’ve been looking where I was going.” They put a hand in your face, gesturing to help you up, which you took. 

“No, it was my fault, I was staring at my phone,” you told them as they pulled you up. He was strong, and also probably a little awkward as he was still holding your hand.

“Me too, so I really won’t let you take the blame.” His awkward smile was also cute, but you tried not to think that, it wouldn’t agree with your ‘no boys agenda.’ “Do you need another hot chocolate?” The cup was empty at your feet, making you wince. 

“Yeah, probably another shirt too.” It’s at that point that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, and he drops it.

“Let me get you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You’re still very early for the train, but travel anxiety is terrible and you want to leave soon.

“I insist.” Something about his smile and red cheeks makes you say yes to him, and you’re really not sure why. “I’m Logan, by the way.” He’s leading you back into the line of the cafe, smiling at you still.

“I’m YN,” you tell him.

ynusername posted ---------

liked by logansargeant, benchilwell, and others

ynusername exploring oxford finally

bsfinstagram babe you run into any quidditch players ↳ ynusername bitch you know i'm swearing off athletes

username7 damn why are you so beautiful

samkerr 💞 ↳ ynusername ugh bestie i love you

pulisick10 'SWEARING OFF ATHLETES?' Christian mate pulisic what did you do!?! ↳ username8 that is so fucking harsh though like pulisic really did a number on our girl here ↳ pulisick10 ben chilwell still in the likes tho ↳ username8 nah her and ben are friends, like ben was always close with christian and just cause he left doesn't mean that she can't be friends still ↳ username8 also she's still good friends with the women's team ↳ pulisick10 well that's cause the women are better ❤️ by ynusername and bsfinstagram ↳ username8 NOT HER LIKING THAT but also won't argue with that

logansargeant at least the weather was good ↳ ynusername youre right, thank you english sun who comes out once in a blue moon ↳ bsfinstagram I'm questioning things ↳ ynusername well you shouldn't

username11 she's sworn off athletes but has a formula 1 driver in her comments... ↳ username12 fake bitch ↳ username13 two people can be friends right? ↳ username12 she breaks up with christian because of the distance but is talking a driver like he isn't gone more than half the year, she's definitely fake for that ↳ username13 how do you know that's why they broke up ↳ username14 she doesn't she's just being a hater ❤️ by ynusername ↳ username11 damn all this fighting on my comment thread?

username12 not yn liking so many comments, do you read them ↳ ynusername gotta appreciate a good laugh ↳ username13 yn stalks her comments like a real one should

twitter ---------

yn's messages -----------

November 2023 yn's messages ------------

real life --------

Your hotel room is kind of a mess, with clothes thrown around and various pieces of paper on the floor. It’s not really a surprise to Logan, even though he hasn’t known you very long.

After a long day exploring New York City in fairly okay weather, the two of you are relaxing in your hotel room before dinner. “Can I ask you something?” Logan asks. He’s currently sitting in the desk chair, feet propped up on the desk and head hung back. 

“Go ahead.” You’re on your bed, laying like a starfish.

“Would you say yes to going on a date with me?” You sit up straight, staring at him with wide eyes as he doesn’t move.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“No, I’m asking if you’d say yes to me asking you on a date.” His clarification makes you narrow your eyes, but he still doesn’t move. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”

That gets him moving, turning the chair to look at you. “So would you say yes or no?”

“I’d say no right now.”

“What about in a month?”

“In a month, when we’re both back in England, I’d probably say yes.”

“Cool,” he shrugs, going back to putting his feet on the desk. “Then I’ll ask you again in January.”

ynusername posted ---------

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon and others

ynusername look who came to visit

lilymhe booooo bring me next time ↳ ynusername you're welcome whenever, he invited himself ↳ logansargeant literally not true you asked me to come ↳ ynusername stop lying! i wanted thanksgiving but you have this job that makes you fly across the world to drive a stupid car or something

oscarpiastri look at him jumping for joy for you ↳ ynusername yeah well, what can i say, I'm a dream come true

bsfinstagram ahhhh just under 2 weeks until you come home!! ↳ ynusername I missed you so much ↳ bsfinstagram debrief over wine incoming!

username18 nope she is definitely dating this driver ↳ username19 it's so weird cause like if she really broke up with christian because of distance then isn't this just so much worse ↳ username20 i don't think they broke up just because of distance, things were probably weird for a couple of months before hand cause she wasn't going to as many mens games, she was definitely going to the women's games though.

timothyweah did you get a hotdog from the hotdog guy? ↳ ynusername yes... why? ↳ timothyweah cause they're good and i just want to make sure that you did ↳ ynusername okay timmy

chelseafcw don't stay too long we miss you ↳ ynusername aww, i miss you guys too

May 2024 ynusername posted--------

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

ynusername Miami you can be pretty but you're on my shit list

landonorris no whyyyyy ↳ ynusername idk might have something to do with my boyfriend dnfing at his home race. ↳ landonorris oh, okay ↳ ynusername but i guess congrats on your win ↳ landonorris thanks ynnnnn! ↳ oscarpiastri someone is still drunk

logansargeant ohhh he's handsome ↳ ynusername yeah and he's got a jealous ass girlfriend so beware ↳ logansargeant love you too babe

username23 finally confirmed that they're dating only seven months later

[moonlightpetalz6]

Kinktober Day 1 (Praise Kink)

Character: Sebastian (Stardew Valley)

Reader: Fem Reader!

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, Praise kink, smut, pet names, unprotected sex, harsh language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of cigarettes,

Wc: 4,795

A/n: AAAAAH Finally I can start posting these! anyways I really hope you enjoy this story! I tried my best to label all the warnings, so I apologize if I missed any! Anyways! I fucking love Sebastian in Stardew he was the first one I ever married in game!

______________________________________________________________

"If you keep glaring like that, you'll get wrinkles." You scoffed, bringing your drink to your lips as you glanced at your friend Leah, who happily munched on a salad, giving you a playful grin as she pointed her fork in the direction your eyes had been staring daggers at just seconds ago. At the other end of the Stardrop Saloon stood your recent ex-boyfriend Sam and his usual gang, except this time there was someone new with them. Your eyes took in the sight of your ex's arm tightly wrapped around Penny's shoulders as he went and kissed the top of her head, causing your heart to ache as you slightly cringe at the sight. "He's such a dick, right?" Leah questioned, tilting her head towards Gus, who silently cleaned one of his glasses. Gus opened his eyes, glancing from the two girls over to the group of young adults whose laughs echoed throughout his salon.

 

"Would you like another drink, Y/n? on the house?" He questioned, getting ready to give the farmer another cup. You took one last look at the new couple before letting out a deep sigh while pinching the bridge of your nose, feeling a slight headache approaching. "No, I think I should start heading back home. I have to wake up early to help Pierre with some new sales ideas he has." The two let out small sympathetic 'ahs' at your words while giving nods of understanding. You carefully rummage through your jeans, pulling out what you owe and slapping it on the counter as you wave goodbye to everyone who acknowledged your exit. You carefully swing the door open, closing your eyes as the night breeze hits your slightly flushed cheeks, letting out a contempt sigh as you lean against the Saloon, staring up into the night sky. 

'Come on Y/n it's been like two months now, get over it.' You thought, annoyed with your feelings. 'Maybe I should try dating again? I am pretty busy, though, with Winter coming in just a few months.' Letting out another deep sigh, you kick yourself off the wall, shoving your hands in your jeans pockets as you turn to return to the farm. Before you could even take the first step back, the doors to the Saloon opened as a familiar figure stepped out in front of you, causing you to stop all movement. "Oh, you're still here, Y/n?" Sebastian questioned, a cigarette between his lips as he looked down at you, slightly surprised to see your form next to him. You took a small step back as your body shifted, showing discomfort at the man's sudden appearance. Sebastian didn't say anything as he eyed you silently while lighting his cigarette. 

"Uh…hey, yeah, I was just about to head back." You mumbled, unable to make eye contact with your ex's best friend. Sebastian hummed his eyes, boring holes into your unaware figure as he let out a puff of smoke while carefully leaning against the Saloon. "Is that right? You want to keep me company for a bit?" His words catch you by surprise as you look up at his mouth, slightly open in awe. Sebastian gives you a barely noticeable smirk, amused with your reaction, as he raises a brow, tilting his head down to get a better look at you. "What? Just cause you and Sam are no longer together doesn't mean I have to stop talking to you, does it?" He scoffed, eyes narrowing as he clicked his tongue. You grew nervous with that as you quickly waved your hands out while stuttering over your words as you tried to devise excuses. 

"T-that's not! I- well, it's just you guys are so close and…um…I… I'm sorry." You admit defeat as you bend over from guilt. Sebastian just let out a small chuckle while ruffling your head as he let out another cloud of smoke. "Good to see you haven't changed since we last talked." He mumbled while motioning for you to join him against the wall. After a moment of hesitation, you decide to entertain your old friend, having not talked to anyone besides Leah since the breakup. "You're right…I haven't changed at all." You admitted while looking down at the ground, tapping your feet together. Sebastian's eyes narrow as he takes in your pitiful form, his chest tightening with disgust as he recalls how you used to smile whenever he saw you with Sam. An awkward silence falls between you, neither knowing what to say to the other after having not spoken in two months. 

"Did you see Sam and Penny?" Finally, Sebastian addresses the two people filling your vision the entire night. He doesn't take your eyes off your form, watching you stiffen at the mention of his best friend and new girlfriend. He hesitates momentarily, debating whether he should hit you with the harsh reality of their situation or leave you to your deluded thoughts. "... They're dating now." He finally starts watching as your body trembles, causing his jaw to clench as he feels a bit of rage cloud his vision, not liking the effect his best friend still had on you. Sebastian bites his lip before going to continue with his words. "They've been dating since-!" His words cut off, eyes widening in shock as he feels your petite, but rough hands press against his mouth as you stand on your tiptoes, your body trembling. 

"Please… don't continue, I u-understand." Your voice sounded so pathetic and broken to the programmer as he listened to the minor hiccups that left your lips. "Hey, are you crying?" He mumbles carefully, going and caressing your cheek, feeling like his heart was stabbed with a pickaxe when he handles your damp skin under his fingers. Sebastian had only ever seen you cry once during the after-party of one of their band's gigs. Everyone was out cold from partying too hard, but Sebastian had woken up to use the bathroom, his head swirling from the alcohol as he staggered towards the bathroom. When he reaches out to grab the doorknob, he is shocked to see it swing open, his sleepy and intoxicated eyes locking with your surprised, tear-filled ones. "...Sam broke up with me." After staring at each other for an eternity, you whispered to Sebastian. 

Scowling at the memory, Sebastian cups both sides of your face, carefully rubbing his thumbs in circles across the bags under your eyes, most likely due to the lack of sleep you have suffered since the breakup. "Hey…hey shhh. Don't cry, Y/n, oh come on, princess, look at me." He cooed, his face inches from yours as he made eye contact with you. "Oh Y/n, you poor thing…geez, why didn't you come to me if you were suffering so much?" You couldn't say anything to the man before you as you cried, feeling your throat ache with each pathetic sob. You look up at Sebastian, his eyes no longer holding that annoyed and lazy look this time; they're much softer and filled with love and compassion as he gives you a small smile. "I-I'm sorry, Sebastian, I don't mean to," He cuts you off, pulling you into a tight embrace as he carefully rubs circles along your back. 

"Shhh, don't apologize, Y/n." He whispered, nuzzling his chin against the top of your head as he took in your scent, his heart racing as he gave your body a small squeeze of reassurance. "Just cry it out for me, okay?" He asked, a small smile ghosting his lips as he felt your body starting to relax. "There we go, that's a good girl." As the words left his lips, you heard the door to the Saloon open, causing whoever just left to hear everything. You go to pull away from Sebastian's comforting embrace, not wanting to have people get the wrong idea. However, his grip suddenly tightens as he rests a hand on your head, pressing your face further into his chest. "Y/n? Sebastian?" Your eyes widened at the familiar voice, your body stiffening as your heartbeat against your ribs. Sebastian rubs circles on your lower back once again as he lets out a lazy hum while looking over at his best friend and Penny standing just inches away from the two of you. 

"Oh hey…you two going home for the night?" He asked with a bored tone, utterly different from the gentle, caring one he had with you moments ago. Your mind starts to wander off as you think back to his words from earlier, finally processing. 'Princess? Good girl?' You thought your cheeks were quickly heating up as steam practically danced from your head, heart pounding as embarrassment overcame you. 'W-what the hell was with that?! A-and this current situation…oh no, Sam's going to get the wrong idea-!' Your rapid thoughts are put to a dead halt as you feel Sebastian's hand suddenly slide down to your ass, his palm gently rubbing circles along the squishy flesh before giving it a slight squeeze causing you to jump as you hid deeper into his chest. "Y/n? Are you okay?" You heard Sam question with that sickening sweet tone he would use when you used to date, indicating he was worried for you. 

"She's fine, just had a bit too much to drink tonight, right, Y/n?" You felt Sebastian dip his head close to your ear, his warm breath hitting your already flushed skin as he quietly whispered his following words. "Right, sweet girl? Be a good girl for me, and nod your head so he can beat it." He growled the last part as his grip on your ass tightened, causing a small whimper to leave your lips while the man chuckled. You do as told while slightly peaking past Sebastian's arms, your eyes still teary from your minor breakdown moments ago. "Y-yeah, Sebastian's right." This earned you a small reward as you felt his thumb carefully rub circles along your hip. You said nothing after that, internally praying for the two to leave so you could hurry up and return to the farm. Your thoughts soon drifted as you inhaled the smell of Sebastian's hoodie; he smelled of cigarettes and motor oil, hinting that he must have been working on his bike at some point today. You felt your mind get fuzzy as you nuzzled closer to him, causing the man to stiffen as his arms squeezed around you, resting his chin on your head again. 

Sam stood there momentarily before nodding, a nervous smile crossed his face. "Ah, I see! I was just about to walk Penny home. Do you want me to take Y/n back to the farm for you?" Sam asked, his eyes only leaving your form to glance at his best friend for a second. "Nah, I'm going to take her back home. You worry about getting your girl home." Sebastian laughed, though you felt his annoyance as he tapped a finger against your skin. Sam hesitated momentarily before complying when he felt Penny tug on his sleeve. With a slight frown, Sam nods his head while giving you both one last look. "Right…get home safe then." The two walked off, leaving you and Sebastian alone outside the Saloon. You listened as he let out a deep sigh, his entire body seeming to relax as he carefully rubbed his hand up and down your back while letting out a small laugh. "Finally, I thought he'd never leave." he joked, arms still holding you close. You felt yourself growing hot as you carefully tried to pull away. 

"U-um, Sebastian, I should get home now." You whispered, avoiding looking up at him. Sebastian hummed, tilting his head to look down at you, his eyes narrowing as a lazy smirk tugged at his lips. "Oh, that's right, I have to get my good girl home~" He cooed, causing your eyes to widen as you looked up at him in shock, your mouth open to shout who knows what at him. Still, he was ready for this as he went and pressed his lips to yours, one hand carefully capturing your chin between his thumb and index finger as he tilted your head up to deepen the kiss. At first, your body is stiff from shock, your mind trying to process how all this was happening as your wide eyes stared straight into Sebastian's narrowed eyes. He smirked against the kiss as he pressed your body closer, his free hand trailing up and down your side, causing your body to relax as you slowly gave in to the feeling. 

The two of you slowly pull away from the kiss, a small string of saliva still attaching your lips as he presses his forehead against yours, his hand carefully caressing your cheek. "Are you lonely, baby?" He whispers, brushing his lips against yours, his eyes filled with desire as he slides his thumb down your lower lip, watching the plump skin tug with his digit, causing him to lick his lips. "Do you want me to take care of you, sweet girl? I can fix that lonely feeling, Y/n." His words cause you to shiver as a small whimper leaves your lips, tears filling your eyes as you feel your chest swell with joy at his praise, your ears wanting to hear more of it. "Come on baby…tell me what you want like a good girl." He kisses along your jaw as his hands ravish over your squirming body, eagerly awaiting your response. You bite your lip as you try to think of the consequences if you take the man in front of you home. You look up at him with a slight pout on your lips as he gives you a lazy smirk; however, his eyes hold nothing, but admiration mixed with lust as he stops, his hands gripping your hips with one last squeeze. "What's wrong, princess?" He whispered, feeling your hands grip at his hoodie. 

"Sebastian I…I want you to take me home." 

_______

As soon as the door to your house shut, Sebastian was all over you. His hands roamed around your body as he slid them up your shirt, kneading at your encaged breasts as he breathed a deep sigh into your ear. "S-sebastian, wait! We just walked in!" You cried, trying to push him away but failing as he went and pressed your front against the wooden floor, grinding against your ass as he leaned over you, licking the shell of your ear. "I'm sorry, princess, but I can't wait anymore. You're just too fucking cute." He growled, his hands making quick work of your shirt as he unclipped your bra, watching your breasts bounce with each grind of his hips. "So, fucking perfect princess." He whispers, going to pinch at your hardened nipples, earning a slight squeal out of you as your hips move back against his, causing him to bite his lip at the sudden friction. 

"Fuck do you like that Y/n? Does my sweet baby girl have sensitive nipples? Do you like me playing with them between my fingers like this?" He laughs as he gives a rough pinch to them, causing your back to arch as a low moan escapes your lips. "Y/n, do you want to know a secret?" He whispers while flipping you onto your back, making sure to grab each of your legs as he wraps them around his waist, pressing the bulge in his pants against your clothed pussy, a slight blush on his cheeks as he looks down at you with a lustful gaze. "I've always wanted you. From the moment you moved here, I wanted to make you such a good girl who I could spoil." He admitted while sinking to leave kisses from your neck towards your chest as he carefully started sucking on one breast, an intense shiver running through his body as he listened to your moans, feeling you squirm underneath him. 

"Sam didn't deserve to have you princess." He moans his teeth, lightly biting the sensitive bud, causing you to let out a small cry, bucking your hips up to meet his own, causing him to chuckle as he pulls away from your breast with a small pop before sitting up straight. "Such a good girl~" He purrs while slowly pulling down your jeans, his lips trailing kisses down your thigh to your ankle as he lets out a small gasp, his eyes locking with the wet spot soaking through your panties, just begging for him to lick it all up. "Such a good girl, Y/n…" He whispers while sinking his head between your thighs, pressing a small kiss against the slick-coated fabric, causing your pussy to twitch as you watch him with hooded eyes, small pants of anticipation leaving your lips. "How long has it been, princess?" He whispers before dragging his tongue up and down the fabric slowly and tormentingly. "When was the last time someone made this pretty pussy of yours feel so good?" he growled while tearing the material out of the way, his tongue invading every inch of your dripping hole. 

Your eyes shoot open as you slap a hand over your mouth, a deep groan leaving your lips at the sudden pleasure jolting throughout your body as your muscles tense up. "F-fuuuuuuck." You cry, a hand reaching out to grab at his dark locks. He grabs your wrist, stopping your movement with a slight chuckle as he pulls away from your pussy. Your juices make his mouth messy as he slowly licks his lips, shaking his head. "Uh uh~ answer my question, princess…when was the last time a guy was inside you?" He leans over your body, lips inches from yours, slowly slips a finger past your folds, rubbing teasing circles around your clenching hole. You whine from the act while wiggling your hips, wanting to feel the digit deep inside you. "Come on, baby~ Just answer my question, and I'll reward you like the good girl you are." He teased, eyes clouded with lust as he tugged at his pants with his free hand, letting out a small groan from being so pent up. 

You look at him with a slight pout as he bites his lip, almost reaching his breaking point from how adorable you looked underneath him. "S-since Sam and I dated…I haven't fucked anyone else, so please…mmh…please make me feel good, Sebby~" You made sure to drag out the little nickname hoping it would give you some reaction, and boy, were you right. Sebastian clenched his teeth together, eyes narrowing as they clouded with pure desire as he licked his lips. "Since Sam, huh?" He asks a hum towards the end. Your eyes widen as your mouth forms an o when you feel his rough and lengthy finger sink deep inside you, causing your back to arch as you grip his biceps, watching his eyes travel down to his hand. "Then my poor baby hasn't been satisfied in so long…" he whispers before sliding another finger inside your needy hole, watching as his fingers go in and out each time, coated in a new layer of your beautiful juices.   

"You're doing such a good job baby, oh such a good fucking job." he moans, watching as your body squirmed underneath him while feeling you needily clenching around his fingers, causing his cock to twitch in his pants as he growls, biting into the crook of your neck. "Princess, look at me, sweetheart." He breathes while carefully adjusting your gaze onto him. "Did you know he used to brag about you all the time?" He confessed, eyes locking with your clouded ones as he slowly freed himself from his pants, a slight hiss leaving his lips as his cock sprang against his chest. "He used to tell me all the time how sexy you were…" You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as you hear the man fingering you talk about how your ex used to praise you to others, finding yourself disgusting for getting aroused.

 

"He was right but failed to mention how cute you are. Such a cute and obedient pussy~" He sang, a cocky smile on his face as he watched your body shiver underneath him, watching your eyes tear up as your pussy clenched around his fingers, indicating that you had found your release. Sebastian whispers sweetly into your ear as he slows down his fingers, still pumping them through your orgasm. "That's it, princess…such a good girl for me~" he praised while placing kisses all over your cheek as you frowned, trying to get the words to leave your mouth between heavy breaths. "I-i'm not… I'm disgusting." You whimpered, allowing your inner thoughts to come out. Sebastian frowned at this as he went and pulled your legs over his shoulders, causing you to squeak as he removed your limp body closer to him. "W-what are you doing?" You cried, still trying to come down from your orgasm as you pushed at his abdomen. 

Sebastian says nothing as he slowly slides his tip along your wet folds, watching the juices mix with his precum. "He's tried to ruin you…" he mumbles while positioning himself against your throbbing hole, his eyes slowly locking with yours as he grits his teeth. "Be a good girl for me, okay princess? You'll be my pretty little slut and take it all, right?" He smiles at his words while capturing your lips in a deep passionate kiss before sliding his cock into your tight hole, causing you to whimper and whine at the sudden intrusion, a few tears escaping from your eyes. Sebastian groans, his rough hands sliding up and down your hips reassuringly before pulling away his brows knit together as he kisses the corner of your lips. "So good, Y/n…such a good girl for me, princess." He mumbled, slowly moving his hips as he watched each pleasurable expression cross your face at the feeling of him inside you. 

"S-sebbyyyy," You whined, wrapping your arms around his neck while needily placing sloppy kisses along his neck, causing him to laugh in adoration, loving how cute you were being for him. "What is it, princess? What does my sweet girl want me to do?" He happily lends you his ear, so happy to hear you moaning out his name like you did so many times in his fantasies when he sat at home jerking himself off in the basement. You look up at him, lips swollen from him kissing you so aggressively, cheeks flushed as a bit of drool slipped from the corner of your mouth. "Please move! I wanna feel good!" You whined desperately, causing a soft and caring smile to appear on his face. "As you wish, princess." He whispered before pulling away from you, legs still tossed over his shoulders as his grip on your hips tightened. 

You gasped and moaned as his thrusts became more aggressive, the feeling of his cock rubbing against your squishy walls filling your mind as you tossed your head back, your loud and pitiful moans echoing throughout the quiet and dark house. Sebastian looks down at you, a slight blush on his cheeks, his breathing heavy as he watches your fucked out expression, his cock twitching inside you as he brings one of his hands to your chest, giving a squeeze as he desperately tries to thrust as deep as he could inside you. "Smile for me, baby~ ah, come on smile! Fuck show me that pretty smile, baby~" He whined, watching as you brought your head to face him, your expression causing him to swallow back a loud moan as he felt himself about to cum at just the sight. You looked up at him; the moonlight barely lit the area, showing your eyes shining from the tears of pleasure that had dampened your soft skin. Your cheeks were so flushed as drool slid down your chin when your lips tugged up into a fucked-out smile as you reached your arms up to cup his face. 

Sebastian looked down at you with wide eyes, his mouth open in awe as he felt his chest swell with nothing but love for the farm girl. "Sebby~ Am I a good girl? I did as told please tell me I'm a good girl!" You whined, feeling his cock hit that one spot you needed as you reached your second orgasm causing your tongue to stick out at him, his eyes turning feral. "Fuck princess…yeah, you're such a good fucking girl, alright baby." He suddenly pulls out, causing you to let out a needy whine, having not had enough of his cock inside you just yet. "Whose dick do you like more princess? Mine or Sam's?" He suddenly questions before slamming his entire length back inside your sensitive pussy, ignoring that you had just released for the second time that night. 

"It's mine right princess?" He growls, watching your tits bounce up and down at his faster pace. You can't say anything too fucked out by the intense pleasure you were receiving. Sebastian grunts and groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he feels his cock wanting to paint your walls so pretty with his cum. "Come on baby say my dick is better. Come on, say it! Say it, oh god, say it with those pretty lips of yours, Y/n~" He whines, sticking his tongue out as he captures your lips in another sloppy kiss, listening to your lewd juices echoing throughout the house, his mind going crazy. He pulls away from the kiss, watching the strings of saliva fall back onto you, his heartbeat pumping through his ears as he pried your mouth open with two fingers. 

 "Say it for me, princess, and I'll give you such a good reward~ Just say it, baby. Come on, be my good, naughty girl~" He whined, desperate for you to say the words that would show him you no longer belonged to his best friend and that you were now finally his perfect girl who would do anything to be praised by him. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you start feeling the knot in your stomach for the third time that night. The words barely leave your lips above a whisper, but he can still hear it. "Y-Your dick, Sebbyyyy! Mm, I like your dick more, Sebastian!" A deep growl leaves his throat as he presses his hips right against yours feeling himself ejaculating into your messy pussy, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he feels your walls clenching around him. You lay there too fucked out of your mind as you felt his cum filling your insides, a happy smile crossing your face as you watched Sebastian unconsciously try to push any cum that leaked out back inside when he pulled out. 

"That's my good girl~ so perfect for me~" He muttered while picking you up bridal style, leaving kisses along your face as he took you to your bed, carefully laying you down as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face. You hummed, tired eyes looking up at him as you leaned into his touch. "I'll grab you some water," he mumbled, giving you another kiss before heading towards the kitchen. As he patiently waited for the glass to fill, he noticed his phone going off, causing him to flip it open and look at the name of the person trying to call him. 

Sam

"Yeah?" Sebastian muttered, holding the phone up to his ear as he stopped the running water, making sure to have a tight grip on the cup, not wanting to break it. "Hey, I was calling to see if you made it home yet! I know you said you were taking Y/n home earlier. Did she get back safe?" Sam's voice laughed from the other end, instantly asking questions. Sebastian enters the room, stopping when he sees your sleeping face pressed against the pillow. He smiles quietly, walking over to you and placing the cup on your nightstand. "Yeah, we returned to her place a while ago." He admitted waiting to see if his best friend caught the fact he said 'we' instead of just you. Sam hesitates for a second, causing a slight smirk on Sebastian's lips as he awaits the blond's following words. 

"Are you still at her place then?' 

Sebastian just hummed as he sat on the edge of your bed, carefully playing with a strand of your hair as he looked down at you, eyes filled with love. 

"Of course, I'd still be at her house. After all, she's my girl now~."

[un-creativename]

Yule Ball

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

It was the year 1994, almost four months from that dreadful day at the Quidditch World Cup. Almost four months since she broke things off with Fred after one too many comments from his mother about her and her family.

“What a coincidence seeing you here, Malfoy.”

Clearly, Fred Weasley did not get the memo.

“Coincidence?” She repeats as she raises an eyebrow in a mix of annoyance and suspicion. “The castle has seven stories and yet I’m expected to believe our meetings are pure coincidence?”

“Like I said, coincidence.”

The cocky smirk on his face should’ve aggravated her but after a year of their secret little tryst, she’d reluctantly grown fond of it. But she wasn’t naive by any means, Fred was as cunning as a Slytherin most times—a statement that he very quickly feigned offensive to when she mentioned it. There was no way he kept finding her on accident.

“How do you keep finding me, Weasley?”

“I have my ways,” He grins with a shrug. “But that’s besides the point, what’s this I hear about you hanging out with Pucey? I thought you didn’t socialize with your former affairs.”

Now that piece of information she wasn’t surprised he’d known about, not when most eyes were on her due to the Yule ball being just weeks away. “I’m speaking to you, aren’t I?” She mutters as she attempts to move past Fred.

As she tries to walk away, Fred swiftly blocks her path with a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. “Oh come on now, you know I’m different from him,” he teases as he moves to stand in front of her. “You actually love me.”

As they stood in front of each other, she felt a mix of frustration and longing wash over her. Fred seemed to have a skill at getting under her skin, despite how hard she fought to keep herself in check. She’d taken the plunge into a relationship with him early in their fifth year, something she didn’t or rather couldn’t find in her to regret.

“I loved Pucey.”

Fred's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. He knew her well enough to sense when she was putting up walls. “Right,” he drawls, not at all convinced by her response. “Is that why you broke up with him after three months of being together? Because if we do that math, love, we were together for almost seven months more than you and Pucey. Wonder what that must mean?”

She rolls her eyes, trying to mask the way her heart skips at the reminder of their secret rendezvous. “It means you’re insufferable and persistent, Weasley. But now that’s over, so it’s high time we move on, don’t you think?”

Fred's jaw tightens at her words, his usual playful demeanor slipping for just a moment. "Move on?" he echoes, taking a step closer until she can feel the warmth radiating from him. "Tell me honestly, Malfoy, have you managed that yet? Because I haven't.”

His words hang heavy in the air, and she finds herself unable to look away from his eyes. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that she hasn’t seen since they broke up the day after the World Cup. She’s desperate to ignore the heartache that passes through her. “The Yule Ball is weeks away, it’s the perfect chance to move on. For the both of us…”

Fred's expression hardens at her words, his hands clenching at his sides. "Right, because that's exactly what you want, isn't it? To watch me take some other witch to the ball while you go with someone daddy dearest picked out for you.”

She flinches at his words, the truth in them stinging more than she'd care to admit. "That's not fair and you know it," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, what’s not fair is that you broke up with me without even giving me a chance to defend you against my mum’s accusations.”

Her breath catches in her throat at the raw pain in his voice. She wants to tell him that it wasn't just his mother's words that drove her away, but the crushing realization of how doomed their relationship really was. The thought of watching him defend her against his own mother, potentially fracturing his family relationships, had been too much to bear.

She closes her eyes briefly, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. "I couldn't watch you lose your family over me. We both know how this story ends – a Malfoy and a Weasley, it's like some tragic tale waiting to happen. We would’ve broken up eventually…”

Fred's hand suddenly shoots out to grasp her wrist, his touch gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. "So you're telling me you'd rather live with 'what-ifs' than fight for us? That's not the fierce witch I fell in love with." His words hang in the air between them, heavy with unspoken emotions and possibilities.

“Yeah well, that witch you fell in love with has a family filled with blood supremacists. So forgive me if I didn’t think we’d last for much longer anyway. So, please—and you know I don’t say that often—just let me go.”

The silence between them stretches, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, “If that’s what you want, fine—but don’t expect me to pretend I don’t still love you when I see you at the ball with whoever your dad chose.”

୨ ✦ ୧

The Great Hall was decorated in its finest Christmas splendor, ice sculptures glistening under the enchanted ceiling. Her burgundy dress robes swished softly against the floor as she danced with Robert Hoglund, a Durmstrang student her father had chosen for her. She couldn’t help but scan the crowd, inevitably landing on a head of ginger hair. Fred was dancing with Angelina Johnson, his usual cheerful smile in place, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. When their eyes met across the dance floor, she looked away quickly, tightening her grip on Hoglund’s shoulder. The music swelled around them, but she barely heard it over the thundering of her own heart. As Hoglund led her through another turn, she caught a glimpse of Fred whispering something in Johnson’s ear, making her laugh.

She forced herself to look away, reminding herself that this was how things had to be. The weight of her family name felt heavier than ever on her shoulders as she continued to dance with Hoglund, mechanically following the steps she’d been taught since childhood. Each twirl seemed to move her further away from what her heart wanted, but closer to what was expected of a Malfoy.

“Miss Malfoy?” Hoglund called in his thick accent, pulling her from her thoughts. “Would you like to take a step outside? You seem…distracted.”

She forces a polite smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Fresh air would be lovely, yes,” she responds, allowing him to lead her towards the entrance. As they walk, she can’t help but feel Fred’s gaze burning into her back, and she silently curses herself for still being so aware of his presence.

The cool night air hits her face as they step out into the courtyard, providing temporary relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. She takes a deep breath, trying to clear her mind of the ginger haired twin. Hoglund stands beside her, maintaining a respectful distance that annoyingly makes her miss Fred’s casual invasions of personal space even more.

Hoglund clears his throat, drawing her attention back to him. “You know,” he starts with hesitation, his accent thick with uncertainty. “I can tell your heart isn’t in this. Perhaps we should call it a night?” The suggestion, though politely delivered, carries a layer of understanding that makes her relax.

She nods, feeling a mix of relief and shame at his perceptiveness. “Thank you for understanding,” she manages, her voice barely above a whisper. As Hoglund bows and turns to leave, she catches a flash of movement near the entrance to the Viaduct courtyard, and she hates the way her heart stutters when she recognizes that familiar silhouette lingering in the shadows.

Fred steps out of the shadows, the moonlight catching his features in way that makes her unable to look away from him. His dress robes are slightly disheveled, his bow tie loose around his neck. “You had me worried for a second there, Malfoy. What’s a bloke too think when the witch he loves leaves a ball with another guy?”

She stares at him, her heart racing at his sudden appearance. “You should be with your date,” she whispers. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, making it harder for her to maintain her resolve as she takes another step towards her.

“She’s more interested in George, which is great for me, I’m more interested in blond Slytherin witches anyway.”

She hates the way her heart flutters at his words, once again putting her mind and heart at war. “Must you be so persistent?" she asks, wrapping her shawl tighter when a cold breeze blew past, trying her best to feign annoyance though she’s sure he doesn’t believe her.

“You love me for it,” Fred replies, taking another step closer until they’re merely inches apart. His fingers brush against her arm, and she can’t help but shiver–though whether from the cold or his touch, she’s not entirely sure.

Her gaze flickers down to his lips before she can stop herself, fully aware of the twitch of a smile he does when he notices. “Freddie,” she whispers, his name a warning and a plea all at once, but he’s already leaning in, his forehead resting against hers. In this moment, with the distant sounds of the ball fading into the background noise, she finds her carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble a lot faster than she would’ve hoped. “Why’re you so hard to get rid of?”

“Because you’re impossible to forget,” he murmurs against her lips, his hands coming up to her face. “And clearly you don’t want to get rid of me yet, you would’ve hexed me by now if you did.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her resolve weakening with every passing second. The familiar warmth of his touch, the sound of his voice so close to her–it was all becoming too much to resist. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she’s tilting her head up, closing the gap between them as their lips meet in a kiss that feels like coming home.

Time seems to stand still in this moment, the world around them fading into nothing but background noise. His hands thread through her hair, careful not to disturb the intricate updo she'd spent hours perfecting, while her fingers grip the lapels of his dress robes. When they finally break apart, both slightly breathless, she can see the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes.

“Fancy a trip to the Room of Requirement? Because personally, I think a certain Princess owes me a dance.”

She can’t help but laugh, the sound mixing with distant echoes of the ball. “Contrary to Draco’s behavior, Malfoys aren't really royalty,” she says, but she’s already reaching for his outstretched hand.

Fred’s grin widens as he tugs her closer. “Well you’re royalty to me,” he says, pressing a quick lingering kiss to her temple. “Now come on, I’m owed a dance after bravely watching you dance with some Durmstrang git for over an hour.”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

©un-creativename : All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

Don’t forget to reblog and like

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

[izzih22]

Can you do like Paige having a mental break-down and she breaks chairs and some other stuff and Azzi came home and calm her

Only if cool with it !!

Thank you

What Breaks and What Holds

Note: I kinda like this one

The chair breaks first.

The leg splinters at an awkward angle, wood cracking like a tree in a storm as Paige throws it across the room. It hits the corner of the wall and lands sideways, useless and broken like the rest of the thoughts she can’t seem to piece together today.

She doesn’t even know when it started—just that somewhere between practice and walking through the door, everything went quiet in her head, then unbearably loud. Too much noise. Too much pressure. Too much of everything.

The coffee mug goes next. Not even hers—Azzi’s favorite one, the one with the tiny cartoon otters hugging on the front. Paige doesn’t mean to. Her hand just slips while she’s flinging her keys on the counter, her breath coming too short, her heart racing in her chest like it’s trying to outrun something it can’t name.

The sound of ceramic shattering against tile echoes through the apartment. She stares at it, chest heaving, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. She can still hear Geno’s voice from practice, the sharpness in his tone that only digs deeper when you’re already spiraling:

“You’ve gotta be better than this, Paige.”

Like she doesn’t know that. Like she doesn’t wake up every damn day trying.

Her fists clench. Her breathing’s ragged, and she grabs at the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping her standing. It’s not about the mug. It’s not about practice. It’s the accumulation—the weight she never lets slip off her shoulders. She’s always been the one to carry it. She has to be.

She slams her hand against the fridge, hard, knuckles blooming red.

And that’s when the front door opens.

Azzi steps inside, backpack over one shoulder, earbuds still in. She takes in the scene fast—the broken mug, the cracked chair, Paige standing in the middle of it all like she’s trying not to drown.

“Paige?” Her voice is soft, but alert.

Paige turns, barely managing to keep her voice steady. “Don’t—don’t look at me right now.”

Azzi shuts the door quietly behind her. She doesn’t speak, just drops her bag and walks over slowly, carefully. Like Paige is something wild and wounded and about to run.

“I said—” Paige starts again, but her voice cracks in the middle. It’s not anger. It’s not defiance. It’s fear. Shame. Exhaustion.

Azzi stops a few feet away, eyes gentle, hands at her sides. “I’m not gonna say anything, okay? Just breathe with me.”

Paige shakes her head, tears brimming now. “I can’t. I’m—I’m not okay, baby.”

Azzi nods. “I know. You don’t have to be.”

And that does it. Paige drops to her knees in the middle of the kitchen, burying her face in her hands as the sobs tear through her—raw, messy, unfiltered. The kind she’s never let herself have. Not with the team. Not even with herself.

Azzi’s there instantly, kneeling beside her without hesitation. She doesn’t reach out right away. She just sits with her, knees brushing. “I’ve got you. You hear me?” she whispers. “You don’t have to hold it all together for me.”

“I broke your mug,” Paige chokes out, voice muffled in her hands.

Azzi huffs a small, almost-laugh, even through the worry in her eyes. “It’s just a mug. You’re my person. And you’re breaking.”

Paige leans into her finally, collapsing forward until her forehead presses against Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi wraps her up without hesitation, arms firm around her back, one hand threading into her hair.

“You’re allowed to fall apart, babe. I’m not going anywhere,” Azzi murmurs into her ear. “You’ve held me so many times. Let me hold you now.”

Paige nods against her shoulder, clutching the fabric of Azzi’s hoodie like it’s a lifeline. “It’s just—it’s too much. I can’t be everything they need. I can’t be perfect. And I—I don’t know how to ask for help without feeling like I’m failing.”

Azzi pulls back just enough to look at her, hands cupping Paige’s face with so much gentleness it nearly undoes her all over again. “You’re not failing. You’re fighting. And I’m so damn proud of you for even saying that out loud.”

Paige sniffles, eyes red, nose running. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I want to see all of you. The strong parts, the messy parts. The part that breaks chairs and the part that cries on my shoulder.” Azzi smiles softly. “I love you through all of it.”

Paige’s breath catches. She closes her eyes, like maybe if she does, the weight will finally lift. And somehow, with Azzi holding her this close, it does. Just a little.

They sit there on the cold tile floor, in the middle of broken furniture and shattered ceramic. Azzi doesn’t try to fix anything. She doesn’t give advice. She just holds Paige steady while she falls apart.

And maybe that’s what love is.

Not stopping someone from breaking.

But being there when they do.

⸻

The apartment is quiet except for their breathing.

Eventually, Paige’s sobs soften into hiccups, and her grip on Azzi loosens just enough to let herself breathe. Her head is still resting on Azzi’s shoulder, body spent, heart sore in her chest like it just ran a marathon without telling her legs.

“I’m sorry,” Paige whispers after a while, voice hoarse. “For the mug. For the chair. For… all of it.”

Azzi shakes her head and kisses her temple. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling overwhelmed, babe. You’ve been holding everything in for way too long. I’m just glad you let me be here for it.”

“I didn’t even know I was this close to breaking.”

“I did.”

Paige looks up, eyes heavy but curious. “You did?”

Azzi nods, brushing sweaty hair off Paige’s forehead. “I saw it building. The way you’ve been carrying all of it—your expectations, the team, the media, your own standards… I’ve been worried.”

Paige lets her eyes fall shut. “I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden,” Azzi says, with so much conviction it makes Paige flinch. “You’re my person. When you hurt, I feel it too.”

Paige swallows the lump in her throat. “I don’t know how to turn it off. The pressure. The feeling like if I’m not everything for everyone, then I’m nothing.”

Azzi pulls her in again. “Then let’s start small. Tonight, you don’t have to be everything. Just be here with me.”

⸻

They clean in silence.

Paige tries to protest at first, embarrassed about the broken chair and the mess on the floor, but Azzi just takes her hand and pulls her up gently.

“No lectures,” she says. “We’ll clean, we’ll shower, and we’ll go to bed. That’s it.”

Together, they sweep up the broken ceramic, toss the chair parts into the storage closet, and wipe down the counters. Azzi keeps her touch light, her presence steady—enough to keep Paige grounded without crowding her.

When they’re done, Azzi takes her hand again. “Shower?”

Paige nods, and they move to the bathroom.

⸻

The water is warm.

Steam fogs the mirror as Azzi steps in behind her, arms wrapping around Paige’s waist from behind. Neither of them says much—just quiet touches, soft kisses to shoulder blades, and fingers that trace over bruises and tension like they could undo it all.

Paige leans her head back onto Azzi’s shoulder and finally lets her body relax.

Azzi’s lips brush the curve of her neck. “I’ve got you. Even when you don’t feel like yourself. Even when it’s ugly. Especially then.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Paige says softly.

Azzi turns her around, eyes shining. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved, Paige. You just have to let yourself be loved.”

⸻

They crawl into bed, hair damp, skin clean, hearts still a little raw. Azzi wears one of Paige’s shirts. Azzi brings her close and lets her lay her head on her chest, hand resting over Paige’s heart like she’s trying to remind her it’s still beating.

“You wanna talk about it?” Azzi asks, voice low.

Paige hesitates. Then: “I feel like I’m failing. Even when I’m doing well. I walk into practice and it’s like… everyone’s looking at me to lead, to carry, to be that person. And I want to be. But some days, I just want to hide.”

Azzi doesn’t interrupt.

“I hate how angry I got. I don’t want to be that version of myself.”

“You weren’t angry,” Azzi says. “You were overwhelmed. There’s a difference. And even if you were angry—you’re still human.”

Paige takes a shaky breath. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“I don’t. I just love you enough to listen.”

There’s a long silence.

Then Paige whispers, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Azzi pulls her closer. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”

And Paige lets herself believe it—just for tonight, in this warm, quiet space they’ve made between chaos and calm. She doesn’t have to be everything. She just has to be Paige.

And with Azzi’s arms around her, that finally feels like enough.

[syluslnd]

Hello. I just want to say your stories are amazing ❤️🥺 can you please write sylus × y/n where sylus pushes the reader away for some reason and later on regrets it ( full angst to fluff ) thank you 🥺❤️

sylus pushing you away because he’s an idiot

Sylus sat behind his desk, eyes scanning through an endless stream of reports, his brow furrowed in deep frustration. The tension in his body was palpable; nothing seemed to be going right today.

The missions were falling apart, the data was incomplete and the pressure to resolve it all was suffocating. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t rested and every small problem felt like a spark waiting to ignite the fuse.

Then, the door to his office suddenly burst open.

“Hey, Sylus—”

You barely made it past the threshold before Sylus snapped, his sharp gaze lifting from the desk to you in an instant. His voice, usually calm and measured, came out harsh and cutting. “Who do you think you are to be barging in here without knocking?”

You froze in place, the words hitting you like a slap. Sylus rarely ever raised his voice at you and when he did, it was never like this. Shocked, you stammered, trying to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Leave.” The word came out cold and dismissive. His eyes narrowed, his tone biting, leaving no room for argument. “Just go.”

Your heart sank. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him, only to check if he needed anything. You always looked out for him, especially when he was drowning in work.

But now, standing there, your presence felt like an inconvenience. You muttered a quiet apology, backing out of the room, closing the door softly behind you.

For a while after you left, Sylus didn’t move. The anger he had let loose still simmered beneath the surface, but it was slowly being replaced by something heavier—guilt. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his silver hair.

Hours passed and Sylus tried to refocus but your absence gnawed at him. You always popped by to bring him food or just to make sure he was okay and now the silence in his office felt suffocating. He hadn’t eaten all day but without you, even the thought of food made him feel sick.

Eventually, he gave in, reaching for his comm to call you. It rang once, twice… but you didn’t pick up. His stomach twisted. He waited a few minutes, trying again but there was still no answer.

“Damn it” he muttered under his breath, tossing the comm onto the desk. The realization hit him harder than he expected: he had pushed you away. Again. He was always doing this, keeping people at arm’s length. But you… you were different. You were the only one who saw through his walls and instead of letting you in, he’d shoved you out.

Days passed and Sylus felt the weight of his mistake grow heavier. Without you around, he was a mess. He hadn’t eaten properly, his sleep was fitful and work had become unbearable. He kept expecting to hear your voice, see you bring him something to eat or just feel your presence nearby. But there was nothing and it was his fault.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt gnawed at him until he finally decided to go to you.

Standing outside your door, Sylus hesitated. He wasn’t good at apologizing, never had been. Words got stuck in his throat, his pride and guilt twisting together in an uncomfortable knot. But he couldn’t leave things like this. He knocked softly and waited, feeling his heart pound in a way he wasn’t used to. When you opened the door, your expression was far from warm.

“Sylus” you said, your voice flat, arms crossed. “What do you want?”

He stared at you, his usual confidence faltering. He hadn’t expected the bitterness, though he probably deserved it. “Kitten…” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… came to talk.”

“About what?” You raised an eyebrow, clearly still upset. “Yelling at me and kicking me out of your office?”

He flinched at your words, guilt surging through him. He had hurt you, more than he thought. “I shouldn’t have done that” he mumbled, his voice quieter than usual. “I was… frustrated but that’s not an excuse.”

“Frustrated?” you echoed, clearly unimpressed. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Sylus sighed, his hand falling to his side. Apologizing was harder than he thought it would be. “I know I screwed up, alright? I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just… I wasn’t thinking.”

You frowned, still not satisfied. “You didn’t think to call me either or at least check in after you threw me out like that.”

“I did call” he admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “You didn’t answer.”

You blinked, surprised for a moment but quickly masked it. “Maybe I didn’t want to answer.”

The silence between you stretched, tension thick in the air. Sylus felt like he was sinking deeper into his guilt, unsure how to fix this. He’d never been good at dealing with emotions, especially his own but now, seeing the hurt in your eyes, it was killing him.

“I missed you” he finally muttered, the words almost foreign to him. He looked down, avoiding your gaze, feeling the weight of his own failure press down on him. “You’re… the only one who gives a damn about me and I pushed you away. I haven’t even eaten properly since you stopped coming around, sweetie.”

You bit your lip, torn between being angry and feeling sorry for him. Sylus was always like this—closed off, pushing people away, even when he didn’t want to.

“I didn’t mean it” he added quietly, his voice rough with guilt. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, with a sigh, you stepped aside, letting him into your place. “You’re an idiot, Sylus” you said, though there was a touch of softness to your words now. “But come in. I’m not letting you starve just because you don’t know how to say sorry.”

Sylus walked in, the relief evident in his eyes but the guilt still hung heavily over him. He sat down awkwardly, watching you move around the room, unsure how to make things right. But for now, he was here, with you. It was a start.

[authorhjk1]

Hey could you do BP members react first time cum inside

Jisoo

"Jisoo..."

You try to warn her. But the woman underneath you just moans louder. Her ankles are crossed on your back, her hands locked together behind your neck. The two of you are almost one body.

You can't hold it in any longer. Jisoo's body, especially her tight pussy, leaves you breathless. You're too weak to fight against her own fading strength.

"Jisoo..."

You say her name once more. But this time it's a sigh of defeat. You empty your load deep inside of her, making Jisoo moan in response.

"Oh god..."

She sighs, her whole body tensing as she feels your warmth. Usually, you cum somewhere on her body, maybe even in her mouth, but never inside. Why has she waited so long for this? It feels amazing.

Jennie

"You gonna give it to me? You gonna fill up my little pussy?"

Jennie looks over her shoulder at you, her tight body pressed against the cold wall.

"Yeah."

You groan into her ear, unable to say much else. You met her barely 20 minutes ago and Jennie is already telling you to dump your cum in her.

"Put your load in me. Right where it belongs. In my needy little cunt."

You groan her name, pin her further against the wall, and finally you orgasm inside of her. Jennie's breath hitches as she feels your cum inside her pussy.

"Damn, I feel so full. I'm gonna have your cum leak out of me for the rest of the day."

Rosé

"C-Can you please cum inside this time?"

You look down at your girlfriend. On her stomach, black dress hiked up enough so you can fuck her tight pussy, her hands bound together by your tie.

"Sure."

You leat out a relieved sigh. It's always such a struggle to pull out early. And a condom just doesn't compare. It just feels like heaven, whenever you fuck your girlfriend raw.

"Jennie said, she got creampied by some stranger the other night. And I want to feel that too."

Her already weak voice tells you that Rosé is reaching her own limit as well. The thought of Jennie, letting a random dude cum inside, makes you fuck your girlfriend a little harder.

"Oh, yes there. Jennie is such a slut. I'm surprised she hasn't tried to make you cheat on me yet."

You quiet your girlfriend by giving her harder thrusts, trying not to think about Jennie while you fuck her.

But it's already too late. Rosé's snug and wet pussy and your mental image of Jennie make you you cum inside your girlfriend earlier than you expected.

"Oh, god. It feels amazing."

Rosé can barely get those words out, before she orgasms herself. You feel her draining your for everything you have. Her already sloppy pussy now needy for more of this newfound feeling.

Lisa

You still can't believe that Blackpink's Lisa is riding you. Inside her own hotel room. Her hands rest on your shoulder, yours on her waist. She didn't even bother getting rid off her dress. She just told you to follow her upstairs, when she caught you staring at her in the lobby.

You could've sworn there were rumours about a boyfriend or something. Either they're not true, or she is doing something really bad right now.

The idea of being able to have sex with Lisa already drives you mad. A dream come true. But is she actually doing this while being in a relationship?

"Damn, your cock feels amazing."

Lisa leans down to give you a deep kiss. A kiss that pushes your further to the point of no return.

She must have felt what you're thinking, because she pulled away and is now looking down on you as she keeps riding you.

"Don't worry, he doesn't mind. Actually, he finds it hotter when I let guys like you cum inside."

"What?"

You're barely able to comprehend what she just said, the fog in your brain already limiting your ability to think.

"It's okay, baby."

Lisa picks up the pace a little, which is deadly for your self control. She leans down, so her mouth is right next to your ear.

"Just think of me as a one time cumdump."

"Fuck."

You groan as you close your eyes, which makes you miss Lisa's knowing smirk. You dig your fingers into her hips as you thrust upwards, cuming deep inside of her.

"Fuck, yes."

Lisa moans, a satisfied smile on her lips. She grinds her hips back and forth. Trying to get as much out of you as possible.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

"ME AND THE DEVIL"

Gotham's power couple, the reader and Bruce, went from party to party, slow dance to slow dance. On dark, stormy nights, you both stuck together like glue. Your love was something common people only dreamed of—the sweetest, most loving thing that could have ever graced the earth. There wasn't a label on your relationship; why would there be? He was yours, and you were his. People would part the red carpet as if Bruce were Moses parting the Red Sea for his love. The dance floor would be empty, with the two of you holding each other gently. He'd leave the softest kiss on your neck, enough to make you giggle and blush. Golden jewelry danced off your dark skin; it was perfect, utterly perfect. He'll stare at you like you're the only thing connecting him down to the earth. He'll kiss little "I love yous" into your lips till you can barely breathe. He loves you with all his being, and he would never let you slip through the cracks of his skin meant for protecting you. His rough hands brush away the strands of thick curls from your face just to see those almond eyes. This feeling is stronger than love; it's desire, it's need, it's want. He would never do anything to hurt you until he did—when you learned about his mission to the League. You thought nothing of it until you heard about the birth of his son; you felt like the other woman. You felt like all those lovely nights meant to get you into his sheets were seen by him as just some model, not a woman with wit, integrity, or smarts—just another model to show off at his parties. How could he do this to you? How could he be this heartless? You were with him through everything: the day of his parents' death, the day of Jason's death, your son's death—every misfortune, you were there for just for him to ruin you and leave you a broken husk of the woman you once were. And that DEVIL and his son! You wanted nothing to do with that fool and his stupid crusade to save Gotham. You wanted nothing to do with Bruce Wayne. You want him dead; you want him gone. You want him to hurt, to cry, to know that even as you wreck Wayne Enterprises with Jason's old baseball bat, you still love him as you destroy everything in your shared bedroom—ripping up his expensive suits, destroying paintings of him and you, breaking pictures of you and him with your boys (Dick and Jason). He'll catch you in the act of beating down the Batmobile, crashing the windows, busting the tires. He tries to stop you, tries to make you talk to him—anything. He hates to see you cry; he hates to see those tears run down that pretty brown face. But he's the one who made those tears. In a scuffle to get the bat out of your hands, you hit him right in the head, throwing him to the floor. Crimson red blood stains Jason's bat and the floor. Oh, what did you do? Why did you do this? You fall to your knees where he is, checking on him. He was the devil, but he was as beautiful as an angel to you. Using a piece of your dress, you tried your hardest to wipe the blood away, sobbing out sorry, tears falling onto his tired face. But just like that, he pulls you by the waist and brings you down for a kiss—the sweetest kiss you've ever felt. He kisses away your tears, leaving you motionless, slipping into the cracks of his skin. But you pull away; you won't be fooled by him again. You won't let your walls down for him ever again. That Bruce Wayne charm won't work on you, and it never will. You're leaving him for good, but it doesn't matter where you go—he'll find you, he'll love you, he'll keep you close like the scars on his back. So when he sees you again—gray streaks in that jet black hair, the small wrinkles when you frown, those full lips that used to kiss away his pain—he can't help himself but try and win you back. Age was kind to you but not to him. It made him bitter, angrier, sadder, but it made you sweeter, softer, and stunning. So when you say his name, how could he not ask you for another dance? You're his woman, after all.

[sai-int]

hello! i was wondering if you could either write about mainly soap (or the whole TF-141) finding out you’re pregnant and what they would be like all throughout the 9 months. It could either be head cannons or a fic, whatever you prefer 🤗

i tried to find fics about it but i can find barely any 😞

i tried to fight the poly!141 x reader demons, but i couldn't

cw: poly!141 x reader, pregnancy stuff, implied fem/afab!reader, (use of mom), no, it doesn't matter who's kid it is.

finding out....

johnny is the first to react when you tell them the news. he's stunned silent for a split second before breaking into a wide grin and laughing. “we’re havin’ a bairn?” he pulls you into his arms, twirling you around despite your protests. “this is amazin’! we're gonna be parents!”

he's immediately excited, though slightly panicked. “wait…what do we need tae do? do we start buyin’ things? are we ready for this?” he's practically already nesting.

simon doesn’t say much at first. his gaze shifts between you and the others before he lets out a quiet, “well, that’s somethin' new."

in truth, he didn't know how to handle this information. his trauma left him scarred and terrified of the idea of parenting, but after some thought, he’ll find you alone and murmur, “y'gonna be great at this, lovie. we all will.” It’s one of the rare times he lets his emotions show.

kyle reacts with a mix of shock and excitement. “wait, wait—are we serious? this is real?” when you nod, he breaks into a wide smile, pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“this is amazing. you're gonna be a great mom, doll. we'll figure it out together.”

john's reaction is steady but warm. he gives you a soft smile and kisses the top of your head. “looks like our family’s getting a little bigger.”

he's calm and reassuring, already thinking about what this means for the team and how they’ll support you in the months ahead.

first trimester...

johnny's bouncing off the walls, thrilled about the news but hilariously overprotective. he refuses to let you lift anything heavier than a water bottle and constantly asks how you’re feeling.

“ye need anythin’? a pillow? water? more snacks?” you'll have to reassure him a hundred times a day that you’re fine.

he's also immediately obsessed with baby gear, sending you links to cribs, strollers, and onesies with ridiculous captions like, “look at this wee one—it’s got ducks on it!”

simon is less overtly excited but becomes quietly attentive. he starts keeping track of your cravings and your mood swings, making sure the others don’t overwhelm you too much.

if you’re feeling nauseous, he’ll silently sit with you, rubbing small circles on your back. he's not one for grand gestures, but his steady presence is comforting.

he's also the one who subtly puts his foot down when johnny starts suggesting that the kid'll be named “soap junior.”

kyle is practical but sweet, always checking in with you and making sure you’re eating enough. “don't forget to take your vitamins. and let me know if you need me to grab anything.”

he's fascinated by the changes in your body, always asking questions. “is it weird? like, do you feel different already?” he's genuinely curious and wants to understand every part of the process. not to mention the fact this his eyes refuse to leave your stomach once you start showing.

john keeps the everyone grounded. when the others (cough—johnny—cough) start fussing too much, he steps in. “give her some space. she's not made of glass.”

second trimester...

by now, johnny's even more excited, especially when the baby starts moving. he insists on feeling every kick and might even get a little competitive with the others. “aye, th' bairn kicked fur me first, didn’t it?”

he starts talking to your belly in gaelic. no one knows that he's saying but kyle has a hunch that he's praying.

simon is more engaged now, though still subtle. he'll casually start doing the more practical things like baby-proofing or arranging for a larger living space.

he secretly reads up on pregnancy and parenthood, though he’ll never admit it. you catch him once, and he grumbles, “just making sure we’re prepared.” but you know it's for his own sake.

kyle takes the role of “baby planner” seriously, organizing everything from nursery ideas to potential schedules for when the baby arrives. he's also the one to encourage you to take care of yourself.

“you're doing amazing, love. just let us handle the rest, yeah?” he's always ready with a shoulder rub or a cup of tea when you need it.

john really begins to hone his 'dad energy'. he ensures you’re not overexerting yourself and keeps everyone focused. he starts sharing stories about his own experiences with kids, whether it’s nieces, nephews, or friends’ children, to reassure you. he holds your hand on the days when you're feeling a bit off, offering a warm embrace for you to melt in.

third trimester...

johnny is on defcon 1. he's counting down the seconds and trying to distract himself with building the crib (badly) and then taking it down, just to reassemble it. or assembling strollers. “don't worry, love, i've got this… where’s the instruction manual?”

he's constantly doting on you, rubbing your calves and back or carrying things for you. “you're a goddess, y’know that? absolutely goddess.”

simon becomes even more protective. the parenthood book he'd been reading mentioned having a mhospital bag' for when the time comes. when your third trimester comes, he's prepping, making sure a bag is packed and everything’s ready to go when the time comes. “better t'be prepared than scramblin' last minute.”

kyle is the calmest of the bunch, which makes him your go-to when you’re feeling overwhelmed. he's always ready to lend an ear or a helping hand.

"you're not doing this alone.” he'd mumble to you while drawing soft circles on your skin. his steady reassurance keeps everyone else from spiraling into chaos, as well.

d-day...

it starts with you waking up in the middle of the night, a sharp cramp making you wince. you sit up, trying to brush it off, but another contraction hits, and it’s unmistakable: the baby is coming.

johnny is the first one you wake up. he's immediately wide-eyed and panicking. “wait, this is it? this is actually it?” he's scrambling to find his boots, yelling down the hall for the others, and tripping over his own feet in his rush.

simon appears a moment later, calm but laser-focused. “time the contractions,” he says, already grabbing the hospital bag he prepared weeks ago. he gently helps you to your feet, his hand steady on your lower back to support you.

kyle's ushering you to sit down (as simon tries to shove him off) and asking practical questions. “how far apart are they? are you feeling okay? deep breaths, love.” he's already calling ahead to the hospital to let them know you’re on your way.

john takes charge of the logistics. he's already in the car and heating it up. “let's move, lads. we're trained for chaos; this is no different.” his voice is firm, but his eyes are filled with concern as he checks on you.

the ride is chaotic, to say the least. johnny insists on sitting in the backseat with you, holding your hand and offering completely and entirely unhelpful but enthusiastic encouragement.

"you’re doin’ amazing, lass. just breathe! In and out, aye? we're almost there!”

"i'm going into labor, i didn't forget how to fucking breathe, johnny!" this is starting to feel like the worst period cramps of your life.

kyle is the one actually timing your contractions and giving johnny side-eyes every time he gets too loud. “you're not the one in labor, soap. chill.”

under any other circumstance, simon would not be allowed to drive. not even around the block. tonight though? he drives like a man on a mission. he's cutting through traffic like a getaway driver with 50k in the trunk. he barely says a word nd his jaw is clenched tight, his knuckles are white on the wheel. when you let out a particularly loud groan, he mutters, “we're almost there. hang on.”

john rides shotgun, barking out directions to simon and giving you steady updates. “you're doing great, dove. just focus on breathing. we'll be there in five.”

the team storms the hospital like it's a raid. john carries you inside while johnny frantically explains to the nurses, barely coherent in his excitement. “she's havin’ th' bairn! right now!”

when they wheel you into the delivery room, johnny is by your side, holding your hand like his life depends on it. he's grinning and panicking simultaneously. “yer incredible, love. just a bit more. ye've got this!”

simon stands beside you and smooths your hair out of your face, placing a hand on your shoulder during every contraction. he can tell you're a little scared. “one at a time. you're stronger than this.” his presence feels like a rock in the storm.

kyle makes sure you’re comfortable and liaising with the medical team. “she likes ice chips, not water,” he tells a nurse, even as he offers you his hand. “you're amazing. we're so proud of you, hun."

john is the unshakable anchor, standing at the foot of the bed, his voice steady and calm. “that's it. just like that. one more push.” he doesn’t waver for a second, even when you're literally howling in pain.

when the baby’s first cries fill the room, everything changes.

johnny lets out an actual cheer, tears streaming down his face. “we did it! we've got a bairn!” he's laughing, crying, and probably squeezing your hand too hard.

simon doesn’t say a word, all shock and awe, but when the nurse places the baby in your arms, his eyes soften in a way you’ve never seen before. He murmurs, “it's perfect,” his voice breaking slightly.

kyle cuts the cord with a shaky laugh, grinning ear-to-ear. “welcome to the world, little one.” he presses a kiss to your temple, his joy radiant.

john is last to hold the baby, cradling it in his large, steady hands. “you've done so well, love... I'm so proud of you.” his voice is thick with unshed tears and pride as he hands the baby back to you.

the night ends with a baby nestled in your arms and your family surrounding you. a chaotic, loving, perfectly imperfect family.

mlist