#was meant to be sad but I can’t handle it

[hrrtshape]

　　the great hall dining guide : five stars or food poisoning? 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　back to the masterlist　

no hunger in hogwarts. the great hall is an empire of excess, a temple to the art of never saying no to seconds (or sevenths). the long house tables are stacked with plates that fill and refill as if controlled by some benevolent, slightly overbearing god-parent who cannot fathom the concept of "i'm full."

hi, i'm emma, i shifted to my marauders dr, i'm here to yap.

　❛❛ when to show up ?

breakfast :  starts at 7:00 am, but nobody with a sense of self-preservation gets there at the crack of dawn unless they have quidditch practice or are a first-year who still thinks hogwarts runs on a logical schedule. prime time is 7:30–8:30 am, when the food is still hot and everyone is too groggy to engage in unnecessary morning conversations. if you come after 9:00 am, expect half-warm toast and a few sad sausages.

lunch :  served from 12:30 pm to 1:30 pm. 12:30 is the best time if you want first dibs on everything, but the best people-watching happens closer to 1:00 pm when people start arguing over last-minute essay deadlines. if you’re running late and slide in at 1:25 pm, good luck – you’re getting whatever’s left.

dinner :  6:00 pm sharp, ends at 8:00 pm. 7:00 pm is the sweet spot – not too early that you look overeager, not too late that you get the rejected drumsticks and a dubious slice of treacle tart. sitting down at 7:45 pm means you're scavenging for whatever scraps are left like a victorian orphan.

　❛❛ where to sit ?

slytherin table :  best for hushed scheming, power lunches, and exchanging contraband under the table. do not sit here if you can’t handle judgmental side-eyes while buttering your bread.

ravenclaw table :  ideal for finishing homework mid-meal. also where people pretend they’re above caring about gossip while actively eavesdropping on every conversation. the back half of the table is safer if you don’t want to hear someone dissecting 17th-century wandlore at 8 am.

gryffindor table :  loud. expect at least one person standing on the bench telling a story that is objectively not that funny. best if you enjoy chaotic meal settings or want to be involved in something ridiculous before you’ve even finished your juice.

hufflepuff table :  safest bet for a peaceful meal, but you will 100% be roped into sharing your food. the friendliest seating arrangement, but also the most likely to involve a group discussion about everyone’s day when you just wanted to eat in silence.

professor’s table :  do not sit here unless you have a death wish.

　❛❛ what to eat (and avoid) .

best breakfast items :  the porridge is solid (literally, if you come too late), but the best move is the warm croissants with honey. also, the lemon & apple pasties are basically a cheat code if you want to smuggle food out for later.

lunch must-haves :  steak and kidney pie is better than you’d expect. if there’s a soup option, proceed with caution, half the time it’s delicious, half the time it’s some medieval potion that smells like a transfiguration accident.

dinner essentials :  roast anything is good, but the yorkshire puddings are a religious experience. also, the treacle tart is worth elbowing someone for.

what to avoid :  the questionable fish dishes. boiled meant. you don’t know where that’s coming from, and you don’t want to. also, anything neon-colored. if it looks like it belongs in a potions class, it probably does.

　❛❛ general survival tips .

don’t drink the pumpkin juice if you’re not in the mood for it. it’s literally everywhere, and by week three, you will hate it.

bring your own condiments if you care about flavour. hogwarts food is good, but nobody in this castle has heard of seasoning unless it's one of those other-culture-nights.

do not, under any circumstances, take the last dinner roll unless you want to start an inter-house war.

sitting too close to the staff table means your meal comes with a free ethics lecture from mcgonagall. proceed with caution.

　　q & a .

　❛❛ what is breakfast like .

if you’ve never had breakfast in the great hall, you’ve never truly lived. that’s not hyperbole, that’s just the facts.

and the thing is,,,,,, it wasn’t just about the food. it was about the ritual. it was about getting there early, half-asleep and draped over the table, while the house elves sent up silver platters of steaming porridge and eggs and enough bacon to make even the most dedicated vegetarian question their life choices. it was about the lazy hum of morning gossip, about james and sirius trying to one-up each other with increasingly absurd breakfast combinations (once, i watched sirius put marmalade on a sausage. we don’t talk about it).

breakfast started early, before the sun had fully stretched its arms, and ended when the professors decided we were done loitering. if you weren’t there by the time mcgonagall sat down, you were basically on borrowed time.

　❛❛ what is lunch like .

lunch at hogwarts was less of a meal and more of a tactical battle. the great hall would be an absolute warzone of students rushing in from classes, half of them looking like they’d barely survived whatever horrors had just unfolded in transfiguration.

the food appeared at exactly midday, no earlier, no later. if you showed up late, you were fighting for scraps, and by scraps, i mean you’d be left with 99 choices for meals instead of 100. scarcity, i know.

lunch was also prime time for food theft. you could be having an entirely normal conversation and, in the blink of an eye, your pumpkin pasty would be gone. sirius was the undisputed king of this, the man had the reflexes of a thief in victorian london. i once watched him steal an entire shepherd’s pie from remus’s plate without breaking eye contact. it was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

　❛❛ what is dinner like .

hogwarts dinners were the closest thing to divinity i’ve ever known. long wooden tables overflowing with everything you could possibly want: roast chicken, yorkshire pudding, steak, treacle tart so good it made you believe in love again. it was opulence, it was luxury, it was the kind of meal you dream about when you’re in some sad, muggle diner trying to convince yourself that soggy chips and watery gravy are ‘fine.’

　❛❛ special occasions .

feast days at hogwarts were another level. halloween, christmas, the end-of-year banquet, these were events. these were festivals of indulgence. the house elves pulled out all the stops: whole roast turkeys, mountains of roast potatoes, rivers of rich, golden gravy, cauldron cakes stacked like towers. desserts that defied logic and probably several laws of nature. on halloween, the hall was covered in floating pumpkins and eerie green light, and the food had a vaguely chaotic energy to match (one year, the treacle tarts actually screamed when you bit into them. highly unsettling, but still delicious).

christmas dinner was something else entirely. it was warm and glowing and endless. crackers snapped, jokes were told, and dumbledore drank enough mead to make even him slightly ridiculous. it was the kind of meal you thought about for the rest of your life. it was family, it was home.

　❛❛ what’s the deal with house-elves?

the hogwarts kitchen operates with the ruthless efficiency of a five-star hotel run by creatures legally bound to service.

a hundred or so house-elves live below the castle, working in near invisibility, preparing all meals and sending them up through enchanted pathways that deposit dishes straight onto the great hall tables. you cannot see the elves. you do not hear them. but you know they exist, like the wizarding world's most overworked stage crew.

you can also visit them in the kitchens. they're nice, say hi.

　❛❛ can you request food?

hogwarts was a lot of things, but it was not a restaurant. if you wanted something specific, you either made a pilgrimage to the kitchens and begged the house elves (a move so shameful it had to be done in absolute secrecy. or if you like....really, really, really charmed them) or you suffered in silence. sirius, of course, once tried to get the great hall to serve "a proper fry-up" at dinner, only to be met with silence and what i can only describe as deeply offended energy from the floating candles.

but somehow, it didn’t matter. because the food was already perfect. and now, i have to live knowing that no meal will ever come close to a great hall dinner. it’s fine. i’m fine. i’ll just sit here, eating my disappointing, mortal food, and pretend my soup isn’t deeply depressing.

　❛❛ what about drinks?

again, pumpkin juice. an obsession, a tyranny, a strange fixation. every meal, every table, a seemingly infinite supply. there is also water, milk (cold, in small glass jugs, looking like something out of a victorian schoolhouse), and for the older students at special occasions, a sweet, non-alcoholic mead that tastes like it wants to be alcoholic but isn’t. butterbeer, tragically, is an off-campus luxury.

　❛❛ is there a meal schedule? like certain things on certain days? or do they just pile every type of food on the table?

hogwarts operates on a structured but generous meal plan. weekday breakfasts, always got your staples. porridge, toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, and the occasional wizarding oddity like blood pudding for the particularly cursed among us. but sundays are for extravagant brunch spreads. croissants. kippers. jams that taste like childhood summers. it’s as if the house-elves know that sunday means stress, existential whatever, dread, so they soften the blow with flaky pastry.

lunch is always dependable, usually soups and sandwiches or something hearty if you’ve got a double potions period ahead. dinner, though, is where the patterns emerge. mondays are classic british, shepherd’s pie, roast beef, yorkshire pudding. tuesdays are usually a little more continental, pastas, stews. fridays are always a feast, usually something big and festive. then you have the seasonal changes: october brings pumpkin-infused everything, winter means more roasts, few first weeks of summer term leans into fresher, lighter meals. but yes, the mainstay staples are always available. if you want treacle tart on a wednesday, it will be there.

　❛❛ there’s wizard candy and drinks, but is there any other food? i’m sure at some point wizards put magic in any food they could think of just to see what would happen.

oh, absolutely. you’re thinking like a true hogwarts student. you know someone, at some point, tried to put magic into a loaf of bread just to see if it would slice itself (it did, but then it also tried to slice other things). beyond the standard chocolate frogs and pumpkin juice, wizarding cuisine includes a fair bit of magically enhanced food. firewhisky actually warms your throat as it goes down. fizzing whizzbees lift you half an inch off the ground. there are soups that change flavour as you eat them, pies that hum lullabies if you’re up late studying. and don’t even get me started on the experimental drinks at the three broomsticks, someone once ordered a 'black hole brew' and forgot what year it was for a full hour. but the cuisine is basically muggle...just hexed.

　❛❛ do the meals cater to dietary restrictions?

100%. vegans, vegetarians, allergy-havers. you’re covered. a muggleborn slytherin from third year complained about the lack of plant-based options, and the next morning, an entire section of the breakfast table was dedicated to oat milk, tofu scramble, and wizarding equivalents of nutritional yeast. hogwarts may be stuck in some medieval ways, but food evolves.

　❛❛ what happens if you miss a meal?

if you’re lucky, a friend grabs you something before the food vanishes. if you’re unlucky, you’re breaking into the kitchens like a desperate raccoon. the house-elves don’t mind, though, if you’re polite, they’ll feed you like a long-lost child. if you’re rude, they’ll 'accidentally' give you a soup that turns your tongue blue for a week.

　❛❛ is there coffee?

yes, but it’s wizard coffee. stronger than espresso, borderline narcotic. one cup and you’re writing your entire transfiguration essay in ten minutes. two cups and you can see through time.

　❛❛ how do holiday feasts work?

absolute carnage. christmas and halloween feasts are legendary. enchanted decorations, endless courses, puddings that explode into confetti when you cut into them. the easter feast is basically a chocolate overdose. sometimes on valentine’s day the desserts start murmuring love poetry. dumbledore's delighted. everyone..... horrified.

　❛❛ is there a limit to how much you can eat?

only in the sense that your body is a fragile, mortal thing. the food itself is infinite. the house-elves could, in theory, keep producing it indefinitely. but, you know, you eat four servings of steak-and-kidney pie and you’re just going to be that person in the common room later.

　❛❛ do different houses have different food preferences?

subtly, yes. the great hall offers everything, but certain tables lean into certain dishes. gryffindors love big, hearty, comforting food. ravenclaws lean into the more intricate, delicate meals, think pastries and complex soups. slytherins have an eye for the finer things, often going for the more gourmet options. hufflepuffs love food that feels like a hug: freshly baked bread, warm pies, things that remind you of home.

　❛❛ are there midnight snacks?

not officially, but yes. common rooms have snack stashes. and if you’re clever (or just have the marauder’s map, wink wink), you can always sneak down to the kitchens. the house-elves will feed you, no questions asked. some students take it a step further and befriend the house-elves outright. those students never go hungry.

　❛❛ how does the food appear? is it just magic or is there a system?

magic, but with logistics. the food is prepared in the kitchens directly beneath the great hall, then it’s levitated up and appears on the tables at the precise moment it’s ready. no waiting, no serving, just instant gratification. it’s dangerously efficient.

　❛❛ how does hogwarts source its food? is it all local, or do they magically import things?

combination of both. they have magical greenhouses and farms for most fresh ingredients, but certain things, exotic spices, imported sweets, get brought in magically.

　❛❛ are there ever surprise meals? do the house elves ever just decide to switch things up randomly?

sometimes, if there’s an occasion or they just feel like it. but the menu is largely set because consistency is part of the magic.

　❛❛ are meals ever used as punishment? do detention students get different food or are they made to help the house elves prepare meals?

not officially, but some professors (like astronomy) have been known to send students to do menial kitchen work as a form of discipline. nothing cruel, just hours of potato peeling.

　❛❛ has there ever been a kitchen-related disaster? a spell gone wrong, a cauldron explosion, a food fight?

yes, frequently !!!! misfired enlarging spells, self-chopping vegetables getting too enthusiastic, enchanted ladles starting fights. house elves keep it under control, but it’s not unheard of for a whole batch of treacle tart to suddenly gain sentience and try to unionise.

[mariailoveyou-guerin]

rewatching the ep after I calmed down about wolfalcon I’m still so high on them may never come down from this high but the ship lady said”there is many ways to be a woman”and do yall think she meant like trans woman an the tower dont accept them? Bc that’s such interesting thought I mean trans woman who can or are able to channel I wonder how they’ll worked that in

‪Can’t believe I missed so much bc I was to focused and high on Perrin Faile they consumed me in this show! and they won’t let me breathe since they showed up!

‪what happened with Valda when the Whitecloaks where attacking alanna where was he‬? disappeared!

can’t get over all that unnecessary angst they gave! and fact Perrin wasn’t even trying to k1ll him 😂I know what you are Perrin! they knew not to give us Faile patching up Perrin (that’s my fav trope)saving the best for last can’t wait for next week ep im going insane

Egewne watching nynaeve teach her baby how to be a wisdom oh what a bi*tch I’m joking but why would she do this to us ? my poor baby girl nyn and the way fans hated on her and she still obviously not over losing her baby girl and keeps dreaming about her so ofc her powers aren’t coming back bc it’ll remind her of the last time she had it the power after 6+ years in there

how and why she lost it clear PTSD but h*es up on her a88 talking about she cant do channeling yall really said oh a pretty girl and said let’s hate for Faile Egwene Suian all you jealous h*es! Probably min Aviendtha too!

great ep do I wish we got more two rivers and seasick nynaeve yes please she was so funny cute and vulnerable that’s not like her, didn’t even mind most of the moiraine rand stuff even tho we had like a whole ep just about them just last week but igaf about rand being a cheater

like wbk knew fork found in kitchen can’t believe they gave that boring storyline abih him cheating instead of giving us two rivers any of them Alanna Maksim how they got there Perrin Faile like why was she on the horse did he tell her to keep a lockout why did join on saving

people she never met and don’t know? all this and more but nah we got rand and that old hag chasing a man for 3+ is she not tired embarrassed ashamed like girl stand the fcvk up lol sorry 😔! just wanted way more two rivers Faile Perrin arc especially since we didn’t see him/them

last ep and he’s like one of the main characters! just wanted less of rand just cheating really and more of them planing how they was gonna do it anything really like why was she on the horse did he ask her to be? Why would I care about a man who’s got like 3 views and gf being a man who cheats like that’s some salt is salty duh Sherlock sh*t! him with the Aiel people was fun cute yes him in his damn dream ain’t no ask for + he was hurting my girl while being all sad she left their tent he was more accepting of her learning this time then he was in s1 so

Guess that’s progress for him! remember how mad he was egwene wanted to be a wisdom 😂 meanwhile she’s supported him every step of the way since before she even knew he was the dragon and this what he does to her oh rand can ch*ke actually! She kept almost dy*ng for him im mad!

it’s always an man who can’t handle and don’t deserve a baddie getting them too😔life is so unfair! I know they doing this to break them up but there was better way like they grew apart they aren’t the kids whom been together since they were kids anymore life threw them apart ect

now I can’t figure out if he accepted Egwene learning with the wise ones bc he either felt guilty about all the cheating so he had no right to have an opinion or bc she wasn’t going far or bc this wouldnt keep her from having a husband/kids whatever it was I don’t like it at all!

[tanukigobrrr]

“there is is again, that funny feeling”

[ivymala]

Hi hello that Loki ending had me feeling so emotionally devastated I don’t know what to do anymore

[spatialwave]

Hi!! For the kiss prompts, I’d love to read something Reader x Viktor with the scenario ‘kisses meant to distract’ + the dialogue “i think i deserve a kiss” 🥹 thank you!!

tysm for sending this ask!!!! this was so cute to write and it healed me ahaha

why would you stay?

➸ pairing: viktor x gender neutral!reader ➸ word count: 680 ➸ tags: mdni! fluffy, hurt/comfort, soft kissing, guilt, sweet ending, reader is in a long-term relationship w/ viktor, no use of y/n. ➸ notes: asked from this prompt list!!

Hextech was a blessing and a curse. It’s components to better society had been coming to fruition, but at the expense of Viktor’s sanity. Hexgates weren’t enough, all they had done was progress the city of Piltover. Nothing had been done to help anyone else. The people in Zaun—himself.

The pain in his body had become unbearable most days, his body frail and weakening with every passing moment.

He wondered why you stuck around all these years, staying at his side as his health deteriorated. You weren’t married, children weren’t on the agenda, and all he did was spend countless hours in his lab with Jayce and Sky.

It wasn’t fair to you.

Yet, you stayed.

Stopping by with a home cooked meal that he picked at, or offering your presence for a few hours while you silently read at the table in his lab while he studied the glowing hexcore.

There was a particular week when Viktor lost all hope. Jayce, now head of the council, had spent less time with the research–in favour of protecting Piltover. A drastic turn of events from their previous shared hopes and aspirations, a way to help rather than hurt.

He sat at one of the aqueducts that sent water from Piltover into the fissures, looking out at the skyline and holding his weight onto his cane. His eyes were tired and cold, souless.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said calmly, causing Viktor to jolt and glance in your direction from the sudden intrusion, “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” he cleared his throat, attempting to sit up straighter with his hands still holding tightly to the handle of his cane, “needed some time to, eh… think.”

Sitting next to him on the ledge, you rested your cheek against his shoulder and a hand curved over his slender thigh.

“...about us?” Your voice was hushed, eyes watching the water stream below you.

Viktor’s eyes widened, shaky as he stared at you. You were nuzzled against him, the look of a sad pout covering your face. He could sense the insecurity radiating from you.

“About the hexcore,” he answered honestly, sighing as he pressed his lips against the top of your head, resting there as a fragile hand held the small of your back, “about hextech… I can’t seem to figure it out. It’s been weeks of nothing. It’s… it’s…”

You lifted your head up, lips twitching as you pressed a finger to Viktor’s lips, shushing him. Your eyes flickered between his.

“It’s eating you alive,” you finished his sentence, but not in the way he had intended.

Your heart was heavy for him. Any insecurities of yourself were long gone, and you understood the pain that Viktor was experiencing. It was defeat, feeling unworthy—terrified of death.

You felt terrible for even thinking it had anything to do with you.

“Kiss me,” you mumbled, the finger placed against his lips replaced by your thumb as you grazed it along his bottom lip. Your intent to distract him from the thoughts that weighed him down.

Viktor bore a quizzical look, brows knotting together as he blinked at you.

“Come on,” you murmured, “I think I deserve one. I haven’t seen you in days.”

The corners of his lips twitched, for once, his mind not clouded by thoughts of the hexcore. Instead, fixated on you and the way you looked at him so lovingly with your big doe eyes. How was he so lucky to have someone like you?

He dipped forward, your thumb dropping as his lips pressed to yours. A soft kiss, one that bridged the gap that had begun to split you apart. They moved together fluidly, one of his hands cupping your jaw, as yours pressed against the front of his shoulders.

“I love you,” Viktor murmured, breaking the kiss as your lips brushed together, “thank you… for staying.” His thanks were genuine, you could see the way the guilt flickered in his golden eyes.

“Kiss me again, and I’ll forgive you,” you smiled, closing your eyes as Viktor obliged, smiling against your lips.

[keikikait]

ʙᴀʙʏ ʙʟᴜᴇ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 4.8k

summary: you're just one of his many conquests, so why does he need you?

warnings: ANGST, friends with benefits, mild yearning/pining, rafe cannot handle his emotions, ward mention, slight jealous!reader, not proofread

a note: idk if i ate. i'm sorry that it's a little short. :( also, my stalker!rafe fic needs SERIOUS work, so i decided to upload this instead. i am very unhappy with it.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

Sometimes you think you aren’t meant to be loved. 

It’s almost comical, the way you just sit there and take it. The way you let him walk all over you, taking bites out of you just to toss you aside for later. He cut off slices of you when he needed, never taking the full thing. Always little samples, just to keep you hooked. He would chew you up and spit you out, and you would always come crawling back.

You watch as Rafe dresses himself, eyes landing on his ass as he pulls up his boxers. He always dresses so quickly, not even handing you a towel as he paces around your room, gathering his things. At first, you thought he just didn’t like your apartment. You were a Pogue, after all, even though you were lucky enough to move to a nicer area of The Cut. You spent a lot of time redecorating, trying to make it a little bit nicer. A little bit cleaner. Anything to get him to stay.

Your apartment was small. Cozy. Quaint. 

It reeks of you. And that’s why Rafe won’t stay.

Rafe turns around, catching your eye. He can’t help the small smile that stretches across his lips as he pulls his jeans on. “Admiring the view?”

“For as long as I can.” You say.

Your response surprises him, and his eyes widen just slightly. He stares for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact. “You’re too sweet for your own good.” He mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling his socks on.

“I wish you would stay.” You mumble, aching to reach out and touch him. But you don’t.

“I know you do,” Rafe sighs, tying his shoes on. “But I can’t, sweetheart. You know that.”

“I do.” Your voice is soft.

“So why do you keep asking me to stay?” It comes out angrier than he intended. But maybe you needed that.

“I…” You swallow hard. “I don’t know.”

“My answers always no. Why do you keep askin’?” Rafe stands, grabbing his wallet and keys off of the bedside table. “Shit’s starting to piss me off.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, sitting up, holding the duvet to your chest. You feel like you’re always telling him that. 

“Quit being sorry. Just stop fucking asking it,” He turns to face you. “Jesus. It’s not that hard.”

You don’t know what to say. You nod, looking down.

Rafe sighs, running a hand through his hair. He can’t deny, he loves when you look like that. Sad. Vulnerable. It drives him wild. His gaze lands on your neck, bruised and marked by his teeth. Possession looks good on you, He often thinks. 

But that was it. He could only take so much of your submission. He couldn’t take you asking him to stay, too.

“I won’t ask again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, still avoiding his gaze.

His jaw tightens and he stares at you. He wants to take you and claim you. To show you were his, and only his. But he didn’t want to keep you. Why would he? “Good.” Rafe walks around the bed and stands in front of you. He reaches out, grabbing your chin and forcing it up. “And look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You nod, looking up at him, mascara still smeared on your under eyes. 

Rafe studies your face. God, you always looked so beautiful like this. Broken and upset. The sight had him wanting to take and claim you all over again. But the look of submission in your eyes makes him want to push you even more. “You look pretty like this.” He murmurs, pushing your neck to the side and looking at the hickeys on your neck. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” You say, although you don’t like it. You didn’t like this version of you, the pathetic girl who would do anything and everything for one iota of his attention; but it got him into your arms, so that’s really all that matters.

“I wonder why that is? Why you look so pretty when you’re crying?” His fingers lightly trace over your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. He knows that it doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. You were addicted to him, craving his attention more than you craved anything else. You’d take whatever he gave you. That was the only thing Rafe loved about you.

“Because my lips get all pouty, and my eyes get all red?” You guess, resisting the urge to lean into his palm.

Rafe almost laughs at your answer. It was cute. “Hmm,” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, gently brushing them. “Yeah, probably.” His eyes meet yours, staring at your face. You were so easy to break. So easy to control. You’d let him do whatever he wanted, no fight or protest. Just endless submission. It was addicting.

You’re getting restless. “Have any plans today?”

Rafe’s hand falls from your face, and his jaw tightens. You always did this. You always try to make small talk, try to create some type of emotional connection between you, even though you knew deep down that he didn't give a shit about you or about your day. “Yeah. I do.” He picks his jacket up from the bed. “Have to go visit my dad's lawyer. Then I’m meeting some friends.”

“That sounds fun,” You say, although meeting with Ward’s lawyer must have something to do with life insurance. “Uh, being with your friends later, I mean.”

“Yeah.” He mutters, shrugging his jacket on. He grabs his keys from the bedside table and glances at you. It’s hard, watching you try to connect to him. He knows that you want more than this. You want to be his girlfriend. You want the world to know you’re his. 

But that couldn’t happen. And you knew that.

“Are you, um…” You shift on the bed, the duvet falling just a little bit. “Are you gonna come back over tonight?”

Rafe glances at you, eyes falling to the duvet. God, he loved how you were always trying to keep him around. He loved watching you try and fail to keep his attention. He lets out a deep breath, running a hand over his buzzed head. “Do you want me to?” He already knows your answer.

“Only if you want to,” You say, trying to not come across as even clingier than you already are. “You know my door’s always open for you.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes. You were always so predictable. So needy. So willing. He starts to wonder when he'll get sick of it. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He grunts, picking his phone up off of the bedside table and shoving it in his pocket. “I don’t know yet. Might be with Sofia tonight.”

Your soft smile drops, just for a second, and you hope Rafe doesn’t notice.

Sofia.

Sofia?

Who the hell is Sofia?

You knew everyone he hung out with. Every girl. You had tabs on all of them, shamefully. You didn’t know who the hell Sofia was. Had you missed someone? How had she managed to slip through the cracks?

Under the covers, you dig your nails into your thigh. You had to act casual, as normal as you could be. You were always treading thin ice with him, and you couldn’t risk losing him over this. Your smile returns and you give him a nod. “Cool. Just text me.”

Rafe watches as your smile falters for a moment. He knows it. He knows that you’re jealous. There was no way that you weren't. It didn’t take much to make you jealous. He could make one passing comment about a girl, and you’d spend the rest of the day worrying, wondering who she was. That's why he brought up Sofia, and why he always mentions his other girls to you. Something about the idea of you laying in bed, terrified and anxious to lose him, really excited him.

He smirks as you quickly regain composure, knowing that he got to you. “Yeah. I’ll text you.” He says, turning to leave.

“Drive safe.” You say.

He stops as he stands in the doorway. Something about you telling him to drive safe always made him… feel guilty. It was that damn softness you always had and used against him. He glances at you over his shoulder, swallowing whatever sentiment he was feeling. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You hate Sofia.

After a bit of sleuthing, logged into one of your many burner accounts, you finally find her. She’s a Pogue, like you, and for some reason you find that it stings more. She’s gorgeous, absolutely beautiful, the sweetest girl around, and you fucking hate her.

Rafe had a roster. A rotation, the same few girls on repeat until he got bored, where he would swap a few out for fresh meat. You don’t know how you managed to stay on the roster for this long, but you weren’t complaining. Maybe Rafe thought you had another guy out there, filling your cunt and your bed when he was gone, but you didn’t. You’re too busy being Rafe’s to fall for somebody new.

You used to not care about the other girls. The more and more he mentioned them, though, you got curious. You started looking them up on Instagram, stalking their profile through burners and analysing every post. Every story. None of the girls ever looked like you. None of the girls were like you at all. Why did he like them, and why did he like you?

You wonder if he treats the other girls as poorly, or if in some twisted way, you’re special. You could handle being the only girl that Rafe treated like shit if that meant you stood out to him in some way. You wonder if he fills their necks with hickies, too, if he grips their hips too hard and leaves bruises, if he spanks them until his handprints form welts on your ass cheeks.

You hoped to God you were special.

You tried to distract yourself, running errands and tidying your apartment, but you kept thinking about him. About his stupid baby blue eyes, and his stupid pretty face, and his stupid hands and the way they felt around your neck. You didn’t want to be in love with Rafe fucking Cameron, but you feared you were already in too deep, and soon you would drown, falling below the surface, hand outstretched, hoping just this once that he would pull you up.

You sit on your bed, in the dark and the silence, staring at your phone, waiting for it to light up. Waiting for him to text you, to need you.

The hours pass. Midnight. One and two. Three. Before four o'clock rolls around, you still have nothing. You know that you should just give up and go to bed. He probably passed out at his friends’ place, too drunk and too tired to text you, but you keep telling yourself that he's just busy. That he's gonna wake up any moment now and shoot you a text. 

You're praying that something happens, that something keeps you up and keeps you waiting for those messages that you know he most likely won't send. You want him to finally fucking want you in the way that you want him. You didn’t like feeling this way, it wasn’t fun to constantly torture yourself, but is it not fun to feel many other ways? If it wasn’t Rafe, it would just be someone else. Another man, someone else’s son, reminding you that no matter how hard you try, you just aren’t meant to be loved.

Why don’t you do it for him? Why aren’t you enough to get him to stay?

You tap the screen, and it lights up. No new notifications.

“Shit.” You mumble, your hand retreating to your side.

You sigh and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Of course, he isn’t going to text you. Why would he? Why would he do that to you, when he never had before? This is exactly what you expected. This is exactly what he loves. Making you doubt, getting you jealous. It gets him off. It’s a game for him. You were his prey, and he was your predator. 

As you lay, staring at your ceiling, you hear three, quick knocks on your door.

At first, you think you’ve imagined them. You sit up, your feet sliding into your slippers as you pad into the living room. You stand there in silence, in the dark, only listening to your own breathing. You’re about to turn around when there’s another knock, this time loud and pounding against your door.

You cross the rest of the room, undoing the locks and opening the door.

Standing on your doorstep, of course, was Rafe, hands in his pockets as he stares you down. He seems… tired. He had dark circles under his eyes, probably from staying out late. He glances at you from behind those tired eyes, his gaze falling over your body. He’s taking note of the oversized t shirt you’re wearing, and how your hair is dishevelled and messier than it was before. He could tell you had been lying down. “Can I come in?”

Something's off, you can tell. He’s acting different, even though it’s just subtly. You watch him as he chews on his lip, an anxious habit he didn’t think you noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe’s expression falters for a split second, before he quickly regains his composure. He was fine. Nothing was wrong. Except for the fact that you asked him that. He looks over you. “Nothing,” He responds, his voice harsh and biting. “I just wanted to see you. That’s all.”

You don’t believe him. He normally carries himself with intense confidence and gravitas, so much so it constantly inks into your lungs and chokes you, but this was different. He felt different. “Right.”

He swallows hard, shifting on his feet. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way you were looking at him. Concerned, like you cared. He glances away from you, sighing. “Can I come in?” He repeats his question, eyes flicking between you and your living room.

You nod, stepping aside and holding the door opening, flicking a light switch. One of your lamps turns on, casting a warm, soft glow over your living room.

Rafe strides into your apartment, immediately heading for your couch. Everything in your place was so damn cozy; the warm light, the soft couch, your scent lingering on every single inch of every single surface. He collapses back onto the couch, arms spread out and legs splayed. He runs a hand over his face, swallowing hard.

You sit next to him, and for a while, you two sit in a comfortable silence. You look over at him, pushing some hair behind your ears. Your voice is soft when you finally speak. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Rafe closes his eyes, sighing as you speak. He didn’t want to tell you about Ward. Not when you were like this, so gentle and caring. He was exhausted, to say the least. He was dealing with so much, all at once, and he didn't know what to do. Finally, he looks at you. In this lighting, with your hair messy and your eyes concerned, you looked even more like the sweet girl he always wished you were. Sweet and caring and loving. “Today was my dad's funeral.”

Your shoulders droop, and your eyes soften. You had no idea. He had only mentioned visiting his father’s lawyer to you yesterday morning. “Shit, I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry.”

Rafe almost groans. He loved you when you were soft, when you were sweet. He loved it more than he cared to admit, but right now he hated it. He hated it when you were this caring. It made him doubt everything. He glances at you, a lump in his throat. He hated when you looked at him that way. Because he knew that no matter what he did, you would always have that warmth in your eyes when you looked at him. You would always forgive him, no matter what he did.

Part of him wishes his dad could’ve met you.

You reach out and put your hand on his shoulder, trying not to overstep. Rafe stares down at your hand, so small in comparison to his shoulder. Something about it makes his chest tighten. It seems intimate, and he feels… safe. Safe with you. Which is a feeling he hasn't felt in God knows how long. 

His hand slowly lifts, his rough fingers wrapping around your wrist. He brings your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. Your thumb brushes over his cheek gently, back and forth.

God, the feeling of you touching him, comforting him, was too much. Your touch was too gentle and warm, and he hated that he wanted it. He hated the way his chest ached at the sight of your soft, kind expression. He had so many reasons he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be letting you touch him like this, and yet there was something inside of him, a small voice in the back of his mind, constantly begging him to please let you take care of him. “Can I ask you something?”

“‘Course.” You say softly. 

Rafe glances at you, eyes flicking between your hand and your face. God, he hated this. Your touch on his face, the tenderness in your voice, the look in your eyes. It was driving him absolutely insane. His eyes close, as if he was debating if he actually wanted to ask you this. “Am I poison? Am I poison in the water?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.

He opens his eyes again, hand still holding yours to his cheek. He holds your gaze, eyes softening. He hated how vulnerable he was, and yet there was a small piece of him, buried deep inside, that needed it. He could tell you anything right now, and you wouldn't judge him. You would just listen. Care. “Do I… poison everything I touch? Am I the poison that kills everything?”

“No, of course not,” You move closer to him on the couch. “Why would you ask that?”

God, he could smell you, your perfume a subtle, sweet scent that was driving him crazy. He closes his eyes as you move closer, and his jaw tightens. This was insane; he wasn't weak, he wasn't vulnerable, he did not need you. But then again, the hand on yours on his face had yet to move. “Because,” his voice drops to a whisper. “I know that I'm a sick, twisted bastard. I know that I make others sick. I hurt everyone I care about.”

“Rafe, I will admit you aren’t exactly the nicest guy,” You swallow roughly, unsure of what to even say. “But you still have people that care about you. Your friends, your sisters. They know the real Rafe, the guy underneath all the aggression.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath. God, he hated this. He hated being vulnerable. He hated opening up to you, and seeing that look of concern in your eyes. He wants to run, to close you out, leave and forget this ever happened. He wants to go back to treating you like one of his conquests, instead of feeling like he wanted you to hold him. But for some reason, his mouth wasn't listening to his brain. “But what about you?”

“Of course, I care about you,” You say. “I thought that would at least be obvious.”

He had a thousand different replies on the tip of his tongue, but instead his mouth just opened and closed, words dying when they left his lips. Everything in his mind was screaming at him to get up and leave, but there was a deeper part of him, a small piece of himself that he kept buried inside, deep in the back of his mind, that kept whispering, telling him to sit. It was the part that kept his hand on your wrist. He swallows hard, looking away. “I wish my dad was still here.”

“I know,” You say softly. “I’m sorry.”

He felt his eyes begin to sting, something that only added to his frustration. Frustration at himself, for being pathetic enough to cry. Frustration at you, for making him weak enough to cry. Frustration at Ward, for leaving him and his sisters behind. He suddenly hated everything. He hated you. He hated himself. He hated Ward for leaving him with feelings, making him weak. “I don't even know why I came here,” He mutters through gritted teeth. “I just... I wish I could've been good enough for him. I tried to be good.”

“You don’t know how Ward truly felt about you, Rafe.” You say, stroking his cheekbone again.

He hated the way you were comforting him, hated the way you were so gentle with him. He was always on the defensive, on the attack, so when someone was soft with him... Well, the way his chest ached was proof that it was something he wasn't used to. He swallows hard, closing his eyes. “But I do. His actions spoke louder than his damn words ever did,” He chuckles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It's so stupid, you know, I... I used to pray I’d be like him, do everything that he did. And sometimes I still do.”

“That’s not stupid.” You say.

He lets his hand fall from your wrist, shaking his head. He hated talking about this, he hated admitting how much Ward’s death has messed him up. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to open up to anybody. The words leaving his lips, however, were not his own. “I hate that I don’t know if he was proud of me... I hate that I’ll never know if I did right by him.”

You remove your hand when he goes to cover his face. You watch him for a few moments, unsure of what to do, when you notice his shoulders shake. 

Is he crying?

Your eyes widen when you hear a sob rip through him, shoulders shaking up and down. “Hey, hey, Rafe, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

He hated crying, absolutely hated it, but there he was, shoulders trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried. “I’m not even- I…” His voice breaks, chest rattling. He lets out a long, shaky breath, shaking his head as he wipes away the tears from his cheeks. He couldn’t even look at you. He hated feeling so weak. Hated that you were seeing this side of him.

“It’s okay,” You put your arm around him, trying to hug him. “It’s okay--”

Rafe suddenly stands, pushing you back. “No. Don’t… don’t fucking pretend like you care.” He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, ashamed that he let Ward affect him this much. He was supposed to be strong. Powerful. Not weak.

“I’m not pretending.” You say, standing up.

His jaw tightens, his expression hardening into a sharp glare. God, he was tired of you, of your sweet words, of your gentle smiles. It was messing with his head, playing with his feelings. “Yeah, right.” He mutters, shaking his head. “You don’t care, don’t bullshit me.”

“Of course I care about you, Rafe,” You say, taking a step closer to him. “I… I lov--”

“No!” He suddenly snaps at you. He didn't want to hear that. He couldn't. “Don’t… don’t you dare,” You stare at him, confusion on your pretty little face, and it’s driving him fucking crazy. “Don’t. Don’t tell me. Keep that shit to yourself.”

You don’t know what to say, and you don’t want to upset him even more. You just nod, taking a step back.

He wanted to hit something. He wanted to break something. He hated the sight of that look on your face. The confusion, the worry, the disappointment. He didn’t understand. Why did you care? He didn’t deserve it, not one bit. What the hell did you think you’d get out of loving someone like him? That he’d love you back? That he’d change for you?

The silence is deafening. You want to say something, you just don’t know what. You take a shaky breath. “I’m here for you, Rafe. You know that. In any way you need me.”

“Why?” He asks suddenly, eyes meeting yours. “Why are you still here for me? Why do you care about me so goddamn much? Why can’t you just give up on me, like everyone else has?”

“Do I look like everyone else?” You ask.

Oh, but that was the problem. You were different. You were the only person in that damn town who was as sweet as you were patient. Who cared so god-damn much about someone so undeserving of that love. “Don’t you think I know that?” He asks, voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t you think it pisses me off that you are the way you are?”

“I just want you to be happy, Rafe, and if I can make you happy, I want to.” You say.

Why did you have to be so goddamn sweet? It was driving him mad, the way you stood there, so willing and eager to do whatever it took to help him. He let out a long, shaky breath, staring down at you. “It was different when you were just some girl I was hooking up with.” He says, shaking his head.

“I’m still that girl,” You insist. “Nothing has to change. We can go back to normal. Forget this ever happened.”

His eyes narrow as you speak. He hated that you said that, hated how willing you were to forget the fact that he cried in front of you, and yet he hated himself for the fact that he almost wanted to agree. “Really?” He asks, his voice sharp. “You’d just… forget this? Go back to letting me use you, like nothing happened?”

“If that’s what you want.” You say.

He hated the idea of that. The idea of going back to using you. Of treating you like trash when he knew that you cared so damn much. 

Part of him liked hurting you, like watching you fall apart at his hands. But it was the other side of him that hated how good it felt at first, hated the pit of shame in his chest that grew each time you begged him to stay, or cried while he left, or looked at him like he meant the world to you.

Part of him knew you deserved better.

Rafe sighs, looking away. “Fine. We forget about this.”

“Okay.” You say, nodding.

The fact that you didn't say anything, that you didn't fight back, made his chest ache. God, he hated this. He wanted to yell at you. Wanted to push you down, pin you to the couch, and make you cry out his name. He wanted you to ask him to stay, fight him to prove to him that you cared. He hated how your willingness to forget it all made him want to wrap his arms around you. He couldn't stay. He would do something risky, something that he would regret in the morning. He sniffles, wiping his eyes again. “I'm gonna go.”

You swallow thickly. “If you’re sure. My door is always open.”

“Yeah,” He replies, his voice hoarse. He hated that your gentleness, your sweetness, still managed to get to him. He steps closer to you. He wanted to touch you again. To feel your warm, soft skin against his palm. But he knew better. He knew that if he touched you, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “Thanks for being there.” He mumbles, his voice cracking.

“Of course.” You smile softly.

He hates how your smile makes his chest ache, hates the tug it gives his heart. He hated how he cared about you, hated how he was so weak that he allowed himself to open up to you. And God, he hated how he was thinking about kissing your pretty, pouty lips. “I'll be back tomorrow night. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Rafe nods, licking his lips. He rocks back and forth on his feet before reaching out and cupping the back of your head, pressing his lips to your forehead. Enough to keep you hooked. “See you later, sweetheart.”

Your entire body is buzzing. “Drive safe.”

You’re still standing in the same spot when he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

And you will wait for the next time he wants you.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

blagh

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[rafes-slut]

pussy slapping! reader is in a mood during sex & rafe gets fed up!

Push Me, Pull You

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Warnings: Filthy smut, explicit language, rough sex, pussy slapping/spanking, overstimulation, mild degradation, choking (light), dominance/submission dynamics, possessive!Rafe, slight dom!reader tease, Rafe losing control, creampie, manhandling, semi-public tension, reader being bratty/needy, choking (consensual), unprotected sex, toxic love vibes, aftercare.

You’d been a brat all night.

Flirting with other guys at the party — not blatantly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for Rafe. Enough for his jaw to clench tight as steel, for his drink to sit untouched in his hand, eyes locked on you across the room as you gave some Kook guy the kind of laugh Rafe swore was only his to pull out of you.

It wasn’t even just that. The dress. That tiny, black, skin-hugging excuse of fabric that barely reached the tops of your thighs. And you knew exactly what you were doing when you didn’t wear panties. Rafe had figured that out quick when his hand slipped up the back of your thigh during the ride to the party.

“Don’t start,” you’d whispered with a devilish smirk as you pushed his hand away, “You can’t handle me tonight.”

You thought you had control. Thought you were teasing, playing him like a game, like he wouldn’t snap.

Now you’re face-down in the bed, wrists pinned in one of his hands, your hips yanked high, knees trembling as he slaps your pussy for the fifth time in a row — harder than before. Your breath chokes on a cry, the sting blooming hot between your thighs, slick dripping down your inner thighs.

“Too much?” Rafe growls low behind you, breath ragged. “Nah, baby. You wanted too much. So that’s what you’re getting.”

You don’t even recognize your own moans anymore. They’re cracked, desperate, nothing but pathetic whimpers that fuel Rafe’s rage-driven lust. He’s fed the fuck up.

“You couldn’t keep your fuckin’ mouth shut tonight, could you?” Smack — another hard slap against your swollen, soaked pussy. Your legs try to close, but he’s got a bruising grip on your hips, dragging you back into position. “Couldn’t just be a good girl for me?”

“R-Rafe—!” you choke out, voice hoarse.

“What?” he snaps, wrapping your hair around his fist, yanking your head back until your cheek’s pressed to the mattress. His mouth is right at your ear now, voice laced with venom and desire. “Say it. You liked teasing me. You wanted this.”

“I-I didn’t mean to—!”

Smack. The slap stings like fire.

“You meant to. Every fuckin’ second of it,” Rafe growls. “You think I didn’t see you? Laughin’ at that guy’s jokes, prancing around like a fuckin’ slut—”

His hand lands on your clit, fingers circling it mercilessly. Your back arches, pleasure burning through the pain, making your knees buckle. But he doesn’t stop. Just keeps circling, slapping, rubbing you raw. You’re crying now. Not from sadness — from overstimulation, from the ache building in your gut, from knowing you pushed him there.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he mutters darkly, almost in disbelief. “You like this. Gettin’ punished like the fuckin’ needy slut you are.”

You whimper, nodding, brain fried.

His fingers slam into you without warning — two, thick and unforgiving — pumping fast, curling up until you’re clawing at the sheets, sobbing his name.

“You wanted to act like you’re in charge,” he mutters, biting at your shoulder as he drives his fingers in deeper. “Well, who’s in charge now, baby?”

“You! Fuck—you are!”

“That’s right,” he snarls, pulling his fingers out and shoving his cock inside you in one brutal thrust. “You’re mine. And I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you learn it.”

His thrusts are punishing, hips snapping into you like he’s trying to fuck the attitude right out of your spine. The bed slams against the wall, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing through the room, but he doesn’t care. He’s past the point of caring.

“Rafe, Rafe, fuck—too much—!” you cry, hands clawing at the bedframe now.

“Too much?” he echoes, mock sympathy in his tone. His hand snakes around your neck, tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “You wanted too much. Now take it.”

He’s ruthless, driving into you over and over, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix. You’re barely holding on, body shaking as he holds your neck, other hand gripping your hip like he owns it.

Then he slaps your pussy again while buried deep inside. Your scream is strangled by his grip on your throat, and your orgasm hits like a bomb. You convulse around him, sobbing through it, but he doesn’t slow down. Not even close.

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuckin’ cum all over me. Let everyone know who fuckin’ owns this pussy.”

You collapse, legs giving out, but Rafe doesn’t stop. He flips you over, slamming back in, his weight pinning you down as he fucks you raw. His mouth crashes into yours, biting your lip, tongue ruthless.

“Beg for it,” he growls against your lips. “Beg for me to fill you up.”

“Please—please, Rafe—want it, need it, fill me—”

His groan is animalistic, hips jerking as he slams in one final time, cock pulsing as he fills you up with every drop. You’re clinging to him, whimpering, mind blank from the filth, from the intensity, from him.

Rafe finally collapses on top of you, panting into your neck. His voice is low, rough, but there’s a flicker of that possessive softness under it now.

“You ever pull that shit again,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “I won’t stop next time. I’ll ruin you.”

[solxamber]

hi!! can i req some fic with malleus x reader where his lover suddenly avoid and ignore him for days so malleus confront you one day bc he couldn't handle it anymore. also the reason of avoidance is bc u think you're not fit to be with him since he's a royal and you're just an ordinary human. i just want it to be sooo angsty at start but gets fluff later. thank you!!

Malleus Draconia x reader

Thank you for the request, I hope you like it <3

You hadn’t meant to hurt him, but somehow, that’s exactly what you were doing.

It started a few days ago. A nagging thought had burrowed into your mind, gnawing away at your self-esteem. What are you doing with someone like him? Malleus Draconia, the Crown Prince of Briar Valley, a powerful fae with a lineage as ancient as time itself. And you? Just an ordinary human, with nothing particularly remarkable about you—certainly nothing that made you worthy of standing at his side.

The weight of the difference between you two had grown unbearable, until it became all-consuming.

So, you stopped going to the castle. Stopped seeking him out for walks in the woods, for evening tea beneath the stars. When you did see him by chance, you’d look away, avoid his eyes, excuse yourself before any meaningful conversation could happen. The thought of him realizing how ill-suited you were as his partner terrified you more than anything else.

So, you pushed him away. If you could distance yourself now, it would hurt less later, right?

But then came the quiet moments at night, alone in your room, where the guilt twisted in your gut like a knife. Malleus had always been nothing but kind to you—soft-spoken and gentle, full of unspoken warmth. Yet here you were, hurting him without giving him the chance to understand why.

The third day of your avoidance dawned overcast, as if the sky itself was mirroring the storm within your heart. You hadn’t even made it down the path leading away from your cottage when you saw him—Malleus, standing there like a statue, waiting for you.

You froze. There was no escaping now.

“Malleus,” you managed to breathe, his name heavy on your tongue.

He looked at you, his usual composed expression tinged with something unfamiliar. Worry? Sadness? No, it was deeper than that—something you had never seen before in his eyes. He's hurt.

“Why?” His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken questions. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Your throat tightened. The raw vulnerability in his voice was like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t angry. He was just…broken, trying to understand what he had done wrong.

“Malleus, I—” You couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why?” His voice cracked, just the tiniest bit. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

“I—” You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. The green of his eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, filled with confusion and pain. “I’m not like you. I’m just…me. I’m just human.”

Malleus frowned, his brows drawing together in confusion. “I know that. You’ve always been human. Why does that matter now?”

“It matters because you’re Malleus Draconia!” The words spilled out before you could stop them. “You’re royalty, you’re fae, you’re powerful, you’re everything! And I’m…nothing. I can’t keep pretending I’m worthy of being by your side.”

For a long moment, there was only silence. Malleus didn’t speak, didn’t move. His expression was unreadable, and the longer the quiet stretched on, the more your heart shattered. You were waiting for it—the moment he would agree, the moment he would confirm what you had feared all along.

Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step forward.

“You think you’re not worthy?” His voice was soft, but there was a trembling edge to it, like he was holding back something powerful. “Is that what you’ve been thinking all this time?”

You nodded, biting down hard on your lip to keep from crying.

Malleus closed the distance between you in two long strides, his tall figure looming over you but without an ounce of intimidation. Instead, his eyes—glowing faintly, green like the heart of a storm—looked down at you with such tenderness, it was almost too much to bear.

“You truly believe that I am above you? That I see you as lesser?” His voice shook slightly, his usually calm demeanor unraveling. “You think that I would have chosen you, spent all this time with you, if I thought you were unworthy?”

Your breath hitched, your heart hammering against your ribs. “But… I’m just—”

“You are not ‘just’ anything,” he interrupted, his voice firmer now. “Do you know how long I have watched from the shadows, yearning to be invited, to be accepted? Do you understand how precious you are to me?”

Your chest ached at his words, a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

Malleus gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch featherlight, as if you were something fragile. His eyes, glowing brighter now, bore into yours with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs. “You are more than enough, just as you are.”

“I…” Tears welled in your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. You had tried so hard to push him away, thinking it was for the best. But now, standing here, with Malleus looking at you like you were the most important thing in his world, all of your resolve crumbled.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Before you could say anything else, Malleus pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle but firm embrace. The warmth of him surrounded you, and for a moment, it was like the world had stopped spinning. The tension that had been suffocating you for days melted away in the safety of his arms.

“I could never think less of you,” Malleus murmured into your hair. “You are the one who makes me feel understood, who treats me as someone beyond a title, beyond power.”

You choked out a sob, burying your face into his chest. His words, his kindness, they were too much. How could someone like him care so deeply about someone like you?

“I don’t care about titles,” he continued softly, his fingers gently threading through your hair. “I care about you—the one who has been brave enough to see me for who I am, not for the crown I wear.”

You wanted to say something, anything, but all that came out was a broken sob. You had been so blind, so consumed by your own insecurities that you hadn’t realized how much you had hurt him in the process.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Malleus whispered, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. “Please… don’t leave me.”

Your heart shattered at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You pulled back just enough to look up at him, tears still streaming down your cheeks. His expression was open, unguarded—so different from the composed prince you were used to seeing. This was Malleus, stripped of all his titles and power, just a man afraid of losing the person he cared about.

“I won’t leave,” you promised, your voice shaking. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he let out a shaky breath and rested his forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other’s warmth. Slowly, the storm of emotions that had been swirling around you both began to calm, leaving behind a soft, comfortable silence.

Malleus pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his thumb gently brushing away the last of your tears. “You are precious to me,” he said softly, his lips curving into a small, almost shy smile. “More than you know.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your own lips. “Even when I’m being ridiculous?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Especially then.”

A soft laugh escaped you, the tension finally breaking. “I really was ridiculous, wasn’t I?”

Malleus shook his head, his smile growing just a little. “Not ridiculous. Just… misguided.”

“Well, I’m done being misguided,” you said firmly, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “From now on, I’m sticking by your side, whether you like it or not.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in them—something warm, something hopeful. “I would like nothing more.”

You smiled up at him, your heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “Good.”

And in that moment, you knew—no matter what came next, no matter how daunting the future might seem—you would face it together.

Masterlist

not sure if it's because I'm on my period but I made myself cry lol

[retroaria]

⋆｡° ✮ boyfriend sakura ⋆｡° ✮

༉‧₊˚. dating the oh so bashful Haruka Sakura! ༉‧₊˚.

WIND BREAKER M.LIST | enjoy 🖤 - aria

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pre-boyfriend!sakura who sees you chatting with Umemiya one day and couldn’t stop thinking about you. He steals Nirei’s notebook and locks himself in a bathroom stall to skim through and find everything he can about you. He can’t help it! The way your cheeks perked up when you smiled, your hair effortlessly framing your soft features. The only logical explanation is that he had been bewitched by your or something. Maybe Nirei had written down the cure for this spell you seemed to have casted on him.

pre-boyfriend!sakura who gets flustered at the mere sound of your name. The rest of the guys catch on pretty quick to his little crush because of how intensely he seems to focus any time you’re mentioned. “Oh, and they’re single, by the way. Do what you want with that…” Suō would whisper teasingly into his ear. “Oh, really… wait w-what!? No I’m not- I- I just…” Sakura could barely contain himself, he gets so red there’s steam coming off of him.

pre-boyfriend!sakura who can’t stop thinking about what Suō said. He considers asking Umemiya about you, considering the two of you seem to be close, but he decides this is something he should do on his own. He finds little ways to get your attention on him, sparking small conversation which usually results in him acting as if he’s annoyed by you. He gets the other guys to hang around the shop/cafe you work at in town just so he can see you more often without seeming weird and going by himself.

pre-boyfriend!sakura who finds you being harassed by a rival gang one day and steps in without hesitation. He sends those guys home with tears in their eyes and turns to you with a level of concern no one has ever seen him have before. Asking if you’re okay or if you were hurt. It eventually turns into him making you out to be a nuisance again, asking how you got yourself in this situation and scolding you to be more careful next time. He takes this opportunity to give you his number, which is honestly the boldest thing he’s ever done. It’s just in case you’re in danger of course!! Although he walks home that night hoping that you’ll message him as soon as possible, checking his phone every so often with the hopes of your name popping up.

pre-boyfriend!sakura who becomes rather fond of your random messages to him throughout the day, his face heating up at the thought of you potentially liking him back, whether it was just platonic or not. If you ask him to hangout his mind goes blank, he has no idea what to do and accidentally leaves you on read for half the day. Eventually Suō and Nirei get a hold of his phone and see the messages, teasing him about it before discreetly replying back to you with a cheeky “I’d love to ;)”, which you notice is very uncharacteristic of Sakura. When he does meet up with you that day he rambles forever about how that wasn’t him and how the guys were messing with him. “Oh, so you didn’t actually want to hang out today?” You say, your expression falling sad. “Wait no t-that’s not what I meant, I did I just-“ this guy cant handle anything.

pre-boyfriend!sakura who spends his days in anticipation of the next hangout you two will have. He relishes in the peace your presence brings him and the way your voice lulls every worry out of his mind and body. He decides that confessing his feelings may ruin the bliss of your current relationship, and so he holds back and tries to enjoy what he can of you. Gushing at light touches, eyes lighting up at the sight of your smile or the sound of your laugh, losing himself in the stories you tell about anything and everything. He accepts the fact that he wants to just smoosh his face into yours and pull your body into his, but he’s ok with how things are as long as he can have these moments with you.

pre-boyfriend!sakura who gets whiplash at the sound of your confession. Through all the time that he’s spent entranced by you, in sheer awe under your spell, he failed to notice the subtle signs of your feelings for him along the way. All he could do was stare at you with a stupid dumbfounded look on his face. He’s lucky that he wears his heart on his sleeve and that his feelings were obvious to you from the beginning, because if you hadn’t pulled him in and placed your lips against his, he would’ve stayed there on the street with that dumb look on his face for days, paralyzed.

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boyfriend!sakura who is immediately extremely possessive and protective over you. Refuses to even tell the rest of Bofurin about you because he truly just wants to keep you all to himself. Of course, you told Umemiya and he told literally the entire town. He takes detours from his patrol routes to check up on you specifically, tries to make it quick although he can’t help but pull you away for a moment to steal a quick kiss before returning back to his patrol. It becomes known by other gangs that your his partner and while some of them get the gist that they shouldn’t mess with you, others may take it as a chance to mess with Sakura. He would protect you with his literal life and so would the rest of Bofurin so you have nothing to worry about, except for cleaning up the injuries your poor boyfriend got while protecting you, but he wears his battle scars with pride.

boyfriend!sakura who is always buying you little treats! Sweets, snacks, little toys and figures, anything he thinks you’d like he gets for you. Always gives it to you so nonchalantly, trying to hide his blush as he watches your adorable face beam at the gift with excitement.

boyfriend!sakura who takes a few months to get comfortable enough to share his life and backstory with you. He’s afraid that you may see him differently, or think that he’s a bad person for who he was in the past and the things the continue to drive him as a fighter. You assure him that you love him for who he is no matter what and it takes him aback. He isn’t used to this level of love and care, and it takes a bit for him to get used to it. Eventually, he becomes totally comfortable with you. He lets you dote on him as much as you want and he relishes in the love he gets to give and receive with you. You truly opened up new perspectives that he had never considered before.

boyfriend!sakura who does his best to make time for you. Not just for you but for him as well. You’re the only thing that calms him down and keeps him sane. He needs a dose of you at least once a day to help him ease out of his constant antsy state. Although it doesn’t help when you start getting all lovey dovey and he make him all flustered, but deep down, he loves it.

boyfriend!sakura who doesn’t really understand the concept of a date. It’s just hanging out right? Wrong. It’s intimate, something he’d never experienced before. Now that he gets to have that with you he loves taking you out. Dinner, movies, walks around the park, even just staying in and cuddling with you for hours, it’s never just hanging out with you. Every moment with you is a date for him because every moment with you is an experience of closeness and intimacy that he can’t get anywhere else but with you.

boyfriend!sakura who needs time to ease into physical touch, but once he does, he can’t get enough of it. Loves the feeling of your hand in his, his arm around your waist, your hands cupping his face, his lips locked with yours. He loves it all so much. When you guys cuddle he absolutely engulfs you, tangling his legs with yours, wrapping his arms tight around you, he’s clinging to you for dear life. He loves when you kiss his jaw or the corner of his mouth, he also likes planting soft kisses to the corners of your mouth. Loves when you run your fingers through his hair or down his back or trace soft circles on his arms, your soft touch feels like the cure to everything that ails him.

boyfriend!sakura who is the first to say “I love you”. He says it to you while the two of your are cuddling, laying face to face, bodies tangled up on his bed as the light from outside begins to dim. You’re both tired and eager to fall asleep in each others arms. He can’t help but notice how incredible this feels, it’s calm and peaceful, but he can still feel the faint flutter of butterflies in his stomach whenever he’s around you. You tug at his heart like you own it, you’ve taken it already, but he would’ve happily given it to you. He can’t help the words as they come out of his mouth in a soft content sigh. He knows he’s scared to say it, but he can’t hold them back, and he doesn’t try to stop it. When you say it back he instinctively pulls you into a tender kiss, then pushes his head into the crook of your neck. He’s blushing like crazy, but he’s so happy right now he doesn’t care about how flustered he is.

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Sakura Haruka, you are going to be the death of me. I really wanted to capture how tender and sweet I think it would be to fall in love with him. He’s such a crybaby, but I think at his core he just needs to be loved ❤️ I hope you guys enjoyed!!

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[goldblumluv]

comforting Hugh

summary: the age gap is a reoccurring conversation. And both of you need reassurance time to time that this is okay. Some of your interests misalign, due to age, but no one has completely the same interests as the person you’re in a relationship with.

tags: mentions of smut but actually no smut. fluff. no gendered pronouns except talking about having a baby.

wc: 1.9k

You’re both in bed after a long day. It’s actually the middle of the night. You wake up to turn sides when you find Hugh on his back. “Why are you awake?” You murmur. “Can’t sleep” he replies.

Now you’re on your side, facing him. He’s still on his back but looks at you. You register the sad look in his eyes. “What are you thinking about?” He covers his face. “I’m just feeling insecure.” You furrow your brows in shock, Hugh Jackman insecure? Whatever next. You quickly change your face though because you can see why it can easily be construed as being rude. “Do you want to talk about it?” “You go asleep” “Hugh how the hell am I meant to sleep knowing you’re not okay?” You now push yourself up so you’re sat and facing him. “We don’t have to talk about it right now but we’ll do something until you go asleep” He gives an amused smile.

It’s funny that despite the age gap, you get to see Hugh’s vulnerable side, the side where he is similar to someone younger. There is still something childlike in him; humour to his insecurities. “Am I too old for you?” This is a reoccurring conversation in your relationship. Not an argument - it was in the beginning. From your side and his. Sometimes you feel like a baby, sometimes he feels like a caregiver. You’ve never made each other feel like this intentionally, but it would be completely ignorant to pretend there aren’t moments of doubt. But now you both understand the circumstances of how the press and media can get in your head, play on a problem already existing and then exaggerate it by tenfold. Nothing a bit of reassurance can’t sort out.

“Huh?” You reply shocked. Not that it’s a bad thing to talk about. But usually this conversation is expected after a tough conversation with people around you. Not randomly in the middle of the night. “Am I a child to you?” You throw it back at him. Not angrily. Just for him to think about the other side. “No” “well then” “I just don’t want to take anything from you” “like what?” “Going out with your friends, meeting someone who can give you what I can’t” “hold on” you rub your head almost comically. You can handle these conversations better in daylight, but that was a lot of words for 3:00am. He starts laughing “what?” “I’m waking myself up” He looks at you completely smitten. The love… and in turn the anxiety… is flowing from his eyes alone.

“Just so you know you’re not too far into this to end it” that breaks your heart. “I don’t want to end it- I can’t wait to get as many grey hairs as you and then we can have a grey hair competition” You both laugh. “One- Hugh… one of the things I love about you and I think why we work is you’re a person without me and I’m a person without you, do you get me?” He straight up says no. I think he’s lying. He just wants to hear me keep talking. “You don’t swallow me and you accept me as I am, I’m not forced to be with you. I choose to be with you. I’m attached to the hip to you by choice. - I will go see my friends and truly be so excited to come home to you” You reach to intertwine fingers with him. “Are you sure?” “Hugh you know how defiant I can be…. I wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t want to do. And if part of you thinks I’m being selfish and is doing this for my image or whatever… you’ve literally watched me throw up and have tantrums…. If anything I’ve given you ammo to ruin my career.” “Okay” is all he can muster. “And second of all.. what can someone else give me that you can’t?” “They can be your age and do this with you for the first time” “Or…. I can be with someone older that can help me navigate it. I can be with someone I can trust because they’ve done this before. I can rely on them” You smile. He smiles. “Is that how you see it?” “Yeah. What if I get myself in shit and then whoever the mysterious man is doesn’t know what to do?” “I might not know what to do” “but I trust… I know… you’ll help me get out of it. If there’s a problem you’re my man” His other arm is outstretched rubbing your side appreciatively.

“What if something good happens? What if they can celebrate more than me?” “You’re the first person I want to tell though- is this cause you’re past clubbing age?” You smugly smile. He looks bashful. “I go to the club possibly once every 4 months, out of choice. I’m not and never have been wild like that. That’s not intentionally because of you. I go cause I truly want to” “I just don’t want you to restrict yourself cause of me” You straddle him now. You lean down and grab the sides of his face. He holds your waist. “I never have and I won’t” “if something good happens I would love to tell you, we go to a nice place and eat and drink and gossip. Then I can go to the club to my friends if I want. And then I get to come home shit faced and you get to look after me. If anything I should be asking if that’s too much for you?” “When you have come home shit faced it makes me laugh. You’re funny” “I’m funny normal faced as well” “you are” “do you mind taking care of me?” “I’ll do everything to make sure you have an easy life and I’ll enjoy every moment of it” “do you worry when I’m out without you?” “I think part of me is jealous and anxious but I know that is not my scene anymore” “anxious for what though?” “What if something happens?” “I told you, you’re my guy if something happens” “I do like when you text me you miss me though” You look bashful now.

“What if a guy approaches you or something?” He sees your face get defensive. “No I’m not saying you would do anything. But what if he’s trying to woo you and I’m not there?” “There is so much evidence on the internet of me giving guys attitude *he’s smug now, he likes that*, me actually running away from guys plus my friends are the type to bark at guys” He pulls his neck forward now. “Bark?” He repeats confused. You cover your face to laugh. “Yeah” “what do you mean” “I’ve seen them literally bark at men to get them to leave us alone” He pulls a face that says “what the hell” but he only says “right” “I think I like 10 guys but you’re number 1” “Do you get guys coming up to you?” You mirror this emoji 😬. You don’t want to lie, nothing good comes from it. “Not a lot, no one wants to compete with you” I offer a smile. “But some do.” “Some like to try it yes” “what do you do?” “What do you do when women come up to you?” You keep try throwing the questions back at him for him to understand you feel the same way about him as he does to you. “Ryan doesn’t bark at them” You wince, you know this is going to follow you for at least a couple months. “I’m not mad that he doesn’t” you laugh. “But what do you do?” “Say no, sorry” “Have you put your foot down?” You say with raised eyebrows. One of the first arguments you had was him flirting with interviewers and other actresses. He just nods. “Did the world stop spinning?” You joke. He rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry” you laugh. “The world keeps spinning” he replies. “You’re still the nicest guy in the industry” “Has anyone ever… not left you alone?” “That’s when the barking comes out” “and it works?” “Have you ever tried have a conversation when 3 people are making noises at you?” He shakes his head and laughs. “You guys are insane” “next time you see them I’ll get them do it”

“What if by the time you want a baby, I can’t give it to you? Will you not want someone that gives you a baby?” “I don’t know if I’ll ever want a baby” “But say you decide you do, and I want a baby as well” “Disney said you’re acting until you’re 95 though so you might be busy” This conversation you dance around. Not out of fear of what Hugh is saying though. It’s just a real serious conversation and you genuinely don’t know what you want. You know you want to get married. You know you’re a lover. You know what career you’ve wanted since you were 14. But a baby? That’s the only thing you’ve been unsure of. And society expects you to have a baby. Hugh knows this, but he also knows the have a serious relationship we need to be on the same page. A plan.

“Just listen to my hypotheticals. What if you decide now you want a baby, and I’m too old and my dick doesn’t work” “You can fuck me with a dildo” He rolls his eyes exasperated but you feel the twitch of his dick. “No. Okay. So. Say we both want a baby. First of all, it might be my fault as well. But if we can’t do it naturally, we have IVF. Adoption. Surrogate.” “Don’t you want it naturally?” “Well you know that’s one of the things I’m scared of, actually giving birth. So to be honest. No, I don’t know. I’m not against adoption. When the time comes. Plus Jeff Goldblum was having kids at like 65 so we’ve got another 9 years yet.” He chuckles. “I’m not going to sleep with someone I don’t even love just so I can have their kid?” You raise the end like a question because you’re in disbelief. You can’t think of anything worse. All he replies is “you love me?”

You playfully scowl. “I tolerate you” “is that why you’ve stayed up with me?” “You might take sex away from me if I don’t” He pulls you down by his big strong hands on your back. He kisses all over your face. “I just don’t want you to leave.” It’s so small and quiet. Tender. “You’re my best friend and I’m not leaving. I love you” He just looks at you softly. You raise your eyebrows, “say it back… God” “I love you” he says through a chuckle. You kiss his forehead and his nose. You shuffle down so now you’re now level to his chest. “Now go to sleep” “Yes sir.” You slightly shake your head, he’s completely ripped that off you. Sense of humour is a big thing and your age definitely changes that, but look at him absorbing everything I say. He is mentally 25 years old. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.” He very quickly bends his neck down to kiss your head and then puts his head back on his pillow. This is how you sleep.

[cherry-smokes]

I Want You So Bad

AKA the time you got tired of waiting. Based off of I Want You So Bad by Heart. Pairing: Steve Harrington x bassist!reader Word count: 1.5K Warnings: Sugar is uncharacteristically soft for a man.

Two dates. You've been on two dates with Steve and he's been perfect.

On your first one he took out to dinner. A fancy restaurant that you would never take yourself to. Steve insisted you order whatever you want, when you blushed at the price he just brushed you off.

"Steve this is...very expensive."

"You deserve expensive."

You learned a lot about Steve across the fancy table cloth. He's witty, he doesn't flinch when you bite back at a quip. Which you found undeniably attractive. Excluding Buckley, one of his closest friends is a high-schooler, Dustin, who you've heard about through Eddie. He calls him a dork, and a nuisance. The way he smiles when talking about how 'annoying' it was when Dustin and his friends would make him sneak them into the theater lets you know he loves the kid. When you ask about his parents he dodges the question. You don't press, but you can only assume he isn't close with them. You find yourself sad when he asks about you, just because you want to know so much more about him. You want to know what his favorite songs are, what side of the bed he sleeps on, how he takes his coffee, what he was scared of as a child. You want to know exactly how many moles he has and what his hair would feel like if you were to run your hands through it.

He said all the right things. Asked the prefect questions and clung to every word you said. Opened every door for you, he even let you pick what tape you wanted to listen to in the car! Then, he walked you to your door, and kissed you on the cheek. Which was sweet! At the time you assumed it meant he wasn't just looking for a hookup.

Then the second date came around. You walked around town, and went to the record store. You shared headphones in the listening booth. He listened to your favorite albums, never said an ill word about them even though you could tell he wasn't particularly enjoying Metallica. He even bought a Zeppelin tape to play in the car for you. Afterwards, he drove you home, walked you to your door with an arm around your waist, and he kissed you. On your cheek. Again.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't starting to feel frustrated. After he left, you freaked out for about an hour. It made you feel silly, and ridiculous because it’s just not something you do! You’ve never let yourself lose sleep over a guy. Then again you’ve never liked someone the way you like Steve.

He's sending every signal that he's into you, but why won't he just kiss you? Steve doesn't have the reputation of a guy who takes things slow. It’s hypocritical of you. You know better than to base his actions off of who he used to be. Yet, there’s this ridiculous part of you that likes him so much you can’t help but overthink every single move he makes, or doesn’t make. Was he not as into you as you thought? Maybe he wasn't looking for a relationship? Maybe he's just a really...attentive friend?

You plagued yourself with doubts until he called you up and asked you if you wanted to go see a movie. You said yes, obviously. How else are you supposed to figure out if he’s trying to be more than friendly with you?

So now you're standing in front of your mirror wondering if you should wear jeans or a skirt. You hate that the question of what he would like most even crosses your mind.

When he knocks at your door you almost trip over your feet as you rush to open it and you have to take a moment to get your shit together.

Your hands shake as you grab the handle and open the door.

The cold autumn air hits your face as you swing it open. It works in your favor as it cools your flushed face when you see Steve. His hair looks as perfect as always. His sweater wraps around his arms in a way that makes you feel warm inside. You feel jealous of it as you wish you could wrap yourself around them like it does. Worst of all he smiles at you, and seems so genuinely happy to see you. Friends don’t do that right?

“Hey.”

You gasp for air. “Hi!”

This is ridiculous. You sound more excited than you’d like to. Any air of mystery you wanted to keep is gone.

“Uh- let me just grab my shoes I’ll be out in a second.”

“Take your time, I’m in no rush.”

You quickly lace up your boots. The door stays open and you try not to fumble over your laces as you feel Steve’s gaze on you. When you stumble onto your feet and walk out towards him, he lays his hand on the small of your back as you lock your door.

You try to ignore the shiver that crawls up your spine but it’s impossible when you can feel his warmth pressed against you and the smell of his shampoo reaching your nose. Even the hairspray isn’t enough to turn you off, everything about him is intoxicating. Dizzying. He makes you feel so foggy it’s embarrassing.

“This is a really nice sweater.”

His hand dips to the hem, he fiddles with it as he speaks. “It’s soft.”

You turn your face him, he doesn’t move his hand.

“Thanks.”

His lips quirk up as he tugs at your sweater to guide you to the car.

You’re so fucked.

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He insisted he didn't mind sharing a straw, and put his arm around your shoulder. He leaned in and whispered soft jokes and comments about the movie in your ear and you felt his arm tense up when you giggled at his words. An attentive friend doesn't do that.

A friend doesn't tell you he doesn't want you to go home yet. He doesn't play Heart in the car while he drives you both to lovers lake. He sure as hell doesn't look at you like that when you're talking.

“What?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

You give him a disbelieving look. “You’re looking at me weird.”

“I’m just looking at you. Nothing weird about it.”

You lean against the headrest facing him. You smile at him like you did when you first met him. Hoping to make him blush the way he did then. “You’re looking at me like you like me or something.”

“I do like you…or something”

His words are quiet. If you weren’t listening so intently you might have missed them as they flew under the music from the radio. His car is warm, the heat is on and you can still smell popcorn on him. He’s so close but not close enough and the way the moonlight hits his face makes you desperate to touch him.

“Then why haven’t you kissed me?”

There it is. It’s too dark to see him blush, but you see the way his shoulders tense. He looks down and cowers into himself. He’s so curious to you. He can be so sure of himself, so cocky. He’ll grab at your clothes and whisper sweet nothings to you in the dark of a theater. Yet, the moment you force him out of that shell he turns so shy.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. He chuckles and you see his fingers start to fidget against his steering wheel.

“I just- I wanted to earn it I guess.”

“I think you earned it the moment you called me sweet Steve.”

He looks up at you then. His fingers tense around the steering wheel again and his gaze gets so intense you hold your breath. It must have been seconds but it feels like ages when he leans in. He hovers, and you can feel his eyelashes kissing your cheeks.

Suddenly. You feel like yourself again, and you reach your hand up to the back of his head. His hair feels just as soft as you imagined it between your fingers as you pull him in. His lips are soft against yours and you feel him gasp slightly as you press against him. His hand finally leaves the wheel and lands on your thigh. It sends sparks through you as he digs his fingers into the flesh there. Not intrusive or invasive, almost like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

You never believed people when they said they felt fireworks when they kissed. You don’t now. Kissing Steve is tender. It feels more like a bonfire after you’ve been in the snow too long. It envelops you like a weighted blanket and you curse whatever power created you to need oxygen to survive when you have to pull away for air.

His hand travels up to cover yours behind his head. He holds it there, like he’s scared you’ll pull away.

“Have I earned another one yet?”

Friends definitely don’t ask that.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

a/n: Sugar and Steve are so back. This was shorter than I wanted it to be but I’ll have my asks open for anyone who wants to send in requests or questions. I’m so thankful for everyone who shared their support for my last post! This is a project I want to continue and expand and I would love to hear from y’all:)

the images used are from Pinterest once again!

[aemondsbabe]

Claimant

summary: you've been betrothed to jace and aemond simply can't have that

pairing: aemond targaryen x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, reader is described as looking like alicent (coppery hair, wide eyes) but no other descriptors are used, dark!aemond, targcest, incest, knife play (aemond has a thing for knives idk), knife fucking? she fucks the handle idk, no blood/injury, slight coercion, slight degradation, a very viserys (GoT) coded aemond, slight dubcon but the reader is here for it, fingering, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i genuinely don't know what to say about this. i got inspiration from this last night and became a woman possessed!

check out part 2 & part 3!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

creds to @tomblythsgf for the gif!

Your skin prickles, the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end as you feel his gaze on you yet again, making your heart hammer in your chest as you nod along to whatever Lord Tyland is saying, your lips stretched into a polite grin while he drones on and on about something or other. The sweet, heady taste of Dornish wine fills your mouth as you sip from your cup and your eyes flick up as you chance a quick glance to the other end of the great hall. 

A small gasp leaves your lips as your eyes meet his, one lilac and one veiled sapphire, both filled with barely contained rage as he sulks in a darkened corner by the doors. 

“Are you feeling well, princess?” Tyland questions and it’s only then you realize how hard you’re breathing, chest heaving as you pant.  

“Of course,” you manage a tight-lipped, courteous smile, “The excitement of the day must be getting to me, if you’ll excuse me.” Quickly, you make your way back to the main table in the center of the room, smiling gratefully as you lay your eyes on your husband-to-be.

“Prince Jacaerys,” you smile, setting your cup down on the long wooden table, “Would you do me the honor of joining me for another dance?”

His dark eyes light up as you approach and he quickly nods, “How am I meant to say no to my future bride?” He chuckles, standing and offering you a hand, which you gladly accept. 

You try your best to focus on the music, the crowd, the loud hum of the conversations that fill the hall – anything but your older brother’s gaze that still bores into you. You can practically feel his rage multiply tenfold as the brunettes wraps an arm around your waist, your throat dry as you grasp his shoulder, fingers digging into the fine silk tunic he wears. 

“Are you enjoying the feast, princess?” Jace asks as the two of you move gracefully across the floor, the steps of the dance thankfully long-since committed to memory. 

“How could I not?” You smile as he twirls you, your long auburn locks swaying against the satin of the cloak that flows down your back before they settle across your shoulders once more, “This is a most joyous day for both of our families.”

“Of course,” the prince nods thoughtfully, though you can’t help but notice his tawny eyes are clouded with a certain sadness, “What I mean to say is, are you happy to be marrying me?” 

Your lips part to answer, though you don’t manage to get a word out before a strong hand clasps your shoulder, your steps halting immediately. You don’t need to turn your head to see who it is, although the sour look on Jace’s face clears any lingering doubt you may have had in an instant. 

“Nephew,” Aemond speaks lowly over your shoulder, standing so close to you that your back is nearly pressed against his chest, “Could I borrow my sister for a dance?”

The prince steps back with an annoyed sigh, shooting you an apologetic look before nodding at your brother, “Of course, uncle,” his voice is monotone as he speaks, though his eyes brighten once more as they land on you yet again, “Until later, princess.” He whispers, dipping his head down to press a soft kiss against the back of your hand; Aemond all but growls behind you.

Your older brother sweeps in as soon as Jace’s back is turned, tightly wrapping an arm around your waist as the two of you continue the dance from where you’d left off. “You know I hate seeing you with him,” Aemond rasps, threading the fingers of one of his hands together with yours, “You belong to me, sweet sister, no one else.”

Your heart twists in your chest and you know deep within yourself that his words are true, not that it matters. “There is nothing I can do, brother,” you whisper, your eyes flitting over to where your mother and grandsire sit, “I had no choice in the matter, you know this.”

Aemond hums lowly in his throat as the two of you sway to the soft orchestral music, his hand untangling itself from yours to grasp your chin, tilting your head up to face him. His lilac eye all but burns with fire as he gazes down at you, “You should be mine, you are mine,” he seethes, words hissed through clenched teeth, “Our fool of a mother should’ve known better than to shackle you to some bast–”

“Do not speak ill of mother,” you admonish, shaking your head free of his grasp, “You know she had as little say in the matter as I did.” 

He huffs a quiet laugh out through his nose, teeth gleaming dangerously as he smiles ruefully, the hand at the small of your back tightening still. “You don’t actually want the Strong bastard,” he whispers, careful to hardly breathe the treacherous words in the crowded hall, “Do you, little one?”

Little one. You shiver at the name, one he had called you since childhood, blushing as he smiles knowingly. “Of course not–!”

“Do I need to remind you who you belong to?” He whispers hoarsely, eye flitting to your lips before he can stop himself, “Of where your true loyalty shall always lie?”

Before you can answer, he’s leading you from the hall and you willingly follow, his dutiful shadow as always, grasping tightly to his arm as he leads you through the familiar winding corridors of the keep until you come to his chambers at last. 

You gasp as he all but pushes you through the entryway before slamming the heavy wooden door closed behind you. Your wide eyes follow him as he circles you like a shark circles its prey, smirking as he looks you up and down, his intense gaze igniting a fire within your belly. 

“Tell me, sweet sister,” Aemond rasps as he comes to a stop before you, one hand grasping your jaw as his lips skirt over your neck, “Does the Strong bastard still believe you to be a maiden?” 

You whimper softly, the feel of his soft lips against your skin sending you into a tailspin as they have so many times before, “Yes, brother.” You answer simply through a gasp, shivering as his teeth graze against you. 

Aemond chuckles lowly in his throat as his hands make quick work of your gown, his deft fingers undoing various buttons and ties until the fine silks sink to a pool at your feet, leaving you bare before him. 

He takes a second to appreciate you, his eye roaming over the soft curves of you he hasn’t seen in so long — ever since your mother had gotten wind of the maids quietly bringing moon tea to your chambers. 

Without a word, he leaves you and saunters over to his bed. You watch him curiously as you stand on the soft rug spread over the floor in front of the fireplace, a cold shiver running down your spine as he pulls his dagger from his belt and traces the long, silver blade of it as he turns back to you. 

“I cannot be so bold tonight as to claim you with my cock, little one,” he whispers, grinning at the blush blooming over your cheeks, “But I will have a piece of you even still.” 

“Aemond,” you start, voice shaking even as you feel slick beginning to coat the insides of your thighs as puzzle pieces snap together in your mind; you haven’t played this game with him in a very long time, “Pl—“

Your words are cut off with a shriek when the sound of fabric ripping echoes throughout his chamber as Aemond pierces his plush mattress with the dagger, leaving the dark leather hilt protruding from the fabric. 

“Come,” he beckons you over with an outstretched hand, “Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl.” 

Your lower lip wobbles slightly at the double meaning of his words, the fire within you burning bright as you move to him without a second thought, determined to show your brother where your loyalty still lies. 

Aemond laughs softly as he helps you onto the bed, always stunned at how easily you give into him. He holds you steady, his warm hands on your bare hips as you kneel over the knife’s hilt. “You have always been mine,” he murmurs, one hand trailing up your body until it’s cupping one of your breasts, “After tonight I’ll make sure it remains that way.” 

Before you have time to question him, he presses you lower and a whimper leaves your lips as your center brushes against the handle of his blade, the smooth leather gliding seamlessly against your slick folds as you move your hips over it. 

“Oh, Aemond,” you squeak out, eyes fluttering shut as your pearl moves against the hilt, a whine leaving you as you move your hips, trying to position it at your entrance despite yourself, “Please, brother.” You whimper, growing desperate to be filled, even with this part of him. 

Aemond shushes you softly and abandones your breast to grasp at your hip again, pressing soft kisses to your neck as takes heed of your pleas and helps you lower yourself down. His cock stirs within the leather of his trousers, already straining against the fabric as he watches your sweet cunt swallow the hilt of his precious dagger. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes, guiding your hips with one hand as the other snakes up to your throat, smirking as he feels your moan vibrate against his palm, “There’s my strong girl.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as you lower yourself down fully, sheathing the dagger within you. The smooth leather of the hilt presses against your walls deliciously, the various curves and bumps pressing into each sweet spot within you with dizzying precision. 

You cannot help the whimper that tumbles from your lips at Aemond’s words, your walls clench at the leather shaft as you begin to move, impaling yourself on the stem again and again as your brother’s lilac she watches you with awe, his own chest heaving as he notices the way your slick shines against the leather, glowing in the soft candlelight of his chambers. 

“Our sweet nephew will never have you,” he says, shaking his head as his eye once again meets yours, “I’m the only one who should see you this way, writhing and wanting.” 

You nod your head as you lean against him, fingers bunched in the fabric of the black tunic he wears. “Only you, brother,” you whisper, capturing his lips in a frantic kiss as your movements grow quicker, “I don’t want anyone else.” 

Aemond gasps against your lips as you grasp his length through his trousers, rubbing over the bulge before desperately pulling at the laces of his breeches. He helps you, taking pity on your shaking hands, and groans lowly into your mouth when your hand wraps around his length, quickly stroking him from root to tip. 

One of the decorative curves of the handle brushes perfectly over the sensitive spot within you each time you buck against the dagger and you melt against his chest as you swirl your hips, grinding yourself on it. 

Aemond is all but animalistic as he groans and growls and licks into your mouth desperately before pulling away from you with a sigh, only to press hot kisses to the column of your throat; one hand once again cups your breast, his thumb teasing over your pert nipple, as the other leaves your neck to tap over your aching pearl. 

“Gods!” You gasp loudly, stroking over his thick, pulsing cock with one hand, keeping time with your hips as you sink over and over onto the handle of his dagger, your other hand weaves into hair at the nape of his neck, eager for something to anchor yourself with. 

“I would sooner gouge my eye out than let him take you,” Aemond groans, his own hips rutting into your touch as the head of his cock leaks steadily between your bodies, “You are mine, I will not stop until it is so.” 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you pant, the fire in your belly threatening to consume you as your brother’s fingers firmly circle your bud, “Aemond, I—“ 

“Let me have it,” he grunts, determined not to finish until he sees you breaking apart in his arms, “Give yourself to me, little one, let me have it.” He coaxes, doubling his efforts on your sensitive pearl. 

All at once, your high washes over you and go limp against him, a high keening sound escaping from your lips as your walls pulse over the hilt of his blade, pleasure zapping you like lightning as you coat the leather with your release, your slick dripping onto the mattress below you. 

You’re so lost in the fog of your own pleasure that you hardly hear Aemond grunt against your throat, muting his own sounds of pleasure as he bites into your soft skin. His cock twitches between you, his thick seed coating both of you as it drips down your hand. 

The two of you remain still for a moment, your brother holding you protectively against him as he smoothes a hand up and down your back. His kisses you softly as he helps you pull yourself off of his dagger before he lays you on his bed, his fingers combing through your coppery hair as it splays around your head like a halo on his pillow. 

“Stay,” he commands softly, rising from you and plucking his knife from his mattress, groaning appreciatively at the way your juices still shine on the handle, still warm against his palm from where it had been so deeply pressed within you, “I will be back shortly.” 

“Where are you going?” You question, watching as he sheaths the dagger once more into the small scabbard hanging from his belt before he tucks his softening cock back into his trousers, agile fingers quickly re-tying the laces. 

“To make you mine.”

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0, @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @demirunner @eponaartemisa, @trshgyn

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[artofmaquenda]

I began creating my "moonpaintings" in 2020, back when I often felt intense physical pain each month. I’ve always felt compelled to make art, though it’s rarely easy to explain why. Often, it feels like I’m driven by pure curiosity—or maybe even a touch of madness. When I started, I didn’t fully understand what this process meant to me. Sometimes we think we know why we’re drawn to something, only to realize it reflects something deeper or unexpected within us. Painting with my own blood became a raw way to explore emotions I couldn’t easily put into words.

Looking back, I realize this art was also a response to emotions I didn’t know how to handle. I carried a quiet sadness, though I never wanted to be defined or judged for it. People often think depression means you don’t enjoy life, but that’s not the case for me. I feel deeply connected to life—I laugh, I feel moved by beauty, I’m grateful. But I also carry grief and a kind of sorrow I can’t always explain. Maybe it’s about the world, personal losses, or just the heaviness that comes without reason. I’ve even had people assume my interests—like vulture culture and themes around mortality—stem solely from depression or past traumas. While my experiences have certainly influenced my art, my curiosity reaches far beyond them. I’m fascinated by life in its many forms, by the mysteries of nature, by cycles of renewal and decay, by everything that exists beneath the surface of what we think we know.

I’ve often felt like I had to control my emotions to be accepted, but not only for others’ comfort. Growing up in a home where emotions sometimes felt unstable and the atmosphere unpredictable, I learned to keep myself in check, to be “small” and steady even when I felt anything but. That need for control became a habit, a way to feel safe—but as I kept it up, it also became stifling. The more I tried to manage or conceal my intensity, the more isolated and disconnected I felt, and the heavier my emotions became.

I’ve sometimes worried that sharing these parts of myself might lead people to feel sorry for me, to try to “analyze” or “fix” me, even while I feel they may hide similar parts of themselves. It’s complicated, wanting to be open without being seen as fragile, and hoping others would feel safe to be open too.

Over time, though, I’m beginning to accept these parts of myself, and my moonpaintings have been a big part of that. Through them, I’m learning to embrace everything I am—light and dark, joy and sorrow. I’m still working on releasing the shame around my sadness and intensity, allowing myself to see these emotions as valid and worthy. I’m not fully there yet, but with each piece, I feel closer to showing up as my whole self, without needing to hide or “fix” anything.

This journey isn’t about being completely healed or “done”—it’s about letting all parts of me exist without judgment, about finding a kind of peace in the messiness. And maybe that’s the real beauty of this work: it gives me a place to honor where I am right now, embracing all the parts of me that are still growing, still struggling, still becoming.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Vox Machina reacting to gn crush telling him/her that they had been told by their crushes that they're not good-looking and interesting please?

Vax thinks that’s an utter bollocks statement to make, especially since it was coming from someone you had feelings towards.

This absolute sweetheart would sit by you under a blanket of stars and keep you company until he thought you were ready to get back on your feet and show the fucker what they were missing out on.

‘They speak the universal language of bullshit.’ He’d say, which made you laugh in how he worded it. ‘I’m being serious! They don’t fucking know what they’ve missed out on, so don’t be too sad because they knew you were out of their reach and didn’t want to admit it out of their own pride.’ He adds as he allowed you to toy with his dagger

‘Still hurts though.’ You murmured as you tossed the dagger into the air and catching it by the handle as it comes down again. Vax frowns before nudging you in the side playfully.

‘Hey, it may suck now but sooner or later we’re going to look back on this and laugh at how much of a loser they were and how much better off you were without them to tie you down.’ He says and you look at him deeply before smiling. ‘Yeah they were a bit bland featured to be honest.’ You shyly admitted as vax laughed.

‘They’re bland as fuck and you are not, they’re a cunt and your far better then to let that twat have any ounce of power over you in any aspect, oh we can go see if I can pickpocket the bastard for everything their worth? Would that cheer you up?’ Vax asked as you mulled over the idea in your head, but it didn’t take long for you to want to see chaos ensue and you were quick to agree.

You and vax then ran off into the night like two giggling idiots, feeling a thousand times better then you were before.

Vex

‘Oh sweetheart that isn’t true, far from it.’ She’d say as she holds your face, wiping away your tears from your cheeks.

‘Then why would they say it.’ You said as you looked to her for answers within her eyes and Vex couldn’t help but feel her heart crack for you.

‘They’re not worth your tears, none at all if this is how they’re going to make you feel all the time.’ Vex told you as her bear companion huffed and cuddled into your side, sensing your sadness and distress and you were quick to run your hand through their fur in silent thanks.

‘I guess I shouldn’t have expected so much from them to begin with. After all nothing is set in stone.’ You murmured under your breath. ‘But it still hurts regardless.’

‘And it will my dear, it will hurt but sometimes it can motivate us into going the path we were meant to all along.’ Vex replied as watched you and trinket interact with hope in her heart that you’ll be okay, that you’ll be alright in due time.

‘Thanks vex, I really needed to hear that today.’ You tell her, only for trinket to huff as you laugh and ruffle their fur, ‘and yes thank you too trinket, thank you for the emotional support.’

Trinket huffed again but this time in triumph.

Percy wouldn’t know how to comfort you at first but would find it easier to just let you air out your grievances instead.

‘They said I’m bland and unappealing! Only to then call me childish when I showed that I wasn’t happy being called such, claiming I can’t handle the truth.’ You groaned as you fell in to the empty chair that awaited you. ‘What a fucking joke.’ You murmured.

‘What they said is uncalled for and rude on all accounts,’ Percy said calmly, ‘they claim it’s true but from the stories you’ve told me about them, they’re the most boring and unpleasant person to ever engage in a conversation with without feeling the need to bring up your topic of the weather.’ He adds and you snorted at his sarcastic tone.

‘Yeah, they do tend to find the most boring things and talk about them for hours, how I thought that was attractive I’ll never know, blinded I guess.’ You shrugged as you both began to shit talk about your former crush and nitpick at their every aspect with scrutinising detail.

‘They cannot tie a cravat properly to save his life.’ Percy quipped.

‘They avoid taverns because they don’t like the liveliness of them, nor the rowdiness.’ You add.

Percy scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘Pretentious prick.’

You jolted forward in your seat towards him as though you were going to tell him a secret. ‘He’s not even from a well known enough family for that Percy’s they just wanna act like they are.’ You swore you saw Percy smile before he hid it behind his hand.

‘How embarrassing.’ He mumbles.

‘I know right?!’ You exclaimed as throughout the night you and Percy spend most of it together and shit talking the rejection away.

Keyleth would immediately try to disprove this by taking you out to her garden and showing you all the flowers.

‘Why am I here keyleth? To show how unappealing I am in comparison to pretty flowers?’ You asked.

‘No! I brought you here to show that every flower within my garden is no less loved than the other, all of them are watered and properly cared for regardless of how they look or what they smell like.’ Keyleth replied as she made you look at the daises, lavenders, chrysanthemums, water lilies, thistle, roses, Lilly of the valley and many more as thought they were a kaleidoscope of beauty in all its forms.

‘They are indeed all beautiful in their own unique way.’ You mumbled as you brushed one of the petals of a rose. Keyleth smiled as she put her hands on your shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

‘All flowers are loved by someone and you will find someone who will love you just as much as a Gardner loves their flowers.’ She reassured you in a sweet yet calming voice. ‘For you are worthy of love just like these flowers and you’ll find them, it just takes a little time and patience to happen. So hold on tight because someone is out there looking for the prettiest flower; you.’ She finished and you smiled back at her, resting your hands on top of hers, feeling reassured.

‘Thanks keyleth, I really needed it.’ You replied.

Grog

‘Well they’re stupid.’ He’d say in response.

‘but what if they’re right?’ You asked, defeated. ‘What if I am boring and unappealing?’

Grog huffs. ‘Bullshit. You’re far from either boring or unappealing, they’re just weak shit and cowardly because they know they can’t handle someone like you.’

You’d lean into his side and smiling softly. ‘Thanks for cheering me up Grog, I really needed it.’

‘No problem buddy.’ He smiles as he pats your head as a moment of silence passed between you two. ‘So…do you wanna fuck up some bad guys to relive the stress?’ He then asks and you smiled at him.

‘You don’t even have to ask.’ You tell him as you both set off to kick some ass.

[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt. 8 - april 15 2025

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.9 pt.10 wordcount: 1501

Of course, you felt bad. Dylan’s most important boarding competition of the year fell during the Monaco Grand Prix weekend, but you couldn’t not go. To Monaco. It wasn’t just the race—it was everything. Your whole life. Racing was in your blood, the paddock your second home, the people in it your family. Missing a race weekend wasn’t just unthinkable; it was impossible.

“It’s not this competition, I don’t care about that, it’s everything, not going to Japan, …” 

”Dyl, I’m sorry, you know racing is my life, it has always been part of my life, I can’t give that up.”

“I should be part of your life now too” you looked at him a bit confused. 

‘’You are’’

“I’m so sorry.. I love you and I really thought I could do this, that I didn’t care, not going to Japan, my competitions, all the time apart, but I’m tired of not caring” 

“Dyl..” your voice trembled, unsure of what to say. 

“I didn’t want to lose you, I liked that you had your own life and I had mine, but I want to share the same life as well, like you and your racing friends. I want that, someone to be at all my competitions and know everyone, I’m sorry, I thought I didn’t…” Dylan continued. And he wasn’t wrong to want to share a life with you—one that didn’t revolve around track schedules, podium celebrations, and flights halfway across the world. You were so happy you had found someone that could deal with that, it wasn’t easy. Turns out, it really isn't, not even for the coolest professional snowboarder. 

At first you didn’t cry. Not because you thought it made you weak, not because the overwhelming emotion wasn’t sadness. You were frustrated—at the situation, at yourself, at the inevitable clash between the life you live and the life Dylan and most other people wanted, this always having been a subject in your life. - Max showed up later that afternoon, letting himself in with the spare key you’d given him. You were still on the couch, staring blankly at the wall when he flopped down beside you.

“I heard,” he interrupted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Dylan texted me. He knows I’d come to check on you whether you wanted me to or not. Are you okay?”

You blinked at him. “Dylan texted you?” your voice breaking.

Max held up his hands. “Just to say you’d broken up. Don’t worry, he didn’t give me a play-by-play. But I figured you might need your twin brother to cheer you up.” 

“I’m fine,” you said while crying, the words feeling hollow even as you said them.

“You don’t look fine,” Max said, his tone softer now. “You look like you’re trying to figure out how to not feel guilty about something that wasn’t your fault.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch, trying to wipe some tears away. “It’s just...I don’t blame him. He wasn’t wrong. Racing is my life, and I couldn’t—no, I wouldn’t give it up. Not for him, not for anyone. But maybe that makes me selfish.”

Max tilted his head, studying you. “You’re not selfish. You’re honest. And honestly? If he couldn’t handle this part of your life, it’s better it ended now than years down the line.”

“It’s not about handling it,” you muttered. “He wanted a life I couldn’t give him. A normal life. And I wanted him to want this one.” It was a deeper problem that had been a problem in previous relationships and friendships, for Max and you the same.

Max gave you a wry smile, as if reading your mind. “Not everyone’s built for the chaos of our world. Doesn’t mean you’re wrong for living it.”

You stared at him, the only person who understood exactly what you meant being there for you, a lump forming in your throat. “It still sucks.” You hugged him, tears falling from your eyes.

“Of course it does.” he said, holding you. - Two days later, you were curled up on the couch in your London apartment, watching a mindless rom-com when there was loud thumping on your door. Max had texted you earlier in the day asking how you were holding up, but you hadn’t expected him to organize a rescue mission.

“You’re coming out with us,” Max declared the moment you opened your apartment door, his tone leaving no room for argument. Lando stood behind him, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“I’m really not in the mood,” you protested, but Max wasn’t having it.

“Too bad. You’ve been moping for days, and we’re not letting you wallow.” He glanced over his shoulder at Lando. “Back me up here.”

Lando’s smile widened. “He’s right. You need a distraction. And we’re excellent distractions.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden invasion

You really weren’t in the mood, but you couldn’t say no if Lando had flown over from Monaco for this.  - The bar was crowded and lively, a blur of neon lights and pulsing music. Lando stuck close to your side, his presence steadying amidst the chaos. Max, on the other hand, had already disappeared into the crowd, likely chatting up someone at the bar.

“Drink this,” Lando said, handing you a cocktail with a lopsided grin.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” you teased, taking a sip.

“Obviously,” he stated, leaning closer so you could hear him over the music. “It’s called distraction therapy.”

Max reappeared with shots, dragging you both to the dance floor. The alcohol had loosened your nerves, and you found yourself laughing as Max attempted to teach Lando some ridiculous dance moves. Lando’s face lit up with his usual playful grin, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

The bar Max had picked was exactly what you needed—loud, lively, and far removed from anything that reminded you of Dylan. 

As the night wore on, the three of you found a rhythm—dancing, drinking, laughing. Max eventually got distracted by a group of girls, leaving you and Lando alone near the edge of the dance floor.

“You’re having fun,” Lando observed, his smile warm as he watched you sway to the music.

“I am,” you admitted, surprised by how true it felt.

“Good.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “And good riddance by the way, we dont like Red Bull anyway” you laughed, rolling your eyes. - By the time you stumbled back into your apartment, you were drunk, feeling happy, and unsteady.

You had put Max in an uber to his apartment, too drunk to stay. Classic, having to rescue him during his rescue mission for you. Leaving Lando to stay with you ‘’He snores too much when he’s drunk and I don’t want to take care of him’’.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said, kicking off your shoes and sinking onto the couch.

“Anytime,” Lando replied, dropping onto the seat beside you. His knee brushed against yours, and neither of you moved away.

The silence stretched, charged with something unspoken. You turned to him, your breath catching at the way his gaze lingered on you.

“What?” you asked softly.

He hesitated, his hand resting on the back of the couch as he leaned closer. “You know what.”

You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitched as his eyes flicked to your lips.

“Lando…”

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

But you didn’t.

When his lips met yours, it was like everything you’d been holding back finally broke free. The kiss was hungry, desperate, months of tension unraveling in a heartbeat.

You barely made it to the bedroom, your clothes scattered in a trail behind you. It was messy and impulsive and everything it shouldn’t have been.

WN: Im so sorry guys, took way longer, I was sick :(((((

tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05@lex2205 @il0vereadingstuff @martygraciesversion381 @joannaln4 @obxstiles@chaoswithus@motorsportloverf1 @therovanperaastonmartini@acesofspadess @widow-cevans @irisesinthegarden @ncrsbrg @f1fantasys @norrisainz33 @mayax2o07 @ipushhimback

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 7

Check out part 1 here. AO3

CW: Momma drama. If you have a bad mom relationship like I do please read with caution. Also John comes home a bit broken. He gets better but not in this part.

John appears behind you as you are stepping into your shop. When his hand pushes the door open wider from behind you startle.

“Jesus fuck me!” You jump and spin, eyes wide and chest heaving as you confirm who stood behind you.

The slightly worried look on John’s face tells you he didn’t mean to startle you.

“Sorry dove thought you heard me.”

“Apparently my thoughts were too loud,” sheepishly you push the door shut behind him and begin to flick on lights.

Waiting for you at the counter with John is your jewelry box. It looks better than before if that is possible.

“I didn’t stain it,” John runs a finger down the side and you wish that digit dragged down your side instead.

Fuck, bitch you can’t be this horny yet, he just arrived. Apparently, the earth-shattering orgasm from your vibrator last night with the taste of him on your lips wasn’t enough. When did you get so greedy?

“Why not?” You ask as you fold your arms, not one hundred percent sure your bra would be able to trap your steel-tipped nipples.

Glancing from the box to John you see a soft smile. When he looks up at you it grows.

“I noticed how much you seemed to like the grain of the wood and seemed sad at the idea of it being covered up. A few coats of clear lacquer to protect it and it was done.”

“I love it. I’m so glad you chose lacquer. I would have been happy with any choice you made but this? It’s wonderful.” Leaving the box at the counter you waved John to follow you.

“I made you something as well.” Putting a hand on the nob of the door to the back room you spun. “I know it’s not really a problem, but you have complained about going into what you call “power meetings” with only your slacks or your fancy uniforms so I made you something that should hold up against scrutiny.”

John’s arms are folded, head tilted ever so slightly to watch you with the smile tucked under his mustache.

Taking a deep breath you twist the handle and step back into the room. You hung the suit on the wall directly in front of the door so you could watch his face as he saw it. You had paid a pretty penny for the fabric, thread, and buttons. They all came together so seamlessly that even your friend who was a tailor wouldn’t have been able to know a suitmaker hadn’t put it together unless he started to pull it apart at the seams. You had also purchased the silk for his shirt and made that by hand as well.

The smile falls from his face as he steps up to the suit and runs a hand lightly over it.

“Holy fuck.”

Glancing from side to side you bite your lip.

“So what do you think?”

When he turns you know why people like blue eyes so much. John’s blue eyes are enchanting with the tears rimming his lashes. They remind you of the ocean in the photos you’ve seen of tropical places.

“I can’t think of a gift that has ever meant more to me,” he chokes out around the tears in his throat.

“Do you want to try it on?” You suggest, heart fluttering in your chest.

“I want-”

His desires were cut off by the sound of the bell.

Turning you call out.

“Sorry, we are closed today,” when you catch sight of your mom.

The warmth that had settled over you like sunlight as spring breaks chilled to the harshest of winter breezes. Shutting the door to the back room, and your joy from your sorrow you face your mother.

“You didn’t come to Christmas,” she starts.

“I told Pop I would be going to Nana’s this year.”

“You’re still mad at me,” she pouts with her eyebrows.

Your mother had skills in expressing herself without making a scene about it.

“I am not mad, I’m done.”

Your mother stepped up to the counter, slowly opening each drawer of your gift. Snatching it off the counter you placed it on your working desk next to your sewing machine.

“What does being done have to do with not coming to Christmas?”

She’s pulling that mom tone again, trying to force you into a child role whether she knows it or not.

“I do not enjoy the way I feel while spending time with you. I do not like the comments you make or the fact that even when my brother is being rude I am still in the wrong. And I am done putting myself in situations to be hurt because you happened to get knocked up and produce me.”

She had told you once that you were a birth control failure baby. She had been drinking, you had been ten.

“I did not happen to get knocked up,” she sputtered.

Taking a deep breath you point your eyes at the ceiling and pray for patience.

“That is not the point of this conversation and I apologize for bringing it up. What I am saying is that I won’t be spending more time with you until we can go to family therapy. I’ve told this to Pop several times. I will send you a few options between us and will set up the appointment as well.”

“But I am your mother!” She is getting shrill, a sure sign she is losing control of the conversation in her mind.

“And I am grown. Now I have a private appointment I need to get back to.”

“Is this because of the comment about no one paying to see you naked? I’m sorry that you were offended by what I said.”

Your jaw works as your fingers curl into talons and your shoulders stiffen.

“I am not having that discussion here and now. Pick a therapist from the list I send you or leave me alone.”

Mom looks shocked, scared even, at the tone you use. She turns leaving in a huff and you open the door to the back to see John, shirt unbuttoned and eyes blown wide as if someone dosed him with drugs.

“That’s an option? I can pay to see you naked? Is a hundred enough?”

“A hundred?” You ask, confused but slightly hurt that he thought you were so cheap.

“No? Okay, a hundred and fifty thousand?” He looks desperate and hopeful and lost and like he might combust all at once.

You choke on your spit. Did that man just offer a hundred and fifty thousand dollar bucks to see you naked!?

All it would have taken is a glass of wine, a smokey look, and an invitation to bed and your clothes would have disappeared from your body like they never existed. Like damn you had high self-confidence, forged out of hate comments online and in real life, but you weren’t worth that much. Maybe John did like you like you liked him?

He stepped forward, mouth opening to form words when his phone went off. The instant change told you it was work.

“Dammit all to hell and may it never return,” he snatched up his pants from the cot and answered the phone as he moved it to his ear, snarling. “What?”

You watched as the soldier overtook the man. His back straightened as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear beginning to work at the buttons at his wrists. Stepping into his space you took over the task freeing him faster than he would have managed. Helping him out of the shirt you fold it over one arm, watching as he disappears below his shirt to reappear through the head hole. You don’t offer to help him remove the pants but take them when offered without comment.

John doesn’t spare you a glance as he pulls his cargo pants up, sheathing the deliciously thick thighs he hides. When he sits to tie his boots you toss the clothes from your arms to the cot and kneel to take over that task for him. Tying them tight you stand and offer him a hand. He takes it, holding on as he stands.

Still on the phone he pulls your knuckles to his lips and turns the phone away from his mouth.

“When I get back, we are talking about this.”

It’s all you can do to nod before he dons his coat and slips into the precipitation of January.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

The last of the snowdrops are blooming when John makes it back home. Between the knocks at the front door and the vibrating of your phone from under your pillow, you wake enough to stumble to the front door. The door opens fully before your eyes do.

John looks haggard, as if he aged ten years in the three months he was gone. A full beard had grown in, the ends ragged and uneven. His eyes flick over you. No expression crosses his face.

“John? You’re home,” the sigh in your last word pulls him through the door and into your arms.

It’s too late for your mind to come up with reasons why dragging him into your room after locking the front door would be a bad idea. Stripping him of his boots and his pants you invite him to lay under the blankets with you by laying them atop him and letting him settle into the mattress. Crossing around the bed you join him between the sheets. Laying on your side you stare at him.

Something about him felt broken and you didn’t dare hold him and make it worse.

“What can I do John?” You ask the darkness between you.

The words settle on him like the ice blown around in the wind of the gulag.

“Tell me what happened while I was gone. I don’t feel real.”

You scoot closer to him in the bed, less than a handswidth between you.

“I brought your suit home. I missed you a few weeks after you left and had nothing but the photo from the party and your gift. My mom started going to individual therapy. We tried a couple of family sessions but the therapist recommended that she do some personal work before we attempt to do much more work on fixing our relationship. My brother called me on my birthday, which was unexpected. I bet my po-”

“I missed your birthday?” John’s broken whisper cut you off.

“Yeah,” you reach out and touch his pinky. He flinches so you shift your hand back, but before it can go too far his hand chases you locking your fingers together.

“When is your birthday?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“You must hate that.”

The accurate observation surprises you. You’ve talked with other people who have birthdays on holidays, most Christmas and New Year’s babies hate it, birthdays on big celebration days that aren’t the big big ones tend to go either way but for you, it always felt required to have a date on your birthday. Were you out because your date wanted to celebrate you or show off for the table around you?

“I do,” you let out a small chuckle. “My brother was born on May Day, he doesn’t seem to mind it. When is your birthday John?”

“July second.” He pulls in a deep breath, “Will you hold me?”

Small and scared his voice pierces into your chest.

“However you want to be held,” you answer in earnest.

“Lay back?”

You adjust to settle on your back, fixing the pillow below your head. John follows you, as cautious as an alley cat. Once his head is resting against your chest, chin tipped between your breasts you curl your arm around his shoulder next to your ribs and rest your hand on his back. The shuddering breaths that start from him prompt you to keep telling him about what happened while he was away.

“Did you know your muppets came to visit me? They all brought in their own fixes and asked to use your cot. Every one of them woke looking like they had no clue where they were and agreed that they understood why you kept coming back for naps.”

You talk until you drift into sleep, but your dreams are full of stories so maybe you talk to John until you wake.

Part 7 | Part 8

Seamstress Masterlist | Masterlist