#chase your heart snippets

[dragoneyelashart]

vlogger

fluff ୨ৎ influencer! r x billie a/n: here's some fluff bc i'm in the mood n i love vlogs

the soft light of the late afternoon stretches across your bedroom, filtering through the gauzy curtains in lazy golden streaks that warm everything they touch. the air smells faintly of lavender and vanilla, a quiet reminder of the candle you lit earlier to chase away the last bits of stress from the day. the dogs are nestled at the foot of your shared bed, half-asleep, their steady breathing the gentle soundtrack beneath the low hum of your laptop. you sit cross-legged, the fabric of your sweatpants soft against your skin, your fingers moving automatically over the keyboard as you trim and tweak the latest footage from your tokyo trip vlog.

the screen glows with snippets of your chaotic day, spilled matcha, street food stalls, neon lights blinking like stars come to earth. the edits are almost done, and your tired brain is already thinking about the next video, the next story you want to tell. you’re deep in that comforting zone where everything slows down to the gentle rhythm of creation, when you hear the soft click of the bathroom door opening.

your head tilts up just in time to see billie step into the room, her damp hair curling at the ends, water droplets still clinging to her skin like tiny jewels. she’s wearing one of your oversized hoodies, the sleeves swallowed past her hands, and a pair of loose shorts that make her look impossibly cozy and relaxed. the warm scent of her shampoo mingles with the vanilla candle, making your chest tighten with that familiar fluttery feeling.

“hi,” she says, voice soft and a little sleepy, the way she always sounds just after a shower, like the world is still a little blurry around the edges.

“hey,” you murmur back, lifting the headphones off one ear and setting the laptop aside. your fingers find her hair, brushing it back gently from her face. she melts into your touch, settling herself sideways on the bed and curling into your lap, her cheek resting against your thigh.

you wrap your arms around her, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against you, the warmth of her skin through the soft cotton of your hoodie. the dogs shift slightly but don’t move, content to be near you both. the quiet intimacy of the moment wraps around you like a blanket, familiar and comforting.

“what are you working on?” she asks, voice muffled.

“editing the tokyo vlog,” you say, smiling at the memory. “the one where i turned into a human disaster at that tiny cafe.”

she laughs, a sound like sunshine. “matcha massacre, you called it.”

“exactly,” you say, nudging her gently. “it’s almost done. want to see?”

she nods eagerly, her eyes brightening as you pick up your laptop and angle the screen so she can see. she watches the clips with a grin, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your knee.

after a moment, she sits up, pulling her knees to her chest. her cheeks are still pink from the shower steam, and her eyes hold that spark of curiosity that always makes your heart skip. “can i ask you something?” she says softly.

“anything,” you answer without hesitation.

she hesitates, then takes a deep breath. “can you teach me how to make vlogs? like, for when i’m on tour, or traveling. i want to remember everything, but i don’t know where to start. and you’re so good at it.”

your chest warms all over. she wants to learn from you. she trusts you. you close your laptop and reach for the drawer beside the bed, pulling out your favorite camera, the one you carry everywhere, the one that’s been your companion through every adventure.

“of course,” you say, holding it out to her. “i’ll show you everything.”

billie’s eyes widen, and she scoots closer, curiosity lighting up her face. “really?”

“really.” you smile, flipping the camera on so the screen lights up between you.

“okay,” you say, “so this camera does this—”

before you can finish, billie reaches out and presses a button.

“no, billie, don’t touch that idiot—”

you freeze, heart in your throat.

“i'm sorry! did… did i break it?” she whispers, panic flaring in her eyes.

you laugh, the tension breaking. “no, you didn’t break it. but you just set it to slow motion for the next three hours.”

she hides her face against your shoulder, giggling. “i’m terrible.”

“you’re adorable,” you say, brushing your fingers through her damp hair.

you spend the next hour sitting tangled up on the bed, patiently showing her how to hold the camera, explaining the basics, framing, lighting, how to speak naturally, how to capture moments without feeling awkward. she’s a quick learner, and you love the way she watches you with rapt attention, occasionally kissing your hand or squeezing your thigh.

you teach her how to check the battery, how to review footage, how to choose songs that fit the mood. you laugh together when she tries to film herself and the dogs and accidentally ends up with a bunch of blurry nose shots. she’s clumsy and sweet and so eager, and you’re already imagining how beautiful her vlogs will be.

when she finally gets the hang of it, you help her record a little practice clip, her voice soft and a little shy, telling the camera about the day, about how excited she is to learn. you hold her hand at the end and kiss her cheek.

“you’re going to be amazing at this,” you tell her. “i’ll be your biggest fan.”

she smiles, her eyes shining. after patiently walking billie through the basics, you finally hand her the camera and settle beside her, ready to help. she grips it nervously at first, her fingers just barely steady as she holds the device in front of her face. “okay, your turn,” you say softly, smiling encouragingly.

she clears her throat, looking down at the screen and then back up with a shy grin. “um… testing.... testing,” she says into the camera, voice a little unsure but getting more confident with every word. “can you guys see my beautiful girlfriend?”

you laugh quietly, heart swelling as she glances your way, eyes sparkling.

she presses the camera closer to you and leans over to press a sweet, quick kiss on your cheek, right on camera. “there she is,” billie murmurs, her face lighting up as she leans over toward you, camera still rolling. her lips find your cheek first, a soft, sweet kiss that makes your heart do that slow, stupid flutter.

then she looks up at you, eyes shining like they hold a secret just for you. “you’re amazing,” she whispers, voice tender.

without thinking, you close the small gap between you, your lips brushing hers in a kiss that’s slow and warm, full of everything quiet and beautiful in this moment. the camera tilts slightly as she shifts closer, laughter bubbling between kisses.

“okay, okay,” she giggles, pulling back just enough to smirk. “definitely getting the hang of this.”

you grin, brushing your nose against hers. “best vlog intro ever.”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @peytonneilish @chrissv4mp @too-sapphic-to-function | send an ask or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Nueva Vida - [Part 2]

♥ prev | masterlist

♥ pairing: platonic f1 grid x latina!fem!engineer!reader x lando norris

♥ smau + written (reader is lewis' ferrari race engineer)

♥ none of the pictures are mine - face claim: wolifecindy on insta & girls on pinterest

♥ warnings: misogyny, swearing, mentions of alcohol, suggestive language !!!

♥ a/n: I'm so sorry if my Spanish is incorrect, I'm a no sabo kid.

♥ taglist; @the-holy-trinity-l, @formulaal, @jxnellat, @aldene-styles, @thecubanator2

ʏ/ɴ ʟ/ɴ ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴍᴏᴛᴏʀꜱᴘᴏʀᴛꜱ, ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴜꜱɪᴇ ᴡᴏʟꜰꜰ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Vogue Article Snippet-

Though she has been not in the spotlight for long, Y/n L/n has certainly made an impact on Formula 1. Alongside other amazing female influences such as Hannah Schmitz and Bernie Collins, Y/n continues to be a role model for women in the sport.

-Vogue Interview-

"So, Y/n what were your experiences like coming up to F1? I can only imagine the difficulties that come with being a woman in motorsports."

"It definitely was a challenge. Hate really got to my heart when I was younger and fresh out of high school. With the amount of misogyny I've faced and the lack of representation, I've almost given up too many times." you said, thinking back to your early days in F3. "I had to push myself and remember why I was here. First and foremost my passion for the sport. I've been an F1 fan since I was a kid and I wasn't going to toss away my dream due to bigoted men around me. They wanted to see me fail and I wasn't going to let them succeed."

"Beautifully said. I know the fans have a nickname for you... "Susie Wolff's daughter" how do you feel about this?"

"It's definitely something," you laughed softly. "No, I love it. Susie was and continues to be a role model of mine. I'm definitely glad we have a program like F1 Academy being directed by her. I hope I can inspire girls the same way she does."

"I have one more question for you: What are your plans for the future? Was F1 the ultimate goal or is there still something you're chasing?"

"F1 was definitely the dream. It's absolutely unreal that I'm working with Ferrari and the one and only Lewis Hamilton. As far as my future, I don't have any current plans. I want to enjoy my time here before I start considering any sort of possible change."

The interviewer nodded and jotted down a few notes

"Thank you for your time Y/n." she smiled.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by landonorris, roscoehamilton, and 562,856 more

yourusername prêts pour la belgique / bereit für Belgien <3

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yourbestfriend pick me. choose me. love me.

*liked by yourusername*

user4 so SO real for that

user7 that waffle looks so good wtf

user8 her speaking french and german 🥺

user14 polygot queen

user10 WHERES MYSTERY MAN

user3 ROSCOE!!!

user9 manifesting a Ferrari 1-2

user82 didn't think I could hate her more

user10 bruv what did she do 😭

user1 she had the audacity to exist as a women in sports

user60 she's still here?

user7 wdym by that?

user60 figured they would've fired her by now

user19 you're so pretty

user14 my home country <3

yourusername @/charles_leclerc so when were we getting a Leo roscoe crossover?

user2 its a crime that it hasn't happened yet

charles_leclerc they can meet in budapest

yourusername that better be a promise

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liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 632,394 more

scuderiaferrari Ferrari 1-2 in Spa. Let's keep pushing ❤️

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yourusername congrats lew and charlie <3 you both drove an amazing race

user1 "lew" "charlie" 🥹

user8 shes the cutest :(

user14 "thank you y/n" we all say in unison

lewishamilton thank you y/n

charles_leclerc thank you y/n

landonorris thank you y/n

user7 Lando you're not even a ferrari driver 😭

user9 MANIFESTING WORKED

user15 and how come y/n's not in this post

user3 wheres y/n?

user8 they're trying to silence women

user9 confirmed women haters

user5 GET IN THERE LEWIS

user12 I'm crying they're 1-2 in the championship too hdjdjddj

user14 I need them to go pull Adrian Newey out of retirement now

user2 ❤️forza ferrari❤️

fredrikvesti WE MISS YOU AT MERCEDES

yourusername me or Lewis?

georgerussell63 neither

yourusername @/georgerussell63 and I thought we were friends

georgerussell63 you're traitors 🫵

user5 I love that this is a running joke

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Time Skip: Mexico-

liked by francisca.gomes, shecoperez, and 347,629 more

yourusername had to visit rosarito before I head to mexico city

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yourbestfriend we NEED a girls trip here

yourusername you, me, kika, lily mhe

lilymhe I’m so there

user12 welcome to mexico!!!

user14 how is she so pretty 😭

user18 those tacos look so good

user90 🤢

user3 bros so weird

user19 imagine going out of your way to comment that

user1 so aesthetic

user20 ❤️❤️❤️

user17 your so gorgeous

scuderiaferrari the mexico f1 parties go crazy

yourusername fuck yea !!!

user6 what’s admin doing here

user15 I have an undying love for f1 insta account admins

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by shecoperez, carlossainz55, and 693,240 more

yourusername oh we are SO back @/landonorris @/mexicogp

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yourusername @/shecoperez congrats on your home race win ❤️🇲🇽

shecoperez gracias

yourbestfriend CACKLING over that picture of Lando

user7 the sombrero is the cherry on top 😭

user1 I'm obsessed with the mexico gp

user10 her side profile >>>

user17 you're gorgeous

user6 lando's face 💀

user4 the race was amazzingg

user7 plus we got a Charles podium !

user67 maybe if she spent more time working instead of posting about her life they would have won

user9 dude...

user1 nah caus that's CRAZY 😭

user8 @/user67 hombre jodete

user12 SHES SO PRETTY

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by fernandoalonso, georgerussell63, 942,394 users

landonorris @/yourusername, @/fernandoalonso, @/georgerussell63

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user14 who's mouth is y/n pouring alcohol into? 😭

georgerussell63 no one knows

user6 PLEASEE 💀

user1 dj Lando 🫦

user8 SO REAL

user19 lando tho 🤭

user2 nando*

user19 honestly yea

user7 giggling, twirling my hair, kicking my feet

user5 dj lando save me...

user5 dj lando

user5 save me dj lando

user6 I WANNA BE SAAAVEEED

user6 carmen is so pretty

user8 I love them

user4 *me patiently waiting for a chaotic insta story*

user3 wheres max?

yourusername drunk, looking like a frat boy, with a group of men I've never met

user10 sounds like max

user9 dj Lando AND frat boy max?!?!?

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by lewishamilton, francisca.gomes, pierregasly, and 453,482 more

yourusername me and my favorite man in Brasil

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landonorris I thought I was your favorite man

yourusername that's awkward 😬

oscarpiastri that's so embarrassing for you

user7 sassy oscar >>>

francisca.gomes Ill see you in the paddock <3

yourusername ily pookems see you there

user8 obsessed with their friendship

user6 lewis looks so good

user17 SURFER LEWIS !!!

user4 NEED that brasil tank top

user9 begging for a closet tour

user5 anyone else sensing some romantic tension between y/n and lando?

user10 YES absolutley

user23 they're just friends

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 539,349

landonorris puede que no sea el primero en tu corazón, pero al menos he llegado el primero en la carrera

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yourusername THATS SO SAD I was just joking earlier with lewis I swear you're absolutely first in my heart 🥺❤️

user13 AWWW

user17 *sobs*

user2 I can't be the only one who thinks they're in love

user8 LANDO 😭💔

user9 *clutches heart*

user7 shoulda said this in portugese :/

user1 not everyone can speak a thousand languages like y/n

user12 lando puts the bi in bilingual

user9 lmao the mood change

user10 lando nowins

user11 lando twowins

user4 LANDO WINS THE BRAZILIAN GRAND PRIX !!!

maxverstappen1 congrats on your win mate

*liked by original poster*

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Abu Dhabi-

The Italian anthem was chanted by the Ferrari team as Lewis, Max, and Charles stood on the podium.

"Stringiamci a coorte! Siam pronti alla morte. Siam pronti alla morte, L'Italia chiamò..."

Champagne drenched your body causing confetti to stick to your hair and skin. It was certainly a battle between the three who were all tied in the points going into today's race. Lewis crossed the finish line first causing the entire atmosphere to change. The crowds and the Ferrari garage erupted in applause and gleeful cheers.

Everyone was still overjoyed as you looked down at the crowd below the podium you were standing on. You quickly pulled a few pieces of confetti off of yourself and the champagne bottle you were holding, stashing them in your pocket.

You hugged Lewis tightly as you congratulated him on his eighth world championship and he thanked you for all your hard work. It was an incredible piece of history you had the honor to be a part of.

-F1 Winter Break-

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, maxfewtrell and 693,482 more

yourusername took my (favorite) man to panama. te amo <3

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georgerussell63 took you long enough

carlossainz55 so this is why you denied my invitation to spain

user8 lando just casually cheating on carlos right in front of his eyes 😔

user10 the last picture hello ?!?!?

user15 they're so cute

lilymhe literally couple goals

yourusername no you and alex !!!

landonorris @/yourusername you don't think we're couple goals?

user2 stop breaking his heart like that y/n

maxfewtrell last picture creds?

yourusername 😐

user7 @/maxfewtrell why are you taking pictures of them like making out 😭

user6 why's max even on their romantic getaway anyway fhfjsks

user9 BABE WAKE UP NEW Y/N X LANDO CONTENT

lewishamilton nos vemos la próxima temporada

yourusername congrats on your championship - nos vemos la próxima temporada lewis <3

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: I hope this was a good end to the mini series ! tysm for all the support on the first part and ty for reading ♥

[froggibus]

— Another Sleepless Night - Logan Howlett

Pairing: Logan Howlett x reader

Genre: fluff, comfort

Word Count: 845

Summary: you spend a sleepless night in bed with Logan

CW: insomnia, mentions of night terrors, general sleep problems, logan calls you 'sweetheart', no use of y/n, gn reader

this has been sitting half-finished in my drafts since before i started school >.< i haven't done marvel in a while but the new captain america movie has me feeling the vibes ^.^ also i decided to change up the post format a bit to make it prettier

It’s late—almost two in the morning, to be exact—when you find yourself padding down the halls of the X-Mansion. The cold of the wooden floors soaks through your socks, sending a shiver down your spine, but you don’t dare stop your journey. 

Your hand falls on the brass knob of Logan’s door and you gently tug it open. Shuffling inside of his room, you try to keep as quiet as possible, squinting into the dim moonlight barely illuminating it. 

Logan doesn’t even stir at your presence, his keen senses as used to your scent as he is to his own. It’s comforting, really. Non-threatening. 

You sit on the side of his bed, tentatively pulling the blankets aside and slipping under the sheets next to him. Heat radiates from his body, warming the whole bed around you. The cold that had previously seeped into your skin dissipates, your taut muscles relaxing. 

You roll to your side and gently rest your head on his shoulder, and it’s only then that Logan’s eyes snap open. Claws come out—only for a second—and then he’s blinking at you a few times, eyes adjusting to the dark until he can see just as well as the day time. 

“Sorry,” you whisper sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

Logan hardly reacts to your presence. It’s too common these days that one of you ends up in the other’s bed, slipping through the night to find a snippet of comfort only to be gone when morning comes. 

His voice is gravelly in a way that sends heat to the pit of your stomach. “Didn’t wake me. Could hear your heart beatin’ all the way down the hall, sweetheart.”

You nod slowly and rake your eyes over him, taking in every minuscule detail you can catch in the moonlight. His clothes—or sweatpants, given he’s not wearing a shirt—are hardly wrinkled, his hair nearly pristine. You frown. He looks as awake as you feel. 

He wraps a strong arm around you, rolling onto his side and taking you with him, your chest pressed hard against his back. The weight of his muscles around you only helps soothe the ache in your chest, the shadows that chased you all the way here starting to slip away. 

His head falls easily into the crook of your neck. “You doing okay?”

“Bad dreams.” You wet your lips, your mouth still dry from the hoarse cries you’d woken yourself up with. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He’s used to this by now. Though all mutants have something haunting them, you two in particular seemed to always share the weight of night terrors—something that had formed your closeness early on. He tightens his grip around you. 

You let your eyes flutter close but as your lids fall, a shadow casts over the wall. You snap them open but the figure disappears just as quickly as it came. Still, your heart hammers against your ribcage, rattling your bones. 

There’s nothing here, you remind yourself. Logan would hear if anybody even tried to enter the room, probably smell them before they got more than one step on the grounds. It's a fact you’ve always found comforting. 

“Your heart is racing,” he mumbles, hand skimming the hem of your shirt. Calloused fingers slip underneath, grazing your skin as they travel up and rest on the soft skin above your heart. 

“I’m…tired,” you admit, shifting beneath the heavy weight of his hands. 

You blink again, another shadow flickering on the wall in front of you. You swallow hard, squeezing your eyes shut as if it will make them all go away. The bad dreams, the bad thoughts, come all too often these days—you can’t remember a single time in the past few days you’d slept more than a few hours. 

He rubs gentle circles on your chest, his way of trying to soothe your heart rate back to double digits. “Tired.” He repeats. 

“Exhausted. I haven’t been sleeping, not for a lack of trying.” Again, your eyes flutter shut. “Just want peace.”

Logan hums in disappointment. He can’t remember a time he’s seen you this exhausted. Despite the fatigue weighing heavily over you, it’s been at least a few days since you sought him out—he’d just assumed you were sleeping fine on your own again. He pulls you closer.

“You can rest, sweetheart. I’ll take care of ya.”

You open your mouth to protest, to thank him, to say anything—but the words never find their way out. You shift back into him, flushing your body against his.

You lay there for a while in comfortable silence. Eventually, the warmth of his body and the comfort of his arms lull you into an uneasy sleep. 

Logan holds you even long after your breathing evens out and your taut muscles relax. He doesn’t let himself rest until the sun kisses the horizon and turns the whole sky pink, the comfort of daytime finally rolling in.

Finally, he lets his weight settle into his mattress. His lips find the top of your shoulder and kiss it softly. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

thanks so much for reading ^.^

masterlist | marvel masterlist

[dinosus]

"Metal-heart: Genesis" ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚

━━━━━━━━ ✴ ━━━━━━━━

Meet "Riven," a product of a cybernetic experiment that blurred the line between humanity and machine. He wasn't born like this—he was rebuilt. Once a decorated soldier, Riven’s body was salvaged after a catastrophic battlefield incident, his remaining flesh fused with bleeding-edge tech. The world calls him an unstoppable weapon; to him, he's a man chasing the shreds of his own soul. Android x Scientist! Reader

━━━━━━━━ ✴ ━━━━━━━━

Riven wasn’t rebuilt just to survive. You had a singular mission in mind—a near-impossible goal that required a being more machine than man.. 🔧When you first rebuilt Riven, he was a shell—his voice was monotone, his eyes hollow. He followed your instructions like a machine, rarely speaking unless prompted. There were no pleasantries, no “thank yous,” only blunt, mechanical efficiency.

"Where do you need me? Give the order."

You weren’t sure if he resented you for saving him or if he was simply beyond caring.

🔧The first time you saw Riven react with emotion was over something small. Maybe you handed him a repaired piece of gear without saying anything, and he muttered under his breath:

"This fits better. Guess you’re learning." It was so unexpected, you almost dropped your tools. He had just teased you. Slowly but surely, his wit started creeping through the cracks.

🔧Riven watches you work constantly. At first, it’s unnerving—those cold, calculating eyes fixed on your every movement. But you realize it’s not mistrust; he’s studying you, learning how you work, because he doesn’t understand why you’d care so much about him.

"You don’t need to fix me perfectly every time, Doc. I’m built to break."

"I don’t leave work unfinished, Riven. Sit still."

🔧One night, while fine-tuning his neural systems, you stumbled on a corrupted memory file. For a split second, his guard dropped—you heard snippets of his past, his voice raw and human. He didn’t lash out or shut down; instead, he stared ahead and said quietly:

"....Don’t look at me like that, you can’t fix this part of me."

You didn’t push him, but that night, you left a blanket over his chair when you finished your work. He noticed.

🔧Riven isn’t good with words when it comes to care, but his actions speak volumes. If you’ve been up too long working, he’ll stand behind you and lean down to mutter:

"Go to sleep, Doc. This thing will still be here when you wake up." And if you protest, you’ll find your tools taken out of your hands as he shuts the lab lights off himself.

🔧Riven takes your safety personally. If you’re ever in danger—whether from mercenaries, drones, or even a collapsing building—his instinct is to shield you first and fight second. He does it silently, but there’s an edge of urgency in his voice:

"You don’t get to die, Doc. Not after all this."

🔧When he returns damaged—gashes through metal plating, his synthetic skin frayed—you scold him like a concerned parent.

"You think you’re invincible, don’t you? Sit down, Riven." He doesn’t argue. He just stares at you with that unreadable expression and lets you work, the tension in his shoulders easing as your hands mend him.

Sometimes he mutters under his breath when you’re too focused: "Your hands don’t shake anymore. You’ve gotten good at this."

🔧Riven can be sarcastic, sometimes even darkly humorous. He throws comments your way that only someone who trusts you would dare say.

"So what’s the verdict today, Doc? Am I still pretty, or did you make me uglier?"

"You’ve always been pretty, Riven. Just sit still before I lose my grip."

🔧You’ve learned to give it back to him. He actually smirks when you push back because it reminds him he’s not just a weapon to you.

"Riven, I swear if you tear that neural wire again—"

"Relax, Doc. I’ll give you something to fix tomorrow. Wouldn’t want you to get bored."

🔧Some nights, when you’re both too exhausted to pretend otherwise, you sit in the dim light of the lab. Riven leans back against a wall or your workbench, his voice softer than usual.

"Do you ever wonder what’s next, after all this?"

"After defeating the [enemy]? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll open a coffee shop."

"…I don’t drink coffee, Doc."

"Then you’re not invited." Moments like these remind him he’s still allowed to dream, even if he doesn’t believe he’ll live long enough to see it.

🔧One day, you started playing music while working, and to your shock, Riven quietly remarked:

"I remember this song." He didn’t elaborate, but from then on, music became a constant in your lab. It’s your way of reminding him there’s still beauty in the world.

🔧If you’re ever injured, Riven loses his composure. He doesn’t rage or panic—he focuses, taking you somewhere safe and patching you up with an efficiency that mirrors your own care for him. He doesn’t yell, but his voice is strained.

"You’re the one who’s supposed to keep me in one piece, not the other way around." He's a worrywart.

🔧When faced with an impossible situation—when enemy’s forces close in and the odds are bleak—you and Riven have a way of grounding each other.

"You don’t have to stay with me for this, Riven."

"And leave you to screw it all up? Not happening, Doc. We’re finishing this together."

🔧Riven may be a weapon, but to you, he’s so much more. You remind him of his humanity, even when he feels like there’s nothing left. In return, he’s your shield—the one constant in your dangerous life.

He calls you “Doc” or “the genius.” On rare, quiet occasions, he says your name.

You see him not as a machine, but as a man trying to piece himself back together—much like you’ve rebuilt his body.

At the heart of it all, you’re each other’s anchor. Riven fights because you gave him purpose. You fight because he gave you someone worth believing in.

🔧Riven would never admit it out loud, but you are the first person who’s ever seen him as something other than a weapon. And for that, he’ll burn the entire world down if it means keeping you safe.

"You fixed me once, Doc. But you’re the only reason I haven’t fallen apart again." In this fallen world, you made him- your anchor.

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A/n : new prompt :D yay i tried :') part 2 ? also credits go to original artist who created that kick-ass design of Riven !

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ignore these yay :D

[v3lary0ns]

When the Light Shines Down

Modern Jacaerys Targaryen x fem!reader

(small snippet? football = soccer fo us american out there)

summary — With a recently broken heart, Jace has convinced himself that loving again is a death sentence. Then his mother hires a new babysitter for his little brothers and, bit by but, the light begins to shine for them.

Jacaerys felt like the world sat on his shoulders—both literally and figuratively—as he jammed his key into the lock of his home and made his way inside. His football bag was heavy as he dumped it in the parlor and kicked off his shoes. His mind was a mess as he shuffled into the house with aching muscles and a possibly bruised rib. He tried to wipe the caked-on grime from his hair as he replayed all the ways today went wrong.

He had tried to keep things from blowing up in his face today by keeping his head down and shutting up. He hardly spoke to anyone—completely abnormal, he was a chatterbox on the best of days—and worked to keep his distance from Sara and her band of hooligans. He had just wanted one day where his breakup hadn’t been brought up. One fucking day, but she had searched him out while he was walking to practice and gotten to him like she always did.

He had a weakness for women who had shitty circumstances. She was his best friend's sister, a child of an affair, and he had found himself in a I can fix her mindset before the month was over. He spent almost two years gripping onto a relationship that was built on foundations of sand. She was jealous, controlling, and so good at crying when she wanted people to feel bad for her. He hated that it took him so long to realize their relationship was unhealthy. He hated that he had fallen in love with her before he realized.

Now he was stuck with the aftermath. An ex who was now desperate to get back together with him, bombarding him when he really didn’t need to be thinking about her words. He was upset with himself for thinking so intently about Sara and her desperation to get back together that he had screwed up in practice. His mind had been so consumed with the way she had gripped onto his shirt and kissed him like the world was ending, and the way he had let her, that he had missed a pass and tripped into the stands. Effectively fucking his ribs up. What sort of captain does that?

Gods, he had groaned, why does this have to be so hard?

Cregan had answered in his brusque bass voice with, Because you fell in love and now she misses someone loving her.

Now he was facing the consequences of thinking too hard during practice with the dull pain in his lung everytime he breathed. He turned as a door in the house opened somewhere, the giggling of his little brother catching his ears as he ran around. “Hey!” came a woman’s laugh, and his brow furrowed, it didn’t sound like his mom. “Come back here silly! You forgot your shirt!”

He made his way into the living room to see Joffrey jumping on the couch in his sleep pants, a wicked grin on his chubby cheeks. “You can’t catch me!” He laughs, bouncing from cushion to cushion. His curls were wet and messy and they dropped water on the cushions—he assumed the other two were asleep based on the fact they weren’t chasing Joff around—as he bounced with each giggle. “You can’t catch me miss!”

“You wanna bet, pipsqueak?” The voice was gentle, yet full of happiness and laughter, mirth covered by the boy's giggles. He couldn’t get a glimpse of you before you jump across the living room and almost tackle the little boy into the couch. Joff nearly screams as he laughs, and Jace watches as you begin to mercilessly tickle his brother. “What were you saying? I can't hear you!”

It was a struggle getting the boy into his fire themed sleep shirt but somehow, he watches as you manage to wrangle the most unruly of his brothers. Giggles and laughter chasing you the entire way as you finally lift him off the couch— seemingly much stronger than you look—and spin him in a circle. Eventually setting the boy down from your whirlwind.

Once Joff regains his balance he finally catches sight of his eldest brother. “Jay!” he yells, moving to dart into the older boy's arms. “I missed you!”

Jace hisses in pain for a moment as Joffrey rams his head straight into the rib he had busted. He slaps a smile onto his face instead and bends down to his brother's height. “Hey Joff, having fun?” There was just a small strain of pain in his voice; his brother was too excited to pick up on it.

“Mhm! We played dragons and had a yummy loaded potato soup for dinner, she had us play a cleaning game and gave us yummy food when we did good, and then she let me help her read Aegon and Viserys to sleep!” He grins, pointing over to you with a happy smile on his face. “She’s the coolest babysitter ever!”

With a grin he messed with Joffrey’s hair before looking up at you. He had expected someone… less? Someone who didn’t have pretty eyes and a gentle smile, hair perfectly framing your pretty face while it was disheveled and messy from hours of playing. Somehow, you wore an average shirt and busted up pants so well that he forgot they probably cost less than his shoes. There was no arrogant set to your face that most people around him seemed to have. Just eyes that gave way to a thousand stars and lips pressed with rose petals.

“Hi… you must be Jace.” You speak softly, and even your voice is gentle as a lover's caress. His throat seemed to close and his mouth dried as he looked up at you. Fucking hell, he thinks. His mind flips at the way your words were lilted and breathy, the way you said his name.

Your name came to his mind easily— he had seen you in the halls on campus, but never so close. He regretted never approaching you when he had the chance, now he was seeing you for the first time. While his heart laid amongst the barren wasteland locked up in his chest. The battlefield of his previous attempt at love left scarred across the insides of his ribs, like a beast clawing its way out. Fuck my life, he groans in his mind. “Yeah,” he chokes in a whisper. “That’s me.”

Your answering smile was radiant, blinding him and his gloomy thoughts for a moment. He was like a meteorite caught in your orbit all too quickly. The lonely expanse of space is suddenly lost on him as you sweep him up with your eyes and warm him with your smile. “Captain of the football team.” You say, the fact rolling off your tongue easily. Your eyes trail down to his side, the exact spot he had hurt himself and Joffrey rammed his head into. It was licking flames of pain up his side. “Poli-sci major?”

His lips lift into a small smile. “Are you stalking me?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms and shaking your head with a smile. “You wish, Targaryen. You’re just hard to miss.”

I WILL CRY IF THIS SUCKS PLEASE DONT BE MEAN !!

[m-robinavitch]

May I have #19 with Jack!

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Trope: Love at first sight

I’ve posted a snippet of this before but this is my take on how Jack and is wife from in passing., silent., and wet. meet!

“Who is that?” Walsh had asked while walking next to Abbot- hearing the commotion going on and seeing what she assumed was a civilian on top of a patient giving compressions. She was giving an update on the MVC patient from last night when an incoming trauma was announced.

“I think that's my future wife,” Jack mumbled, watching how you took point- strong voice and calling shots. You definitely weren’t a civilian. He was enamored- in love at first fucking sight of the way you held your hand up to pause Jesse from getting the defibrillator ready after you finally found an irregular pulse.

“Who is this and why are you on my patient?” You heard someone comment- taking Jesse’s hand so he can help you off said patient. All you wanted to do after your shift was grab some pizza and sleep for the entire day you had off. But of course you saw the man sway in front of you while standing in line to grab your order- before he even hit the ground you ran up to him before he could add concussion to his list of injuries. You jumped in the ambulance with him, telling the medics to take you to PTMC where you’ve been an intern for a few months already. You explained the situation- how you were in the scene and the attending held his hand up in front of you. You knew him- some asshole that liked to throw rank around but not listen to anyone who wasn’t an attending or a man.

“I’m an intern sir- I-“

“An intern?” He sneered, “Well move aside little lady and let me work.” He physically pushed you away, grabbing his stethoscope while Jesse hooked the monitors onto the patient and gave you a look that told you to not say anything. But-

“Actually we got it from here Dr. Chase,” you turned, eyeing the man who stepped into trauma bay 2. You had seen him in passing, the lead attending on the night shift, Dr. Abbot. Strong arms with salt and pepper hair, snarky comments and a smile that made your knees weak. “That is if our intern wants to keep working on her patient?” Jack hated Chase. Misogynistic asshat who should have retired to the golf courses years ago. And maybe he was so taken by those mere seconds of seeing you but Jack wanted to know how he missed out on you. And eagerly you smiled- nodding and reaching in your backpack for your stethoscope, somehow having so much energy again after a 10 hour shift.

Turns out it was a seizure. The man had a blockage and when he seized it stopped his heart along with it. You were right to stop Jesse from shocking his heart, that would’ve caused more harm than good. And Dr. Abbot praised you for it. You listened and watched the monitors and even mentioned how when the man fell he didn’t grab his chest but jolted for a moment. It was hours later and you were exhausted but you found yourself on the roof with the attending you just met, laughing along with him about Dr. Chase and sharing the pizza he DoorDashed up to the roof- an extra $10 but worth it because you both got your fix. And- you got some time with Jack. He was funny and gorgeous and you’ve only known him a few hours but as you watch the stars light up the sky on what started out as a shit morning yesterday-

“Do you wanna go out with me?” He asks, hazel eyes twinkling with the moon. He only met you a few hours ago but dammit if Jack isn’t a man smitten with a smart, beautiful woman who talks as much shit as he does.

“Yeah- yeah I do. Lunch date?” You ask while nodding, smiling because somehow even if you’ve spent the last few hours with him you don’t want this to end.

“Fuck it- breakfast date. The sooner the better baby.”

[jayparked]

𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝓎 | 𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓊𝓃𝑔 | 𝓂

snippet: Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

pairing: lee heeseung x female reader

genre: smut, pwp

au: roommates, f2l

rating: explicit/18+, minors dni

word count: 4.3k

warnings: there’s a deep conversation about feelings, love confessions (YUCK)

sexual warnings: masturbation (female receiving), mutual pining, begging, rule making, dirty talk, non penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), body worship, light foot worship, the entire thing is based off getting reader off, heeseung doesn’t get off  :( , heeseung is kinda bossy, praise kink, heeseung calls reader babygirl, overstimulation, .001% of aftercare, moaning, hair pulling, marking, punishment kink?, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm…guilt?...sorry

The frustration builds quicker than you wanted, the groans coming from your mouth slipping out louder each time you feel your body give up on itself. You’re too god damn horny, but your body is too tired to properly masturbate.

This is probably the fifth time now that you've attempted to get yourself off only to abandon ship seconds after. Your muscles ache and sleep calls to you. Despite this, every time you try to just sleep it off, the aching, painful throb from your clit keeps you awake.

It takes everything in you to keep yourself from throwing a tantrum like a toddler.

The clock now reads just after three in the morning; you let out one last frustrated breath. It comes out louder than you intended, the grunt rising in pitch before you can even stop yourself.

Moments later, your shirtless, sleep-drunk roommate opens your door, rubbing his eyes with one fist as he holds himself up with the other hand gripping the doorway.

“Are you okay or whatever? I keep hearing groaning and other weird sounds,” Heeseung sighs, slight annoyance laced in his tone.

Your eyes are wide with embarrassment as Heeseung’s sleepy eyes jolt awake as he finally sees you.

You’re laying on top of your comforter completely naked with one hand still draped across your womanhood.

Heeseung shifts his body against the door frame, the moonlight now highlighting down his face. The shadows of your air-guided drapes chase that light, new depths illuminating across his nose and cheekbones. You’re not sure why your brain is trying so hard to think of metaphors and similes, anything to compare Heeseung to, but none of them do him justice. It would be too easy to blame it on the lack of sleep. Then again, you’ve never truly let yourself look at him in this way before and it’s killing you that you can’t read the expression on his face.

In this moment, you realize you have neither fight nor flight instincts as you lay frozen in your bed, nothing willing you to cover yourself or hide from your roommates gaze.

Heeseung’s tongue pokes out of his mouth, moving slowly against his bottom lip as his eyes flick frantically from your body to the wall across the room. Raising a hand to cover his mouth, he clears his throat and brushes his thumb against his bottom lip to wipe away the remnants from his tongue.

Clearing his throat once more, his shoulder relaxes against the doorframe, his body now leaning in a very casual nonchalant way, his eyes continue to debate where to look. “Wha-whatcha doing there?” He immediately turns his body away from you after speaking, facing the wall as he aggressively rubs at the nape of his neck, his other hand back up to his mouth.

“Oh...you know...just trying to sleep.”

There’s a brief silence- minus the light flapping of your window curtains. That, and the mental beating you’re giving yourself for trying to joke about the situation at hand. There is no hiding it. You’ve been caught red-handed.

Literally.

“Y/n…” Heeseung warns, the moonlight shifting in a way that now illuminates the tense muscles of his back. 

Your heart pounds loudly within your chest. You’ve seen Heeseung shirtless thousands of times. So why is this the first time you’re realizing just how sculpted his body actually is? 

Shutting your eyes tightly, your brain moves at hyper-speed trying to figure out what to do or say next. A million scenarios flood in and all you want is to pick the option that lets you keep your roommate and not have to live with exploding embarrassment for the rest of your life.

You’re about to open your mouth and just say the first thing that comes out, no matter how brainless it may be. Perhaps brutal honesty will help you out in the end. But Heeseung beats you to the punch.

“Do you...do you need help?” His back is still turned to you so you can’t read his expression, but you can’t help but notice the way his back muscles tense.

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said. You’re finally able to move your hand away from your cunt and you slowly sit up and lay your back against your headboard, grabbing one of your pillows and hugging it tightly to your chest.

“I guess talking about it might help even though you and I have never really talked about this kind of thing before. Have you ever just been so horny and tired at the same time but you’re unable to do either of those things? I’ve been struggling for hours now trying to sleep but I can’t sleep because...you know, and then when I try to do that I’m just too tired to actually do it right and-”

“No, I mean-” Heeseung cuts himself off with a sigh, quickly followed by a slow intake of air, puffing his cheeks out as he releases it and turns towards you. He pauses, still averting his eyes before he steps towards your bed. Determination and bravery are written all over his face, despite the fact that he’s still trying to respectively not look at you.

Sitting at the foot of your bed with his body facing the door, Heeseung takes a moment before turning his head towards you, his dark eyes looking directly into yours.

“I can help you.”

A few more moments of silent eye contact passes before you finally understand what he’s trying to suggest.

“Oh...OH!” You can’t help but gasp with widened eyes as it finally clicks in your head exactly what he’s offering to you.

“Wouldn’t that,” you gulp, your face feeling painfully warm, “wouldn’t that make things weird? Between us?”

Heeseung’s jaw is tight, his muscles jutting forward as he breaks eye contact and looks back towards your bedroom door. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” he says softly, “...if you don’t want them to be. I mean, I can honestly say I haven’t ever...you know, not thought of you in this way before.” He lets out another long puff of air, knowing he’s being confusing with his words, hand grasping at the back of his neck as he tries to massage the tension away.

You feel embarrassed and flattered and excited all at once. Your roommate of three years, best friend of over ten years, has admitted to thinking of you in a sexual way.

Heeseung lets you think for a moment. But it only allows you more time to realize that you can’t feign innocence here either. There was that major crush you had on him in high school or the time you walked in on him in the shower. There’s definitely been a handful of times where he’s crept into your thoughts while you were with someone else or even times when you were alone.

There are a million things that could go wrong if you accept his offer.

Or, a million things that could go right.

“Okay,” you say bravely, moving the pillow away from your body, “please, help me.”

Turning his head slowly, Heeseung finally looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes roaming every inch of your body slowly. He inhales, his jaw clenching once more as his gaze falls upon your uncovered chest.

Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly and slowly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

Gulping slowly, you nod your head, trying not to think about the lack of friction going on below.

"Rule number one," Heeseung starts with a smirk, "you don’t get to touch me." 

"What?-"

"Nuh, uh." He interrupts you, holding up his pointer finger as he shakes his head, his fluffy brown hair swooshing over his eyes. Without looking, he picks up your bare feet and pulls you towards him, placing your legs over his lap as you now lay flat on the bed. His hands start to roam over your calves and down to your toes. His fingers are just barely lingering over you to the point of sending chills throughout your entire body. The touch of his skin on yours alone is sending the signals in your body into overdrive. That mixed with the tiredness you're feeling, it's making it nearly impossible to think straight or stay focused on the words he’s saying.

"I've been thinking about a night like this for a long, long time. Respectfully, of course," he adds quickly, looking back at you and giving you a soft smile. "I never wanted to do anything to ruin what we have. But damn, I really can't deny it. I've thought about making you cum over and over and over again so many times it was like a movie constantly replaying  in my mind." Heeseung continues to stroke your feet and legs sensually as he speaks. It takes everything in your power not to pounce on him.

Instead, you bite your bottom lip and close your eyes, resting your arms on your stomach, letting the deep grumble of Heeseung's voice soothe your body along with all the places he's trailing his fingers on.

“Anyways,” he says with a quirk of his eyebrow, “back to our rules.”

His domineering tone sends chills throughout your body again and you try your best to ignore the white noise ringing in your ears. 

“Rule number two: you can’t cum unless I tell you you can.”

The urge to question him again is strong, but his stare makes you shut your mouth tightly.

He knows the question is hanging off the tip of your tongue, you know that he knows. Instead of throwing you a bone, he sits there smirking at you, sitting on his high horse while also looking like he knows the punchline to the joke you’ve been waiting to get.

Finally, he beckons you closer, his pointer finger slowly enticing you in. You sit up slowly, your legs still in his lap. As soon as you’re close enough to see the dark flecks in his eyes, he leans in himself until his lips are hovering just over your ear.

“And I can be a very patient man, baby girl. We can be here all night until you finally get it right and do what I say.”

Admittedly, your first instinct is to laugh, the sheer shock of his words not fully settling in. But then, after a moment, you can tell just how much his words affected your body; your legs feel shakier, the core of your womanhood pulsates quicker, and you start to feel the dripping of your arousal moving down your thighs.

It only makes sense that your childhood friend, the love of your life, would also turn out to be the kinkiest person you’ve ever met.

It only makes sense.

“Okay...yes sir.”

The smugness on Heeseung’s face only increases.

“Good girl.”

“Are there any other rules...?” It still feels odd talking to your best friend about this. But it’s all worth it when you notice the growing tent in Heeseung’s sweatpants

Heeseung gets off the bed and moves closer to you, his hands behind his back. He appears so nonchalant and unbothered, almost like he’s ignoring the fact that he’s sporting the hardest erection he’s ever had in his life. 

It makes you nervous in the best of ways.

Removing one hand from behind his back, he places it on one of your knees, caressing your flesh gently before pushing it to the side, spreading your legs open wide to expose your dripping cunt. He nods his head with approval, biting his bottom lip hard as his eyes sweep slowly up and down over your entire naked body.

It feels like the room’s temperature went up another ten degrees.

Heeseung dips his hand lower, hovering over your cunt. Each time it looks like he’s about to touch you, your vagina pulses with anticipation, only for Heeseung to deceivingly pull away at the last second.

“Please, Heeseung…please touch me, I just want to cum, I can’t take this anymore. I’ll do anything!”

With a slight chuckle, Heeseung humors you, leaning his body down closer to yours and dips one of his fingers down, lightly petting the tops of your folds.

The small touch makes you shiver, your hips bucking up towards his hand. The amount of juices he accumulates on his fingers in a short amount of time exposes exactly how needy you feel. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” And with that said, Heeseung's fingers glide past your folds with a heavenly amount of pressure, soaking in your sweet juices. Your head falls back against your bed and you wish you could sink in deeper; into the bed, the room, into him. He's murmuring something in your ears, but your mind is too focused on what's happening to your body, there's not enough mental capacity in there to comprehend words at the moment. The urge to reach out to him and feel his skin against the palm of your hand spurs deep in your chest, but not strong enough to act upon. Instead, you let your eyes flutter shut, sighing blissfully as he continues to massage and soothe your bud.

Heeseung continues a slow, sensual pace, one that you could arguably fall asleep to. It feels like every stress cell in your body slowly floats away with every stroke of his fingers.

"Just like that? Hmm?" You hear him say.

"Hmm?" You manage out, your voice sounding weak and far away.

"I just didn't think you would react to me that quickly. Or intensely."

You open your eyes and look at him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, his hand cradling his jawline. His other hand continues to make brushstroke movements in between your folds. He looks at your vagina with wonder, and like he has something more to say.

But you're too tired and enjoying him too much to ask.

Moments later, Heeseung is picking up speed, beckoning your undoing.

You don't feel ready to give up the warmth you feel with his touch, not ready to reach the top and climb back down.

You can’t take it anymore. The pressure building is too intense and you need something sturdy and stable to hold onto.

Screw his rules.

Grasping onto Heeseung's shoulder, your fingernails dig into him as you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting desperately at the orgasm crashing down on you.

"There you go, baby. That's it. Come undone on my fingers." Heeseung's sweet demeanor is long gone as he watches you with sinful eyes.

A small moan leaves your lips as you let go; your legs shake vigorously underneath Heeseung's grasp and you feel the painful twist of a muscle spasm deep in your hamstrings.

Short gasps are all you can manage in response, your mind feeling more awake than before.

And in that brief pause between ministrations, your mind increases its speed tenfold, your thoughts now clearer than ever.

This is your best friend you're laying in front of. The same guy you used to collect bugs with when you were younger, the same guy you were embarrassed in front of when he found out you started wearing a training bra.

And you just came in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Heeseung!" you cry out, sitting up quickly and burying your face in your hands as you fight back hot tears from falling down your cheeks. "We can forget this ever happened."

Heeseung is quiet behind you as you imagine yourself shrinking into a spec of nothing.

Then, tenderly, his hand is on top of yours, coaxing it away from your face. And you let him do it.

Heeseung holds your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles before whispering, "Did I do something wrong?"

Immediately you want to scream no, but your words catch in your throat as you look at him. Heeseung’s bottom lip is jutting out slightly and he's avoiding your eyes as he continues to try and comfort you. And then you remember that this isn’t some random stranger. You know him. You know him more than anyone, hell, sometimes you know him more than you know yourself. And right now, this Heeseung in front of you is just as embarrassed and emotional as you are.

"No," you say bravely reaching out to press your palm to his cheek, turning his face towards yours, "I don't regret it at all. I'm sorry, I just-" you sigh and lean back, struggling to find the right words to say while fighting against your own embarrassment, "-I just never thought we would get to this point. And to hear you say all those things you were saying? I just don't understand. Why didn't you ever tell me? Why me to begin with?" That's when you realize where all of this insecurity of yours is coming from. Heeseung has been with gorgeous people in the past, gorgeous, successful people. And the thought of him liking you? It must feel like a step down for him.

But the way his face softens as he sighs, bringing your hand back up to his face, has you second guessing your initial judgment of him.

"It's always been you, Y/n. Ever since we first met. How could I ever for a second not want to be with you? You're my best friend, the person I go to for comfort. And because of that, I was always afraid to tell you about my feelings. Because just being in your life as your friend and your roommate, that was more than enough for me. And this doesn't have to go anywhere if you don't want it to be. But…truthfully, I want it to go somewhere. Hell, Y/n, I want to be with you. But if you don't want to be with me like that? I'll be okay."

His words swirl around your body, not quite processing into complacent thoughts. There are about a million different emotions coursing through your veins, and each one is battling to come to surface. 

It feels selfish, the position he’s put you in. Because now, it’s all on you. Your choice will determine how your relationship with Heeseung changes forever. And, let’s be real, no matter what happens after this moment, things will never be the same. The weight of that realization is pushing you down into the mattress you sit on. You’ve avoided thinking about your best friend in this way for so long it’s hard to tell if what you’re feeling has always been there or just here temporarily, clouded by the high of a mind-blowing orgasm.

On the other hand, there’s excitement, joy, happiness, relief all bundled into one giant heart floating around you. Your best friend, the person you’ve been attached to for over a century now, is confessing his feelings for you.

It’s time to be honest with yourself.

You’ve been in love with him this whole time.

Heeseung waits patiently while you figure out exactly what to say, playing with your fingers and tracing unknown shapes across your hand in the meantime.

You’re too tired for words, too tired for thoughts, too tired for almost everything it seems. 

Well, everything, except…

You lean forward slowly, placing your weight on your hands as you close the space between you and Heeseung and place a tender kiss on his lips.

Heeseung sighs and closes his eyes, putting your hand over his heart and completely melts into your touch.

How could you not do the same?

All of the tiredness, all of the frustrations from before Heeseung entered your bedroom, it was all worth it to get to this moment. And you’d go through it every night for the rest of your life if it meant you got to kiss him just like this.

The kiss deepens quickly, your mouths moving with an intensity you’ve never experienced before. Without thinking, you let your body take full control, not second-guessing any natural movement. So you let your hand find its way to the nape of Heeseung’s hair, delicately pulling at the ends until his neck is forced back and a moan ripples through his throat. It was so unexpected and out of character, but you like having this control.

It doesn’t last long, though. Heeseung quickly comes to his senses and knocks you onto your back, pushing you with one hand on your chest. He chuckles low and menacingly, his eyes staring deep into yours.

“What did I say about touching?” His voice is so low you swear you can feel it rumbling in your chest.

Heeseung doesn’t allow you enough time to answer. Before you can even open your mouth, his tongue is attached to your lips.

But not the lips on your face.

Your eyes immediately roll back as his tongue writes beautiful nothingness against your cunt and you desperately want to reach out and grip his hair again. Thinking there’s a possibility he wouldn’t notice, you reach and tangle your fingers in his locks. Almost immediately, your hand is batted away with a low warning growl from Heeseung as he continues to work his tongue against your sensitive bud. You groan in protest, but obey, somehow able to restrain yourself and settle for gripping the sheets instead.

The tongue movements start slow, but it seems you’re not the only impatient one here, despite what he may have said earlier. Heeseung picks up speed as he laps up your juices, his hand snaking up to insert a few digits inside you. His other hand is gripping one of your hips, his entire forearm pressing against your pelvic bone, holding you into place. His grip on you only seems to make your body want to shake more.

“You that close already, baby?” Heeseung lifts his head up for a moment, your juices glistening on his mouth, cheekbones and the tip of his nose. It seems like a sight you would only have in your dreams. It’s hard to believe this is happening in real life.

“Answer me,” he commands, eyes narrowing, but there’s a tinge of softness behind his words.

“I can’t help it.” You pant out, “Been building up all these years now. I could have come just by you touching my shoulder.”

Heeseung chuckles at this, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“You can cum whenever you want, baby. I’m not going to stop you,” he says casually.

Almost...too casually.

But you don’t think twice, you’re too tired to think twice. Quiet moans slip past your lips and Heeseung takes that as his cue. His fingers move faster, scissoring inside your body as his nose brushes against your clit.

It’s almost too easy to come undone.

White hot heat spreads throughout your body as everything around you starts to shake. Heeseung is watching you with careful eyes as you orgasm the fastest you’ve ever orgasmed in your life.

Your breathing only gets heavier as you come back from your high. But then, a blissful pain makes your thigh muscles jolt, a new wave of uncontainable cries escape you.

“I said I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to cum,” Heeseung devilishly proclaims, his fingers moving faster than ever inside you, “but that didn’t mean I was gonna stop.”

Your eyes shut tight as you pull at the sheets gripped tightly in your hands, too afraid to speak because of the moans you’re currently swallowing back. Small whimpers make it out as you desperately try to focus on anything other than the torture you’re going through.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby,” Heeseung coos, focusing almost all of his attention on your clit now. “Let it all out. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

There are no logical thoughts left in your brain. All you know is that you’re desperately exhausted and it’s taking too much of your energy to fight against the natural cries your body wants to release as this overstimulation continues.

So, you let go.

“Fuck!” you finally cry out, your chest rising and falling quicker than ever as the moans release deep from within you, “That feels so good! I’m gonna come again- I’m gonna- I’m gonna-”

A small scream is all you can manage as the pressure in your core finally releases. You thought your previous orgasm was intense? Nothing will ever be able to top this one.

“Damn that was fucking sexy.” Heeseung stands and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Your legs are still trembling and it feels like every muscle in your body is frozen in place. Warm liquid coats your inner thighs and drips down onto your sheets.

“Did I just…?” You ask with shock. Heeseung chuckles and nods his head, walking towards your door. He pauses with one hand on the doorframe, looking back at you with a proud smile.

“Hell yeah you did. Have you ever squirted before?”

“No, never,” you whisper, but Heeseung is already out of the room. Your eyes flutter shut, sleep threatening to finally take over.

Heeseung returns with a towel, throwing it so it lands right beside you.

“Goodnight, babygirl,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Wait!” You call out just as he reaches the doorway. “What about you?” You point at his very obvious erection.

Heeseung waves you off casually, “We’ll have plenty more nights of fun in the future. But for now, sleep. Don’t worry about me.” He winks. “I can take care of myself just fine. Get some rest. Goodnight, Y/n.”

Before Heeseung even closes the door, your eyes are shut, sleep finally welcoming you into its arms.

a/n: thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed :] if you did please reblog and leave a comment!

© all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, translate, or repost. jayparked 07/30/24

[ivyues]

Chasing Yesterday | 1 | ⋅ Bang Chan

Bang Chan x lost connection trainee friend

Years after splitting paths, Bang Chan didn't expect a simple text to bring an old friend – and old feelings – back into his life.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The training rooms smelled of sweat, determination, and dreams that didn’t come easy. Chris always lingered a little longer than the others, his eyes fixed on the mirrors, wondering if his reflection would ever transform into someone worthy of debut. For years, it was the same – watching friends reach their dreams while he stayed behind, burdened by doubt.

There was also you. You weren’t just another trainee to Chris. Sure, you were a hard worker, someone who matched his relentless pace, but you were also his anchor. Late-night conversations about dreams, shared snacks in the practice room, and bursts of laughter after a particularly tough day made the grueling years bearable. He never told you about the way his heart would race when you smiled at him or how your encouragement after his failures felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He kept that silly little teenage crush away, afraid to ruin what you two had.

But around the time Han joined the company, you decided to leave. The dream of becoming a K-pop idol didn’t burn as brightly for you anymore, and while Chris understood, he hated losing yet another close ally. One day, you were practicing next to him and the next day, you were just… gone.

The years passed. Stray Kids debuted, and Chris threw himself into his work, becoming the leader his members needed him to be. Life moved on, but every now and then, in quiet moments, he’d wonder what you were doing. 

It wasn’t until one day, years later, when he was catching up with Sana that your name came up.

“You remember Y/N?” Sana asked casually over coffee, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Of course, I remember her,” Chris said with a small smile. “It’s been years, though. I haven’t talked to her since…” His voice trailed off, the memory bittersweet. “I wonder how she’s doing.”

Sana grinned. “Funny you should say that. I got her number recently. Want it?”

Chris blinked, startled. “Her number?”

“Yep,” Sana said, sliding her phone toward him. “Go on. Text her. She’d probably love to hear from you.”

That night, Chris sat on his bed, your number staring back at him from his phone screen. He hesitated, typing and deleting messages, his nerves getting the better of him. Days passed before he finally worked up the courage to text you.

“Hey, this is Chris. Sana gave me your number. It’s been a while. How have you been?”

Chan hit send and immediately regretted it. What if you didn’t reply? What if you didn’t want to talk to him at all? He set his phone down, trying to distract himself, but every buzz made his stomach flip.

A few hours later, his phone lit up.

“Chris as in Christopher Bang Chan?”

He smiled, relief washing over him as he quickly typed back. “Yeah, it’s me. This is Y/N, right?”

Your reply came almost instantly: “Yeah. It’s been ages! I can’t believe you’re texting me!”

Chris hesitated for a moment, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before replying, “I’ve missed you. I hope you’re doing well.”

There was a brief pause before your next message arrived: “I am, thanks. You too. I’m proud of you. I’ve watched your MVs – You’ve come so far.”

The thought of you keeping up with his career sent a rush of warmth through him. He stared at your message for a moment, rereading it before typing back. “I wouldn’t be here without you. You know that, right?”

Your reply came with a teasing tone that made him laugh out loud. “Once you’re famous and living the idol life, you forget to text old friends, huh? 😜”

“Hey, I’m here now!” he shot back.

And just like that, the ice was broken. Over the next few days, your texts became constant – snippets of your lives, fond memories of the trainee days, and playful banter. It felt like no time had passed, and yet, in some ways, everything had changed.

One day, Han caught Chris grinning at his phone in the corner of the dorm. It was rare to see their leader so visibly relaxed, much less smiling to himself. Intrigued, Han leaned in, nearly giving Chris a heart attack.

“Hyung, who’s got you giggling like that? Is it someone I know?”

Chris scrambled to lock his phone. “It’s nothing, it’s just...an old friend. Do you remember Y/N from when we were trainees?”

Hearing him say your name, Han’s curiosity only grew. “Not really, but you were pretty close right? Hyung, why are you just texting? You should meet her. It’s been years, right? I bet she’d love to catch up.”

Chris hesitated. Meeting you in person? That thought felt heavier than he expected. He wasn’t sure why.

“Hyung.” Han’s tone softened, sensing his hesitation. “You’ve told me stories about her. She meant a lot to you back then, right? What’s stopping you?”

It was a question Chris couldn’t easily answer, but it nudged him to act. A few days later, after much internal debate, he texted you.

“How about coffee this weekend? There’s this café I like. We could catch up properly.”

Your response was quick and enthusiastic: “I’d love that! Let me know the place and time.”

-----

The café was warm and inviting, its earthy tones and gentle lighting creating a cozy ambiance. Chris arrived first, nervously fiddling with his phone as he waited. He hadn’t seen you in years, and the thought of reconnecting stirred a mix of excitement and anxiety. Would he recognize you? Would it feel the same as it did back then?

When the bell above the door chimed, Chan looked up, and there you were. You hadn’t changed much, and yet, you looked so different. The teenage girl he remembered had matured into someone who carried themselves with quiet confidence. Your smile was the same, though, lighting up your face as you spotted him.

“Chris,” you greeted, and the sound of his name in your voice felt like a time machine.

He stood, unsure whether to hug you or shake your hand, but you made the decision for him, pulling him into a warm embrace. “It’s been forever,” you said, pulling back to look at him. “You haven’t changed.”

Chris chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “You have – in a good way. You look… happy.”

The two of you ordered drinks and found a quiet corner. The conversation started easy – catching up on the basics, sharing stories from your lives since those trainee days. But as the initial excitement settled, the mood grew more reflective.

“Do you regret it?” Chris asked suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, but his gaze was intense, searching your expression for any flicker of doubt. “Leaving the company, I mean. Giving up on… that dream.”

You took a sip of your coffee, considering his question. “No,” you said finally, your voice steady. “I don’t regret it, Chris. After I quit I realized that I was chasing something that wasn’t really mine to chase. I think I was trying to prove something to myself, or maybe to others.”

You paused, hesitating before continuing. “I realized after I left that the dream I really wanted… it was never an option for me. Producing music, having creative control—it was never going to happen as a girl in a girl group, not in that company, not at that time. They had a mold, and I didn’t fit into it. Once I understood that, it was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I stopped trying to be someone I wasn’t.”

Chris’ eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing through them. “That… must’ve been tough to come to terms with.”

“It was,” you admitted. “I was angry for a while, at myself, at the system. But after I left, I started to see that it wasn’t the end. There’s more than one way to make a dream come true, and the path I’m on now—it feels right for me. I’m happy where I am.”

Chris nodded, processing your words. “You always seemed so sure of yourself back then. I guess I just… I admired that.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I wasn’t as sure as you think. But thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

There was a moment of quiet, the café’s gentle hum filling the space between you. Then Chris tilted his head slightly, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Do you still do music? Like creating or singing?”

You smiled, the question sparking something warm in you. “Yeah, I do. It’s just a hobby now, though. I write and sing at home when I feel like it. It’s… different from before, but it brings me a lot of joy.”

“That’s great,” Chris said sincerely. “I’m glad you haven’t let it go completely. Music was always such a big part of who you are.”

You nodded, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup. “It still is. But right now, I haven’t really been doing much with it. I just moved back to Seoul recently, so I’m still settling in. Once things are a bit more stable, I’d love to dive back into it.”

“You moved back?” Chris asked, his eyes lighting up. “How long ago?”

“Just a couple of months,” you said. “I wanted a change, and Seoul felt like the right place to be.” Then, after a brief pause, you added, “You know, once everything’s in order, you should come by sometime. I’ve been meaning to show someone my music setup—well, when I finally unpack it all.”

Chris’ eyes widened slightly in surprise, then softened with a warm smile. “Yeah? I’d like that. It’d be nice to hear what you’ve been working on since.”

“It’s nothing fancy – no chart-topping masterpieces” you said quickly, brushing off the compliment with a wave of your hand. “But it’s always fun to share it with someone who gets it.”

“I’d love to,” he said, his sincerity unmistakable. “Just let me know when you’re ready. No rush.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light through the café windows, the two of you lingered, caught in a space that felt timeless. There was something comforting about reconnecting, about seeing the ways you had both changed and grown, yet still finding the same thread of understanding that had tied you together all those years ago.

pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | masterlist

[starkeygirlposts]

Boyfriend turned Step-Bro Rafe Cameron x Reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You've been dating Rafe Cameron for 3 years, and one day Ward and your mom tell you they're getting married.

This is a snippet of a fic I'm going to see if I want to continue writing. Please let me know if you'd like it to be continued.

I'm not diving too deep on details or character traits in this, as it's just a blurb/idea for a full fic.

Trigger warnings: stepcest, underage, drugs, pregnancy

----

The Rafe Cameron who became your boyfriend when you were sixteen years old was not the Rafe Cameron who people referred to your step-brother at eighteen.

The complete opposite, really.

Your parents separated when you were in your sophomore year of high school, your dad moving across the country to California when he met his mistress on a business trip while you and your mom kept a tidy home. The affair nearly killed your mom, and she learned to lean on none other than your boyfriends dad.

Ward was the perfect fill-in for your mom for a while. She was just having a good time, she'd told you. "He occupies my mind Y/N, does that make me such a bad mom?" Like you being upset with your mother being however which way involved with your boyfriends dad was so out-of-this-world believable. Truth was, yes it made her a bad mom. Not just because it put you and Rafe in an uncomfortable position, but because you were struggling yourself after having your family as you knew it blown apart.

But she wasn't just "having a good time." Or rather, maybe she was having too good a time. Because on a Thursday evening at the Cameron's dinner table that you all had gathered for, Ward held your moms hand and told you all that they were getting married.

That day, your world fell apart, and Rafe started to become someone you soon would not recognize. Rafe's hand slipped from your thigh, gone the tender loving warm fingertips, drawing lazy hearts on your skin.

You looked over at Rafe before doing or saying anything to anyone else, and his eyes were higher than yours, connecting with his father's in an expression you could only imagine was pure hatred. Because Rafe could never live up to his father in any sense, and now he was taking away the one thing that kept his feet planted to the earth. Of course he was. You flinched when Rafe's chair scraped like nails on the tile flooring, as he darted from the table outside to his truck, leaving you to pick up the pieces. How badly you'd wanted to chase after him. But when your eyes connected with Ward's, the decision made for you.

You didn't even need to ask.

"Unless you want to live with your father in California, you and Rafe will stop whatever it is you two have going on." Ward had told you.

You looked to your mom as if she'd help you - feel some semblance of remorse for you. You'd met Rafe first. Three years ago. You'd been the only reason your mother even met Ward. But why should you be so surprised that what she wanted was more important than your happiness?

From that day, Rafe started slowly slipping from you. A hollow shell of the boy you loved so deeply and painfully. He'd drink himself to sleep every Friday and Saturday night, breathe cocaine on the other nights, and wave you off when you tried to ask him to slow down.

"Y/N, you want me to stop? To make you happy? What do you do anymore that makes me happy?" You'd touch his cheek and guide his head down to make his eyes meet yours, and you'd stare into them - hoping for a shimmer of your boyfriend to snap back and remember.

He'd shrug away from you, his hand brushing you off and leave you watching his back as he'd resume slowly killing not only himself, but you too. But his coldness didn't stop him from sneaking into your room past midnight to have sex with you. Not that you wish he'd stop, because you so badly craved his touch, eager for it any way he'd offer it. Mean, rough, kind, tender; you'd take any of him just to feel connected.

So when you'd texted Rafe to meet you in your room after dinner on Thursday night nearly one year after your world truly blew apart, hoping you'd get to him before the white powder did, he locked the door behind him and the black in his eyes told you he'd already gotten his fix. But your small hand came up to his chest as he approached you, seated cross legged on your pink floral bed spread, clutching the stick in your other hand. You looked up at him and when you locked eyes, he understood, because he took your hand from his chest and squeezed it in his own before leaning down to touch his lips to yours.

"I miss you, baby. My beautiful girl."

His breath was hot against your mouth, his scent so familiar and home to you. You couldn't stop the tears from falling from your eyes, your hand loosening from his hand to hold onto his forearm that connected to the fingers clutching your jaw tenderly but firmly in place, kissing you like he loved you again.

How badly you missed him, too.

"Rafe, please..."

Your hand falls and his breaks from your jaw, and you take this moment to capture his hand with your fingers and place the stick into his palm. His eyes break away from yours to look down at what you've given him, and you watch with tears streaming down your face as his brows furrow, his feet shuffling to back up and you brace yourself.

He doesn't do what you expect him to do, though. He stares so deeply down into his palm that when his eyes do reconnect with yours, confusion in his own eyes, his head tilting just the slightest and you're trembling, waiting for the shoe to drop.

"This...this is a -- you're..." His eyes screw up shut and he shakes his head like he's imagining things and he's crazy. "A baby?" He finally asks, looking up at you again and you can only nod.

"My baby?" He asks again, and you nearly scoff, because really? Was he kidding? Who else was sneaking into your room after midnight, invading your body and your thoughts?

"Yes, Rafe, I'm pregnant with your baby." You tell him, standing and he's still shaking his head, eyes bunching up as if he's being told the craziest thing in the world - because really, he is. But you've sat with this for the entire day and while your reaction wasn't as confused, you too felt the familiar disbelief.

You watch his chest rise and fall, deep breaths in and out before you're in a whirlwind and he closes the distance between you and pulls you to him, tucking your head underneath his chin, the back of your skull rested protectively in his large palm. His lips are at your forehead when he tells you

"I'm going to take care of it. They're not keeping me from my kid."

----

AH, what do you think? My ask box is open for feedback. Please feel free to use it to ask for what you'd like to see from this fic!

[ceilidho]

If you haven't already, can you write a second part to house cleaner reader for ghost? I really liked it and would love a pt 2

i don't know about a full on sequel bc my muse is fickle and hard to catch but i can give you a little snippet?

The first time you slip into Simon’s bed, you swear it’ll be the first and last time. 

It’s not an accident—you made the decision deliberately. You just hope the circumstances lend your excuse some credence.

“Accidentally let a moth in,” you mumble into the pillow when you spot him standing in the doorframe. He has to duck his head a little to come in. 

Of course he picks today of all days to come home. 

His eyebrows come up as if in surprise, but you can see the slightest trace of amusement in his eyes. You pull the blankets up to your neck, conscious that you’re garbed in only sleep shorts and a tank top that’s several years old. It keeps riding up when you toss and turn in your sleep. 

Your head’s still a little foggy with sleep; you managed to catch up on all of an hour of sleep before the sound of your name in the deep timber of his voice had hooked you out of your dreams. Not that you remember what you were dreaming. 

You’d been curled up like a little woodland creature in his bed, nose stuffed in the pillow that still seemed to carry the lingering trace of his smell. In his absence, it’s easy to forget that he does have a smell; rich and layered, like gunpowder and smoke, like it clings to him barnacle-tight, like it’s caked under his nails and in the fine blond strands of his hair. You take a deeper breath in. 

Simon’s still clothed in the thick tactical gear you saw him off in several weeks ago. The tube scarf is pulled down to around his neck, exposing his face. It always leaves you hungry, eyes roaming over the blunt cut of his jaw greedily, watching it undulate when he yawns. It’s covered with rough new scruff, like he only started letting it grow out within the last day or so. 

“Simon?” you ask, humiliation still biting you at being found in his bed.

“Been on the road for bloody near four hours,” he grunts, hands coming up to start peeling away the layers covering him. 

It takes you a second to remember to avert your eyes. You keep your gaze fast on the floor, but the sound of velcro ripping off and drawers opening leaves your face hot, almost feverish. If you touch your cheek now, you’re sure you’ll find them burning. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” The comforter is still clasped to your chest when you go to sit up and you’re not sure what the plan was. To walk all the way back to your room with his blanket around you? “I’m gonna go—I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s so embarrassing, I just—I really don’t like moths.”

Whatever the plan was, it disintegrates to dust when he steps to the side of the bed that you were trying to slip off and plants a hand on your bare shoulder, pushing you back. 

“You really got to quit it with the sir, love,” Simon grunts, using the hand on your shoulder to guide you farther back onto the bed. Your heart goes a little haywire in your chest when he lifts the comforter to give himself room to climb in. “‘Least when we’re not in bed.”

You aren’t going to read into those words too closely. Your mind already feels sluggish, groggy, like waking up out of a bad nap with the headache still chasing you, and if you try to examine what he means by that, it’s just going to get worse. You let him rearrange you how he sees fit, slipping back down under the sheets and letting him turn you over onto your side.

“You’re not going to shower?” you mumble, eyelids already drooping shut. You only flinch a little when he hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you back into his chest. His scent is richer than usual, dappled with old sweat and smoke. 

“We can have one later. Getting some shut eye for now. Brew later, when we’ve got some rest.”

[milkbobatyun]

breaking point

pairing: reo mikage x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: sticks and stones may not break your bones, but his family's constant snide comments and degrading remarks were chipping away at your resolve.

word count: 922

a/n: i love when family trauma is able to finally play its part and allow me to write a decent fic and give me ideas LMAO

with a sigh, you unlocked the door, one hand cradling the stack of legal files before taking off your shoes at the doorway and relishing in the quiet of the penthouse. next to your shoes sat a pair of male dress shoes. it seems that reo had arrived home early.

with a crisp clatter, you dropped your keys on the shelf, padding into your study down the hall and releasing the heavy stack of files onto your desk. leaning against your arms, you planted yourself against the table, taking in a steadying breath.

steeling your resolve, you slipped the letter from the top of the pile into your bag.

walking into the kitchen, you found reo, sitting at the high kitchen island, scrolling through his phone.

wordlessly, you slid the letter across the marble surface, watching as reo’s attention shifted from the phone to the letter, before his piercing gaze turned to you.

“what is the meaning of this?” reo asked, turning the letter to you. the words glared back at you, clear as day.

divorce papers.

you sighed, defeat flooding through your body.

“i have nothing else to tell you.” you muttered, head turned away. you couldn’t meet his eyes, otherwise your tears would flow. “i’m tired of this marriage, of everything.”

loud silence filled the room, its tension so thick a butter knife could cut it. you raised your eyes, watching as confusion, hurt and despair chased across reo’s face, before it settled into a mask of mocking disbelief.

“why?” he whispered, voice wavering, anguish colouring his tone.

your heart clenched, the brave face that you tried so hard to maintain crumbled, words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“you don’t understand, reo,” you began, tone thick with guilt and exhaustion. “ever since i married you, into your family, they have placed enormous burden on me. did you even know, that they were pressuring to resign from my job as a lawyer, to bear the son that they so desperately want, just so he can inherit the company in the future? time and time again, they paint me as the villainess. they say that i’m the one controlling you, controlling your freedom!”

your voice rose at the end, breaking through the tranquility of the penthouse.

“i...i didn’t know,” he muttered feebily, voice barely audible. but you could see, in his stance, there was defensiveness, a reluctance to believe that his family had made such demands. “why didn’t you tell me?”

your laughter was a bitter echo in the spacious kitchen.

“how could i tell you that your parents were doing something so scandalous, something that would ruin your family’s pristine, picture perfect image?”

reo broke the eye contact, guilt flashing across his face before defensiveness quickly overtook it. “maybe there’s some other way, some way to fix everything.”

your shoulders slumped, exhaustion weighing down every word as you stared at him.

“you say that now, but you weren’t the one they interrogated, asking me when we would plan on having a son, enduring the snide remarks about marrying into the family for the money and power.”

you paused, taking in a steadying breath. “you would think that grown adults know when the right time to ask such questions would be, but clearly your parents didn’t, since they decided to ask at your five-year old daughter’s birthday party.”

reo opened his mouth to respond, to retort or make an excuse on his family’s behalf, but no sound could escape. you were right, he remembered when he heard snippets of family dinner conversations, how uncomfortable you had looked. silence fills the room, as the weight of realisation settles between the two of you.

“is there no other way?” he whispers, voice raw and strained.

you looked away, your soft heart aching at the plea in his voice. before you can respond, you hear a small quiet voice call out for you.

“mama?” a quiet voice whimpered from the doorway. “are you and papa fighting again?” your daughter stood, clad in her pjs, one small hand clutching her little rabbit plush by the ear, the other blearily rubbing at her eyes.

reo lifted his head up, face contorting into a mask, pretending that everything was ok.

“hello love,” he cooed, voice gentle, the tension in the room dissipating. “no, we’re just talking…about grown-up stuff.”

your daughter took a step forward, bottom lip quivering.

“but you were yelling,” her face scrunched with concern. “mama was crying.” her eyes turned glassy with unshed tears, a pout forming.

you try to hold back the sting of tears as you scooped her into a tight hug, forcing a smile.

“oh my darling, i’m fine,” you assured her. “we’re trying to figure some things out.”

releasing her from your hold, you place your hands on her shoulders, as her head swivels between the two of you, far from convinced, but she slowly nodded her head.

“you’ll be ok, right?” she whispered, as though to assure herself. “we’ll be a happy family!” the innocence in her words twisted the guilty knife in your heart. you couldn’t bear to shatter your daughter’s dreams over the snide comments of reo’s family.

“yes,” reo’s voice was thick and husky with emotion. “we’ll be one happy family!” he echoed, flashing her a soft smile.

the promise lingered in the room, filling the loud silence. for her sake, you would try to keep that promise, but the pressure and hurt his family inflicted on you would never heal over.

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[sturnforest]

a little more help pt1

synopsis: ever since the night in the cabin, chris can’t stop thinking about pup

pairing: bbf!chris x innocent!reader

warnings: female receiving, praise, pet names (pup, princess) somewhat dom!chris, almost getting caught

can be read as a stand alone but recommended as part two to a little help

i do not condone copying, rewriting, or any kind of plagiarism. if you are inspired by a piece of my writing, please CREDIT the work in your writing.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws !

there you were, in chris’s bed. he kneeled between your legs, rubbing your knees. his touch made you relax, but his words made your heart race.

“you can just lay back, i’ll do all the work.” he whispered, trying to coax you. “wanna make you feel good.”

“i’m nervous, chris.” you whined. sure, you wanted him to make you feel good, but you didn’t know if this was the way.

“we can stop anytime. just want you to at least try, yeah?” chris said, mindlessly tracing patterns on your knees. “i’ll go slow.”

you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. you knew he was experienced and knew how to make you feel good. the thought of his head between your legs made you incredibly flustered. but god, he was persuasive. every fear that came to your mind regarding the situation you were in was disregarded by his gentle tone.

“okay,” you finally whispered, “but go slow, please.”

“anything for you, pup.”

he stuck to his promise, starting off by taking off your shorts and panties and agonizingly slow. every inch off skin he revealed was peppered with soft kisses, eventually pulling the fabric off completely.

he was met with your dripping cunt, eager to be pleased. the sight made him want to completely ruin you, but instead, he treated you like you were fragile. every movement calculated so that you could have the best experience.

when he looked up, he saw your nervousness. the new position made you feel completely vulnerable, and chris could tell. he took your hand, lacing his fingers between yours. he softly squeezed your hand, silently telling you, “it’s alright.”

he started by kissing around your bud, lips never touching your clit. he basked in the taste of your arousal, lapping up every bit that spilled out. he licked stripes up your folds, only temporarily connecting his tongue with your sensitive clit. the snippets of pleasure made your hips buck slightly, trying to chase the feeling.

finally, he connected his lips to your nub. the unfamiliar feeling made you gasp, your free hand flying to grab chris’s hair.

“doin so good, pup.” he spoke into your folds. the vibrations sent shocks through your body, a whimper escaping your throat.

“told you i’d make you feel good.” he smirked against your pussy. he adored your sensitivity, seeing how you reacted to the vibrations of his voice. he began to speed up his actions, lapping at your bud at a euphoric pace.

the pleasure made your body tremble. your hand squeezed his (nails definitely leaving a mark) as your moans intensified, completely forgetting any nervousness you previously had. he groaned into your bud, making the knot in your stomach tighten.

chris’s unfaltering pace of his tongue against your pussy was enough to tip you over the edge, but when he started to suck on your clit, the pleasure intensified immensely. lewd moans and whimpers erupted from your throat at the intense pleasure.

your legs trembled around his head, making him groan into your clit. “let go, princess.”

his words were all you needed to let go. euphoria crashed over you, making every sense intensify. you felt him slow down, riding you through your orgasm. you painted his tongue with your release, and he enjoyed every bit of it.

you were lost in a daze for awhile, too lost in your release to think right.

“made you feel so good you can’t even think.” chris taunted, “come back, pup.” he said, holding your jaw to look at him.

“s’good chris.”

“gonna have to do this more often?” he asked, making you nod.

“gotta be careful, don’t wanna get caught by your brother. he’d kill me.”

that’s when you heard a door open upstairs, and multiple footsteps walking around. a voice too similar to chris’s yelling, “where the fuck did they go?”

making a taglist so lmk if you wanna be added to it!

taglist: @babyt0matoes @riggysworld

[babyjinsu]

teaser: ˗ˏˋ ꒰ lily pond ꒱ ˎˊ˗

a snippet of my upcoming fic. based on pride & prejudice, little women, and that one scene from sabrina carpenter's manchild music video! (tldr; mid 19th century).

pairing ; artist!sunghoon x noble!reader

synopsis ; you were born into silk and scandal. sunghoon wasn't born to be noticed at all. but he's talented—and you're just a troublesome noble. but in his talent, and your impishness, brought the two of you in a love neither of you were meant to want—or allowed.

contains ; mid-19th century era, slowburn, angst, strangers to lovers? friends to lovers? sunghoon is oblivious, reader is mischievous, arranged marriage, forbidden attractive, romcom lowkey, portrait of a lady on fire meets pride & prejudice, maybe smut, but who knows? more TBA!

est wc ; 9 - 10k

from across the massive garden lawn, a girl burst into view—barefoot, breathless, white skirt hitched up in both hands. she was a flash of white and blue and sunlight, hair tumbling and came undone behind her like the trail of a comet. her feet barely touched the ground for one second, kicking up clumps of neatly trimmed grass as she ran, panic, loud, laughter spilling out of her like it couldn’t be helped.

trailing after her—the reason why she was running—a man twice her age. round–bellied and red–faced, chasing with frantic steps, tumbling along the way, clutching a length of gauzy fabric to his chest.

“miss! please! this is custom–stitched French lace!”

sunghoon watched as you shook your head frantically, looking back over your shoulder with a big grin. “no—!” you yelled, gripping your skirt tighter. 

“you haven’t even tried it on!”

you only shrieked louder, grin full of teeth and mischief. “it’s hideous! i look like a pastry!”

sunghoon blinked, eyebrows furrowed slightly—he didn’t move, couldn’t—just watched, heart thudding with a strange, creeping, confused sense of unreality. 

you were headed straight for him.

no—straight for the bridge. 

and without breaking a stride, you clambered up the side of the stone path, skirts dripping in your hands, eyes wide with delight as you met sunghoon’s gaze in the briefest second. 

the world seemed to slow for him. 

“pardon me,” you said breathlessly, barely a whisper—the wind brought your voice away.

—and then you jumped. 

with your skirts hitched high in both fists, you bent your knees midair like a child leaping into a summer lake, toes pointed, your expensive fabric ballooning around you. for a moment, you hovered—a white blur against the blue sky, sunlight tangled and kissing your hair, laughter trailing behind you like ribbon.

then you vanished beneath the lilies with a soft splash—spreading the lily pads apart.

there was a gasp behind you.

“oh, good lord!” the stylist cried, clutching his chest dramatically like a scandalised widow. “miss—oh my god!—this girl—! i’ll fetch the guards! miss, just hang on!” he turned and fled, shouting into the garden as he went.

but sunghoon couldn’t wait. his mind had blanked the moment you disappeared under the still water. he dropped his sketchbook with a thud and scrambled up to stand on the arched stone rail of the bridge. the soles of his boots scraped against the surface, and for the briefest second he teetered—

then launched himself forward.

the air roared past his ears. his arms tucked in close, eyes wide as the water raced up to meet him. he saw the sunlight and the forest—then felt the cold before the pond swallowed him whole too.

it hit sunghoon like glass. shocking, thick, alive and disgusting with reeds and slime and unnamed microorganisms. his feet kicked down but caught only soft mud, almost sinking. he surfaced, gasping, blinking frantically through the green-smeared water and bobbing lily pads.  

“miss?” he called, breath catching. “miss?!”

nothing. 

sunghoon spun in the water, heart thundering, limbs dragging. his eyes canned the surface—ripples from when he jumped, disturbed and annoyed lilies, but no sign of movement. no flailing arms. no head above water. his brain already fumbling for what to do if you didn’t—

and then he saw you.

you floated not far off, body spread like a star, hair fanned out in silky waves, you had your eyes shut—calm for someone who just…

sunghoon froze. 

you cracked one eye open and blinked up at him. then slowly, your arms dipped beneath the surface. your tiptoes found the pond floor, and you stood upright, water sloshing around your chest as lilies bumped gently at your sides.

the illusion shattered just a little—but only just. you stood there in the sunlight, dress clinging to your frame and almost, almost showcasing your undergarments, strands of hair sticking to your cheeks. your lips twitched up into something amused, disbelief, almost proud.

“are you alright?”

sunghoon stared, his chest heavy with each breath he took. “am i—?”

a small laugh bubbled from your throat. “you jumped in after me.”

“i—i thought you couldn’t swim,” he stammered. 

“you jumped in for me?” a smile curled at your lips as you wet them, lifting your hand up to push away your hair blocking your view.

----

i'm having so much fun so far writing this :( helps me take my mind off my assignments and polish my writing skills after leaving it after quite some time! engene pls be my friend. pls help me reblog~ <3

[freshydip]

it's really funny how the best evidence against the "kris is evil" theory is what happens in snowgrave/the weird route, the playthrough where you make kris do some of the most unambiguously evil shit possible in the game (so far)

i'm not uploading the 23 bespoke screenshots i took of the beginning of the conversation between kris and noelle in her room in the weird route to illustrate my point, instead i'm going to transcribe below what noelle says to kris:

*Last night, I... I couldn't sleep.

*Every time I closed my eyes...

*All I could see was snow.

*I was terrified, Kris.

*I went out on the porch to breathe, and...

*That's when I felt it.

*A hand on my shoulder.

*I froze.

*And then I heard your voice.

*Kris's voice.

*You said, sorry for being weird at the hospital Noelle.

*You said, it was all a stupid prank.

*You said, Berdly was going to get better.

*... Kris, your voice, your deadpan, mumbly voice...

*Even if you sounded kind of weak and shaky...

*I don't know why, but it felt so long since I heard it.

little buddy is working fucking overtime to undo everything a snowgrave player does. they dragged berdley's blue ass to the hospital, snuck out to comfort noelle, tried to lessen the harm of what had already happened, and it's obviously taken a big toll on them. i mean how much can you even do, in a position like theirs? where you have to rip something out of you and move in secret to do anything of substance, anything you want to do? we don't know how long this has been going on (potentially, like, the majority of their entire life, based on another snippet of dialogue in the holiday house where noelle recounts kris pretending to rip their heart out and chase her around when they were kids) but i'm sure being a passenger to your own existence has never been more exhausting than when the driver is trying to make you do countless cruelties. i don't know what they're working towards, if they're solely being manipulated by carol or dess or another entity or if they have their own selfish motives, but i really do not think kris is evil.

[victoria-daydreams]

He Comes At Night

AN: Currently stressed the fuck out from a summer course I'm currently taking so I'm posting this snippet of the Remmick fic I'm currently in the process of writing to make me feel better.

Summary: Inez was always told that the blues is what attracts the devil to sinful souls, but as she would soon discover in a terrifying encounter one night, so do Irish folk songs.

The cool New York air nipped at Inez's cheeks as she wrestled with the stubborn lock on her shop door. With one final tug, the latch clicked shut on the door, the small bell above jingling its final farewell of the day. Humming softly to herself, she chased away the day's lingering anxieties, the melody a familiar comfort.

"Come all you fair and tender girls. That flourish in your prime. Beware, beware, keep your garden fair—"

"Let no man steal your thyme," a voice finished from behind, smooth as aged whiskey with a lilting Irish brogue.

Inez whipped around, her heart leaping into her throat. The stranger was leaning against a streetlight pole, a shadow against the streetlight's glow. The man's presence was jarringly out of place amidst the brownstones and the familiar rhythms of her neighborhood.

"Let no man steal your thyme," he repeated, the words a low croon rolling off his tongue with an almost sensual cadence.

The lyrics lingered in the night air like a promise.

"I wouldn't have guessed a woman like ye," he paused, the implication hung in the air, unspoken yet potent. Here she was, a colored woman in Harlem, steeped in the lore of the Emerald Isle. Yet, his tone wasn't malicious, but tinged with something that felt disconcertingly like a strange, appreciative fascination. "Would know such an old Irish ballad," he finished, subtle amusement coloring his voice.

There was something peculiar about the man's accent, it wasn't the brogue she'd encountered before. It was older, richer, with how it lingered on certain vowels or curled around the edges of the words making them sound both familiar and foreign. Inez's eyes darted over him nervously, taking in every detail she could. Tall and lean, dressed in fine clothes, but the strangest thing about him was how he molded himself just so to be beneath the flickering glow of the streetlight. It kept his face was perpetually shadowed, eyes completely hidden beneath the brim of his fedora, but she could make out the unsettling pale pallor of his skin.

Something felt…off.

New York might've been a melting pot, but a man like this, lurking in Harlem at this hour, was out of place. Inez kept her hand near the opening of her duster coat pocket, it held more than just her gloves.

"And I wouldn't have guessed a white man would be walking around Harlem at this hour, but here we are," she said, her voice tight. "Lost your way, mister?" Inez questioned, her brow quirking up.

"Lost?" he echoed. He pushed himself off the lamppost, moving with a fluid grace that was nearly predatory and in such a way of staying just out of the light. "Hardly. I was drawn here," he corrected, chuckling slightly.

The stranger exuded an aura of old-world charm, yet something about him made her skin crawl. Subtly, Inez's hand slid further down into her coat pocket, thumbing the switchblade nestled there, but not taking it out.

"Let me guess, you've come to slum it with some of your white friends in our jazz clubs?" she wondered, a touch of sarcasm creeping in her tone. "Get your fill of the 'exotic,' before heading back downtown?" she went on.

A beat of silence stretched between them, his gaze fixed on her. It was an unnerving moment. He didn't react to her defensiveness, didn't even seem offended by her jabs. He merely cocked his head, and then, a slow smile seemed to bloom on his lips, just barely visible in the shadows.

"Yer voice carries that song like it's a secret," he finally said, his voice a low, seductive purr that made the hairs on Inez's neck raise. "How'd ye come to know it?" he wondered curiously. "Such a delicate flower, blooming in such unexpected soil," he remarked, a glint of his teeth flashing underneath his hat.

Inez bristled, caught off guard by the shift in his tone, but she couldn't ignore the goosebumps that rippled down her arms. She stuck her chin out, trying to project an air of confidence she didn't feel.

"I used to work alongside Irish immigrants for a family uptown when I was younger. Old Mrs. Kavanagh from County Clare sung that one often while working with one another. Said thyme was for strength, lavender for sleep, and rue for protection. Said a girl needed all three in this world," Inez answered, holding her ground, though every instinct screamed at her to run. "Especially a girl like me," she added, with a hint of bitter humor.

His gaze, still unseen, felt like a palpable weight on her.

"She was right," he agreed, his voice nearly a purr again. The sound sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. "Strength, sleep, and protection. All necessary in a world so…" he trailed off, drawing closer. "...eager to take," he finished, making it sound like both a promise and a threat. The way he lingered on the word suggested a vast, unsettling understanding of that eagerness.

Inez swallowed thickly, her heart suddenly thrumming a faster rhythm. There was something about the way he said it, the glint of something ancient and knowing in the shadows that danced around his eyes, that made her skin crawl and her stomach flutter all at once. It was a confusing, unnerving cocktail of fear and a strange, unwanted attraction.

"She usually was," Inez agreed, her voice a little breathier than she intended. "That ballad always stuck with me. It was her mother's song. Or maybe her mother's before that. I never knew where it came from—just that we always sang it. Maybe it crossed oceans just to find me. Maybe it waited," she guessed, her gaze drifting off for a moment. "Music doesn’t care where it lands. Neither do stories," Inez mused, her voice softening slightly, vulnerability peeking through her guarded exterior.

Her words hung in the air, unexpectedly poetic and the man seemed to hang on its every syllable. There was something about the stranger's focus made her feel unnervingly exposed.

"No, they don't," he cooed, his voice caressing her like a feather. "Stories and songs, they have a way of finding those who are meant to hear them," he reckoned. He stepped closer, his shadow lengthening, swallowing the space between them. "Like moths to a flame, drawn in by the promise of something more. You have a voice that could raise the dead," he paused, his shadowed gaze seemingly fixated on her lips, "Or perhaps, tempt them from their slumber," his voice dropping to a near whisper.

He closed the distance between them until he stood directly beneath the streetlight, though even then, his face remained obscured by the brim of his hat. The air around him felt cooler, almost unnaturally so, nipping at her skin. He tilted his head again, a slow, deliberate movement, like a predator assessing its prey.

"And you, Inez, what stories do you hold?" he wondered, his voice a tantalizing rasp that seemed to vibrate through her very bones. He took another step forward, and this time, the predatory edge in his voice was undeniable. "What secrets do you carry?" he pressed, his voice a low rumble.

Inez felt her heart all but stop, her blood turning into ice in her veins. He knew her name. He knew it without her ever telling it to him. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, standing at attention. Panic tightened within Inez's chest, her fear cold and sharp. Her bravado thoroughly pierced. Inez took a step back, putting distance between them. However, the man only mirrored her, closing the gap, his movement impossibly fluid. One step quickly became many, as she continued to backpedal, the click of her heels echoing in the sudden quiet of the street. Inez's eyes remained locked on the stranger's, her breathing becoming unsteady.

"Go ahead, sing the next verse for me, darlin'," he coaxed, the seductive timbre of his voice enough to make her weak at the knees, despite the terror that clawed at her throat. His eyes, finally caught the light for a moment, seemed to glow with an unholy intensity. "Let's see if you know the rest," he insisted, his lips curling into a smile.

She shook her head no, her throat suddenly dry. The man's eyes seemed to burn into her, a silent challenge and a morbid invitation all rolled into one. The streetlight above them flickered and briefly, Inez could make out the lower half of his face. The corners of his lips....his chin, both areas were both glistening with wetness.

"Is this man fucking drooling?" Inez thought, completely bewildered.

"For when your time is past and gone. He'll care no more for you," He sung, his voice a low, hypnotic drawl.

"Why don't you go back to your side of the city? Plenty of Irish pubs to go hear your fellow countrymen perform it," Inez responded nervously, her eyes darting around, searching for an escape route. "Or better yet, go back wherever it is you came from," she added, trying desperately to regain her composure, "You reek of trouble," she spat.

Inez stumbled, her heel catching on the crevice in the sidewalk as she retreated backwards, colliding right into a solid form.

"Oof!"

"Jesus!" she exclaimed.

"Woah, easy there," a deep, familiar voice chuckled, a strong hand steadying her. "Everything alright here, Inez?" he asked, cutting through the tension.

Whirling around, Inez looked up to see her friend, Louis, his brow furrowing with concern when he saw the terror in her eyes. Louis was a mountain of a man, his shoulders broad and his gaze fierce. He glanced up, a protective glint in his stare as his eyes narrowed on the pale stranger who was invading Inez's space. He stepped between Inez and the stranger, using himself as a protective barrier between the two. Inez knew how this appeared to Louis, all he saw was a white man, looming over a colored woman on a dimly lit street. And, he would be right.

"Everything alright here?" Louis asked again, his grip tightening on the saxophone case in his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, let's just go," Inez said quickly, with forced casualness. She grabbed Louis' arm and linked it with hers, her fingers feeling cold and clammy. She tugged him away from the stranger. "It's nothing, just a nosy tourist," she explained, her voice tight with urgency.

"Inez—" Louis started, but she cut him off with a frantic look.

She needed to get away, to clear her head and shake off the unsettling feeling that had taken root deep inside her.

Arm in arm with Louis, she hurried down the sidewalk, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could feel the stranger's eyes on her, burning into her back. Nervously, she risked a glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see him following. But, he remained where he was, a dark, silent figure beneath the streetlight, an unnatural stillness surrounding him. He didn't move, didn't call out, didn't even seem to breathe.

[xo-codbby]

playboy!ghost x jealousy

a/n: mentions of sex, porn, jealousy, all that good stuff :") 18+

very emotionally constipated, nothing could break him. he was able to shrug anything off, letting it roll off of his back

this should have been nothing then, this should have been a blip on his radar and he should've moved on

but seeing you with someone else, seeing you kiss someone else was the straw that broke his back

doesn't understand why he's so angry he could practically tear someone apart, how you could let someone touch you like that pissed him off more than he could say

so he used sex as a coping mechanism instead, doing it with others helps to clear his mind

and he chases those endorphins to numb the pain, whenever it goes he craves the sex 10x harder

it's worse because it's you, you're his curse and the cure. the feeling of sinking into your tight

it's not some temporary relief, you're in his veins and in his blood. you haunt his dreams and his thoughts, practically residing in his heart

so having sex felt so montone, he was just doing the motjons just to feel anything but the crushing weight on his chest

can't help but vision you instead of the person that's under him, pretending it's your sweet warm pussy swallowing his cock so tightly. that it's your moans reverberating in his ears when he pushes you to the edge and then over

pretending it's your skin he's sucking soft bruises into, marking you his

it's the only way he's gets off, too many times has he jerked off to your picture trembling in the shower when he climaxes. only just being able to think of sinking his tongue deep into your eager cunt, desperately wanting to feel your legs tighten around his head refusing to let go

he didn't want to be let go either, he'd die a happy death buried between your legs

his mood only worsens towards you, how could be so fine while he's hurting and in pain?

he does everything he can to snap back at you, knowing you didn't approve of his lifestyle made him want to engage with it further

when he wasn't working on base or on active duty, he was having sex with other people. one of them suggesting to making an account and uploading it

he was silent for a moment but agreed, he was already doing it why not get paid for it?

the money was good and he knew it'd piss you off and he was just hoping they'd catch your eyes and you'd do something about it

and to his shock a few of his videos went viral on the hub, soap and gaz were half in shock and disbelief but also amused. cheering and thumping him on the back

price was stern but no identifiable part of him was technically on the camera so he didn't say much

you, however, sweet little cherry had shot him a dirty look when you saw a few clips of him thrusting into another woman

the heat shot down straight to your core when you heard his curses, when you heard his groans as he's fucking another woman. someone that wasn't you

the few snippets you had seen had made your jaw drop, the heat rising to your face. swallowing hard as you tried to take a breath but you could only imagine his bigger form practically caging you to his chest

how gentle he would be, how he'd soothe your pretty cries, swallowing your moans with those kisses you could only dream about

and the envy turned to anger when you were face to face with him, you hated how much you needed him and he hated how weak you made him

it was just him, something about ghost having sex and filming it pissed you off more than you could express

"this is really what you're doing? making porn??" "you slut shaming me, cherry?"

your callsign had never felt so cold and foreign on his lips, his form stiff and dark as he stares you down. fists clenching, brows knitted in a tight frown

you were so close, so fucking close for him to press a fierce kiss on those lips he'd been dreaming about. to touch your skin the way he ached to

"what the hell is that supposed to mean?" "means that you're the fucking reason i'm doing this shit!"

just outburst startles you, he never lost his cool. not like this, not so easily

and you don't get another word in before he stormed off, leaving you alone in the barracks as you sighed softly