#... And maybe for brain damage purposes too

[anaer]

I feel like it doesn't matter how thematically appropriate something in a story is if the narrative doesn't do a good job of executing the themes in question, and if people en masse turn on a story then likely the narrative has failed to get them to buy into it which is always a problem of the writing, and implying that other readers just don't get it or aren't smart enough to see misses the point that the entire purpose of a narrative is to get readers to suspend their disbelief enough to buy into the story

[mars-ipan]

kinda funny when ur brain’s gut instinct is repression so you just kinda watch while your stress and emotions get bottled and corked and the whole time ur just like “that is going to bite me in the ass so bad later but i can’t seem to open the damn bottles without getting glass everywhere so! guess we’ll wait”

[draconic-neko]

Me: *Goes diving into international law and scientific documents about safety procedures in nuclear reactors for a throwaway line in a chapter I might not end up keeping.*

Also Me: *Does this while sleep deprived.*

Also also Me: *Wonders why this shit is so hard to understand.*

[heavensenteden]

✎ caught you! | nsfw fic 🔞

☆彡

i finally pulled myself up to write a TKaTB fic.

i wanted a reader who was freaky like sol and matched his freak LOL, so we have reader who is aware and not a complete airhead!!

i’m also brain rotted about this man sooo bad it’s insane guys help!

enjoy ;P

link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62611723

word count: 3747

pls minors dni and dnr ⭐️

cw: stalking, semi-public sex, blowjobs, manipulation

🌱˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

The library was quiet today, save for the soft rustle of pages from students studying diligently and the occasional creak of the old bookshelves that your university so desperately needed to replace.

You liked it this way, a nice, quiet place far away from everyone, where you could just relax and be alone, and where Solivan’s eyes could follow you without drawing much attention. He was sitting nearby, alone at the end of the big oak table tucked away in one of the library’s four corners.

You had purposefully chosen a spot where he could watch you, presenting yourself out in the open for him. Pretty generous of you, honestly. You could feel it. Sol’s gaze, always lingering on you, his presence a shadow at the edge of your peripheral vision.

Occasionally, you’d glance up on purpose, just to catch a glimpse of his eyes meeting yours before he buried himself back into whatever book he had open, his face flushing that pretty red colour.

It was comforting in a twisted, intoxicating way. You already knew he was infatuated with you. It started off quite tame, to be fair; you hadn’t really noticed him before since he always sat at the back of the class, away from judgmental eyes.

But then the little things started. A shadow following you home, or that burning feeling of being watched.

Then one windy evening, you came back home to your apartment to find your window lock broken, and the place freezing because of it. Naturally, you freaked out. You called Crowe to come assess the damage, check if anything was missing, and to keep you company while you tied a flimsy ribbon around the latch, hoping it would be enough to keep your stalker out.

Unfortunately, Sol needed a lot more than ribbon to deter him.

That same night, he oh so easily undid your makeshift lock and slid right up next to your unconscious sleeping body, stroking your hair and holding your hand as if you were lovers.

Unlucky for him, you were a light sleeper, and the slight brush of his hand woke you. The room was so dark, save for the beams of moonlight streaming through the same window Sol had crept through not too long ago. You could only catch pieces of green and black hair shuffling around as you lay, somewhat petrified, in bed.

Then he spoke.

“My sweet pumpkin… sorry about your lock. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispered to you sweetly.

You felt him shift, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before sliding out of your bed, bidding your “sleeping” self goodbye as he slipped back out through your window. By the time you scurried to see his figure outside, he was already gone.

The next day, his actions couldn’t have been more different. You met him face to face in your art class, where you were paired as new partners for the upcoming project.

“My name is Solivan Brugmansia. Sol for short,” he said.

It was the same voice.

At the time, your blood ran cold as you realized the tall, brooding man in front of you was the same one who’d been lying next to you in bed the night before, breaking into your apartment just for a few moments of bliss with you. You.

Were you creeped out? Of course. Scared? Maybe a little. But for some sick reason, you were flattered that he’d taken such a liking to you.

“Sol… like the sun? That’s so cute, considering you’re dressed so… alternatively,” you said, deciding to experiment a little.

You stepped closer, your hand brushing against the thick black-and-green choker he wore. Your fingers moved lower to lift the key necklace around his neck, examining it carefully. Hmm. It didn’t look like a key to your apartment, so that was good.

You looked up at him, offering a sweet smile as you stepped back. You noticed how red he’d gotten and how he murmured under his breath about how pretty you were, clearly under the assumption that you hadn’t heard.

Oh, you were going to have fun with this one.

-

Today, you decided to push him further and tease him a little to see how he’d react.

Standing up from your seat, you knew Sol’s eyes would already be on you, watching and studying your every move as you walked over to the English section. To be fair, you actually did need some books for an upcoming research paper but you grabbed one at random in all honesty.

As you scanned the shelves, you found the perfect target: a book just out of reach. You stretched your arm dramatically, fingers brushing the spine but never quite making contact. You let out a dramatic, frustrated sigh, even pouting a little as you looked up at the book, knowing full well Sol was watching.

“Having trouble?” His voice was velvet, smooth and dark, as he appeared from nowhere. His tall figure loomed just behind you, towering over your own, and close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

You turned to him, feigning surprise. “Oh, Sol! I didn’t see you there. Could you help me, please?” You looked up at him with pouty lips and big eyes, clasping your hands together as you played the damsel in distress. And he was eating it up.

His pierced lips curved into a small smile, but his eyes, those intense, bright eyes, burned with something else. “Let me help you.”

He reached over your shorter body, effortlessly pulling the book from its place. His arm brushed yours, and you shivered, allowing the reaction to linger longer than necessary. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Oh, thank you, Sol,” you said softly, looking up at him through your lashes. “God, you’re such a lifesaver for me!”

Something flickered in his gaze. Satisfaction? Possessiveness? Maybe it was a bit of both. “Anything for you,” he murmured.

You took the book from his hands, letting your fingers graze his. A deliberate move, subtle but effective. His breath hitched, barely audible, but you caught it.

“Are you studying by yourself?”

Holding the book he’d just grabbed for you close to your chest, an idea popped into your head.

“Yeah, I was uh… sitting over there.”

Sol’s gaze shifted as he gestured to the big oak table he’d been seated at earlier. Thank god he’d picked a more isolated area to reside in.

“Oh my god, perfect! I’ll come sit with you!”

Before he could get an answer in, you zipped back to your study area to gather your bag and papers, carrying it all over to the empty table, save for Sol’s setup, and dropped it all on top.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know,” he said, glancing at you as he slipped back onto his chair. “I’m fine on my own.”

“I like being with you, though,” you replied, your voice now more quiet since, well, you were in the library. “With you.”

He blinked, his cheeks flushing as he tried to focus back on his book, but you weren’t about to make it that easy for him. You slipped into the chair beside him, leaning slightly over the table as you pretended to skim through the pages of the book he’d grabbed for you.

“Hey, Sol,” you said, your tone sweet but laced with mischief. “Do you think Edgar Allan Poe was really that depressing, or do you think he was just dramatic?”

He looked at you, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. “Poe… was a complicated man,” he began. “His life was filled with tragedy, but I think he used his writing as a way to… cope.”

“Hmm,” you mused, tilting your head as if deep in thought. “I don’t know, some of his stuff just seems so… intense. Maybe I’m just not smart enough to get it?” You leaned in closer, your shoulder brushing against his as you gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, his voice firm. “You’re incredibly intelligent.”

“Aww, you really think so?” you cooed, leaning even closer until your face was mere inches from his. His breath hitched, and you swore you saw his grip tighten on the edge of the table.

Before he could respond, you shifted, swinging a leg over to settle yourself on his lap. His entire body went rigid beneath you, and his face turned a deep, furious red.

“What are you doing?” he stammered, his hands hovering awkwardly near your hips, unsure of where to place them.

“Getting comfortable,” you said simply, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned in close, your lips nearly brushing his ear. “Is that okay?”

He swallowed hard, his hands finally resting on your waist as if he couldn’t help himself. “Y-yeah, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his breaths came out more quickly, staggered, and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him. The hard press of his cock hidden beneath the layers of clothing between you only confirmed it, and you smiled to yourself, savouring the bit of power you held over him.

You hummed, pretending to be clueless about his… growing problem as you skimmed your books, jotting down notes here and there, while Sol struggled to even get through one paragraph of the book he was reading, your body on top of his becoming too much of a distraction.

The girl of his dreams, the one he snuck out to see every night, the one he studied so closely and had fantasies about, was, right now, in this very moment, sitting on his lap. Her plush ass perfectly slotted against his body. And it was driving him insane.

“Sol?” you asked suddenly, your voice cutting through his haze. “You haven’t turned the page in a while. Is it boring?”

His eyes darted to yours, wide and panicked, as if you’d caught him doing something forbidden. “N-no, it’s fine,” he stammered, his hands flexing against your waist. “Just… distracted.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Distracted? By what?” You leaned in close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Is something on your mind? You can talk to me, you know…”

His breath hitched again, and he clutched you tighter as if grounding himself. “No,” he whispered, voice low and strained. “I-I’m okay.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, savoring the way he froze beneath you. “If you’re so sure,” you murmured, your voice laced with a little bit of concern. “Because if you need to talk I’m always here for you sweetness.”

Yeah that did it.

Sol’s pants felt so tight as the curve of your ass shifted on and off his hard, clothed cock, and he bit his lip to try and stifle any noises as you moved around. His hands gripped your waist as he spoke into your ear, low and raspy.

Sol’s hands trembled as they clutched your waist, his knuckles whitening with restraint. “Please… sit still,” he begged, his voice strained and heavy with need.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider his plea, your lips curling into a wicked smile. “Hmm, I don’t know,” you teased, shifting just slightly, enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. “You seem a little tense, Sol. Are you sure you’re okay?”

His eyes darted to yours, wide and desperate. “I-I need… I should go.”

Before you could respond, he gently lifted you off his lap and bolted from the table, his long strides carrying him toward the exit of the library and to the left, down the hall to where the bathrooms were tucked away.

You watched him disappear through the library exit, a slow grin spreading across your face. How adorable. He thought he could hide from you.

Leaving your things behind, you followed. The hallway leading to the bathrooms was dimly lit, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above, reminding you for a moment of how shitty this university could be.

You pushed the door open silently, locking it behind you with ease and stepped inside, finding Sol leaning over the sink, his head bowed, gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles were pale. He was panting, looking as if he might pass out from just being teased by you, his hard-on visible to you as it strained against his pants.

“Running away from me, Sol?” you asked, your voice lilting as you closed the distance between you.

He froze, lifting his head up instantly, his reflection in the mirror staring back at you, panic swirling in his bright eyes. “W-What are you doing here?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he turned around to face you.

You stopped just behind him, close enough that your breath brushed along the nape of his neck. “You ran off so suddenly… I got worried,” you murmured, your fingers trailing lightly along the edge of his sleeve, brushing his fingers with yours. “What’s wrong, Sol? Did I do something wrong?”

“N-no,” he choked out, refusing to meet your gaze. His hands flexed against the sink, and you noticed the way his shoulders tensed, his whole body tense with barely-contained frustration.

“You’re lying to me,” you whispered, stepping closer, your chest now pressed flush against his. You slid your hands up his arms slowly, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. “You’re so worked up, Sol… what were you planning to do while you're here?”

“I—I wasn’t going to–” he stuttered, but the words died on his lips as your hands moved to his waist, your fingers brushing along the waistband of his pants.

“Shh,” you cooed, standing on the tips of your toes and brushing some of his hair out of the way to press a gentle kiss to his neck. “No need to lie to me sweetness. I already know.”

His breath hitched audibly, and his hands clenched the sink harder as he fought to maintain control. “You can’t just… do this to me,” he rasped, his voice breaking with desperation.

“Do what?” you asked innocently, your lips trailing to his ear. “Help you? Because it seems to me like you need it, Sol.”

You let your fingers dip lower, teasing the button of his pants as you whispered, “So tell me… do you want my help?”

His resolve crumbled in an instant. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice barely more than a whimper. “Please.”

Sol’s hands gripped the edge of the sink so tightly, his knuckles were turning white with restraint, but his body was betraying him. He was trembling with need, his chest heaving, every breath shallow and hitched. You could feel his thighs tremble as your hands deftly moved to unzip his pants, undoing some buttons along the way.

You took your time, savoring the moment with this gorgeous man crumbling under your touch and gaze. Slowly, you pressed your body flush against his, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. You could feel the stiffness of his arousal, throbbing against the confines of his boxers, and it made your own… area pulsate in response.

“Sol…” you whispered against his ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. So desperate for me.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands still resting against the sink, his body shaking as if he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

“I can’t… I can’t take it anymore,” he groaned, his voice cracking. “I need you… now.”

You smiled, a wicked grin spreading across your face. You knew exactly what he wanted, what his body was begging for. You slid your fingers down the waistband of his boxers, barely grazing his skin, and Sol’s breath hitched, his hips jerking forward in anticipation.

“Patience, Sol,” you teased, your fingers circling his cock gently, slowly, barely touching but just enough contact to make him shudder. “You’ve been so good for me so far, haven’t you?”

His hands flexed against the sink again, and he let out a low, guttural moan. “I need you,” he whispered again, more urgently now, his voice raw with desperation.

You didn’t make him wait any longer.

With a swift motion, you freed him from the remains of his clothing, your hands finally wrapping around his cock completely. Sol’s body jerked at the contact, his head falling forward onto your shoulder as a sharp gasp left his lips. He was so sensitive, so responsive, and it made your heart race.

“You’re mine now,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding. You began to move your hand slowly, torturously, teasing him just enough to make him squirm, but never enough to let him find release.

Sol’s breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with need, his hands gripping the counter as if it was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart. “Fuck…” he muttered. “Please… I can’t take it.”

“You can take it, Sol,” you whispered, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve made it this far, haven’t you? You’re going to finish when I tell you to. Understand?”

He nodded his head, never disagreeing with your demands, his eyes were glazed with lust for you, his body twitching with every slow stroke from your hands. “Yes… Yes, I understand.”

Sol whined softly to himself, as you jerked your hand up and down. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, only for you to sweetly tell him to open them back up, of course he obeyed, watching your slow, deliberate movements. The way you were hovering over him right now, your eyes boring into his, as your hands were wrapped around his cock, applying more pressure.

“You’re being so good for me Sol…” you purred, slowly sinking towards the ground, not caring about being in a bathroom, or even caring that you were doing this at your university. You looked up at him sweetly, asking him politely to hold your hair back, and he did it right away, after all how could he refuse?

He gently pulled all your hair back, somewhat neatly wrapping it around his hand, careful to not pull too tightly. He felt your warm hand gently stroke his cock, your lips just inches away, so so close.

Then you started to tease him. Licking up the underside of his length, gently pressing kisses from the base to the tip, your tongue teasing him as he whimpered and started to shake underneath you, completely submitting himself to you.

He could feel your hot breath as you hummed and toyed around with him. You slowly started to take his whole length into your mouth, inch by inch until your nose was pressed against his pelvis. He was in heaven.

Sol gasped at the sensation, his hand tugging at your hair as he watched you bob your head up and down, your hot, wet mouth, and shivered at the way his cock hit the back of your throat.

“P-Please… hah… pumpkin…” Sol called out for you. His legs shook gently as his climax slowly built up, soft moans and whimpers escaping his lips as he bit down on one hand to muffle his noises, your tempo never letting up as you continued to suck on him.

“Can I cum? Please… let me cum for you pumpkin.” He was begging quietly in the bathroom, watching you suck and hearing you make a muffled ‘mhm’ noise with your pretty plump lips wrapped around him, granting him permission without words.

Within seconds, his hands flew to the back of your head, pushing you down as he came into your mouth, moaning softly as he did, and you graciously let him, taking it all as you felt his fingers dig into your scalp. After a few moments he took a deep breath, releasing his grip on you, and falling back against the cool countertop of the bathroom sink.

You looked up at him sweetly, sticking your tongue out to show him that you had swallowed it all.

Freak.

Slowly, you started to stand up with a satisfied smile, your eyes meeting Sol’s pretty red-orange ones. He was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling, his skin flushed with heat.

You took a step back, eyes never leaving his, and fixed your own clothes with a bit of deliberate slowness, just to tease him. You tucked your shirt back into your uniform skirt, your fingers trailing over the fabric that dipped between your breasts, noticing that Sol’s gaze followed your every movement, still dazed, and still processing everything that had just happened in the bathroom.

Once you were finished, you stepped closer to him, your body just inches away from his. You tilted your head slightly, studying him with that playful glint in your eyes.

“Guess we’re even now, huh?” you whispered, your lips curling into a sly grin.

Sol’s eyes flickered to yours, his confusion evident even with that lingering haze of pleasure clouding his mind. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “I know you’ve been sneaking into my apartment at night, Sol… I can hear you when you’re outside my window, and well… playing with yourself in my bed.”

You pulled back, eyes locking with his as you saw the way his pupils dilated, the sudden panic flashing in his gaze. “I’ll make it easier for you though and leave the window unlocked for you tonight, darling,” you purred, your voice dripping with both sweetness and mischief.

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you straightened up, straightening your clothes one last time, watching as Sol stood frozen, his expression a mixture of disbelief and awe.

“Don’t keep me waiting, okay?” you teased, giving him a quick kiss, before turning away and walking towards the door.

You pulled it open, leaving him standing in the bathroom alone to process what had just happened, as you stepped out into the hallway. The last thing you heard before the door clicked shut was his soft mutter, “Damn… she knows?”

You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself as you walked away, knowing exactly what would happen that night. He was yours from now on.

🌱˖ ִֶָ 𓂃⭒

[ace-of-zaun]

Kiss Me More. pt 2:

silco x f!reader - 1.8k words - SFW

series summary: “Whatever, all I’m saying is, I can teach you how to kiss,” Silco insists, before adding just a little too nonchalantly, “You know, if you want to.”

cw: first dates, jealous silco, silco is a little shit, silco causing problems on purpose, mild angst, mild sexual references, fluff, friends to lovers, young silco

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4

-

One agonising, excruciatingly long week later and neither you nor Silco have mentioned the kiss again. In fact, Silco has been so weird, (well, weirder than he normally is anyhow) that you’re genuinely starting to worry you accidentally damaged some of his brain cells when you pulled on his hair. 

He holds himself all weirdly now, like he’s forgotten how sitting or standing works. And he stares and stares and stares at you, and then scowls when you look back or ask him what’s wrong. 

You even catch him just standing staring at your bedroom door one day, smack bang in the middle of the corridor, but when you question what he’s doing he just grunts at you and slams into his own bedroom, the tips of his ears flushed crimson.

This, frankly unhinged, behaviour continues right up until you’re leaving for your date with Seven. 

Vander, the wonderful, had said you looked lovely, and Silco, the prat, had just scowled at your outfit and crossed his arms in a huff.

Not wanting to spend the whole of your first ever date giving a rage-fuelled rant about your idiot best friend, you’d taken a deep breath and magnanimously chosen to just roll your eyes at him, instead of picking a fight. 

You can get him back later by unpicking the seams of his favourite shirt, anyway. That’ll show him. 

But as you’d looked over your shoulder to say goodbye to the boys, fingertips hanging loosely off the door handle, you’d caught Silco surreptitiously looking you up and down with a surprisingly soft look on his face. 

It had thrown you for a bit of a loop, the little motion and facial expression re-playing in your head over and over again as you’d walked through the streets of Zaun…

But then there’s no time to think of it anymore because you’re suddenly on your date with Seven - who you think you like. It’s a bit difficult to tell, honestly. 

The date goes well (you guess, you’ve never been on one before, so there’s nothing to really compare it to). He’d taken you to dinner at one of the local food stalls because the restaurants on The Promenade are far, far too expensive, but at least the food had been familiar. 

Plus, it was way nicer than any of Sil’s burnt, home-made meals… Probably. (Okay, maybe you’ve grown a little bit fond of them after all this time.)

You and Seven had talked for most of the date. And you’d gotten to know each other a little bit better. Well, you’d got to know Seven better; you didn’t really get much of a chance to talk about yourself, in between his monologues. 

And sure, you didn’t kiss, but he did hold your hand on the way home. 

Now, as you reach your apartment building, Seven insists on walking you up to your flat, even gesturing for you to climb the stairs before him with a sweep of his arm. And when you finally arrive outside your apartment door, he turns to you with a strange, smug look on his face. 

“Well, I suppose this brings an end to our evening,” he says, voice dropping in a way that you assume is meant to be seductive, but honestly just makes him sound like he needs a cough drop. “But there is one more thing I want to do before I leave.”

Before you even have a chance to respond, Seven is backing you up against the door, arms slithering around you until they rest low around your waist (a little too low if you’re being honest). An uncomfortable feeling settles in your chest but then he’s leaning down and lining his lips up with yours and-

Shit, this is it. He’s going to kiss you. 

You heave a sharp intake of breath and desperately try to remember everything Silco had told you during your little practice session, but it’s currently quite difficult to think properly when your heart is drumming in your chest and your hands are shaking. 

Of course, thinking about Silco must summon him because instead of feeling the sensation of lips on lips, you’re suddenly experiencing the sensation of falling, as the door opens behind you. 

Without the solid, wooden surface holding your upper back in place, you tip backwards with a squeal, only saved from falling flat on your arse by Seven tightening his arms around you and setting you back on your feet. 

Instantly, you want his suffocating arms off of you, so you subtly shove him away as you turn to face the culprit of the opening door. 

“Silco!”

“Hey, you’re back,” he announces, a little too casually. It doesn’t match his bizarre, half-amused, half-something-else expression at all. Or the death grip he has on the door frame. “Great, we need to change the bed sheets.” 

You almost sputter at the choice of phrasing. Not his bed sheets, the bed sheets, like there’s only one bed in the apartment, and needing to change them implies…

Before you can clarify, because you don’t want your date getting the wrong idea, Silco turns to look at Seven, eyes narrowing dangerously. 

Uh, oh. You know that look. That’s his ‘I’m going to make your life a fucking misery’ look. 

“Oh, who’s your little friend?” Silco asks, voice deceptively sweet. 

“Seven,” he responds, holding a hand out for Sil to shake, which he promptly ignores. “And you are?”

“Really, very busy right now, so if you’ll just excuse us.” Silco dismisses him, resting one hand on the small of your back as he tries to herd you through the doorway and into the flat. 

You squirm out of his grasp, annoyance levels rising until they’re practically reaching Piltover. 

“Silco, just get the stuff out the airing cupboard and I’ll be with you in a min-"

“It’s okay, baby girl, I’d best be going anyway.” Seven interrupts you, stepping even closer to you. His voice does that stuffy, flu thing again, and he acts like he’s speaking only to you, but it’s definitely loud enough for Silco to hear. “I had a great time this evening.”

“Me too.” You smile at him with tight lips, despite it being a bit of a lie. It just feels like it’s something you’re supposed to say at the end of a date. 

“I’d love to do it again sometime,” he continues, voice taking on an overly suggestive tone. “I’ll see you at the shop? We can arrange another date… maybe some late night swimming?”

You feel your face heat up at the thought, and it certainly doesn’t help that Silco is a foot away, burning a hole into the side of your skull. 

Janna, you really hope Seven doesn’t try to kiss you again in front of Sil, you think you might die of embarrassment. You pretend to scratch at your nose, subtly covering your mouth, just in case he tries again. 

“Uh, I'll see you later,” you say noncommittally. “Goodnight, Seven.”

Except, it doesn’t seem to work because he just grabs the hand covering your face and brings it up to his lips, pressing a rough kiss against your fingers. It’s an effort not to squirm. 

“Goodnight, princess,” he drawls, winking when you just stare at him.

Then, he finally notices the intense death stare Silco is sending his way, dropping your hand to shoot daggers back at your best friend before turning on his heel and sauntering down the stairs. 

With Seven gone, a weird sense of relief floods through you, but it quickly dissipates, leaving you with nothing but the urge to smack Silco round the back of his stupidly beautiful head. You don’t, though. 

Instead, you march back inside the flat, hackles raised as Silco closes the door behind you and leans back on it. He dusts his hands off with two wide sweeps up and down like the dramatic idiot he is. 

“And good riddance.”

Slowly, you turn to face him fully, carefully watching his eyes widen slightly in mild alarm. 

“What the hell was that?”

“What?” he asks, really, genuinely confused. 

You could throttle him. 

“That!” 

“I’m afraid I don’t quite know what you mean,” Silco replies. 

“You were so rude to him!” you explode. “And you…” 

You want to say that he implied that the two of you share a bed, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. Hell, you know your cheeks are absolutely burning at just the thought of it. (And not even just the usual things you think of when sharing a bed with someone, but even just the thought of waking up next to him, seeing him when he’s all relaxed and soft in the morning. It hurts to even picture it.)

“Yeah, well, I don’t like him.” Silco interrupts your runaway daydream. 

“Why? You don't even know him!” you protest. 

“I just don’t like the look of him.”

“Silco!" 

“What? I don’t think he’s right for you. I mean, did you hear him? I had a lovely evening, princess, why don’t we go skinny dipping for our next date, doll.” The mocking accent he puts on is far from flattering. “Ugh, what a slimeball.”

“He doesn’t even sound like that!” You don’t know why you even bother protesting, he’s clearly on a roll. 

“And what kind of a name is Seven, anyway? Do you think his parents hated him too? Do you think that’s why he’s such a prick?”

You sigh heavily. 

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, turning away from him to walk through the living room and towards your bedroom. 

Except you don’t get very far because Silco catches your hand and gently pulls you back to him, until you’re stood holding hands in the middle of the room. 

“Wait, I actually need your help making my bed,” he says, face and voice melting into something genuine (and irritatingly endearing). 

But not endearing enough after all the shit he’s been putting you through this last week. 

You pull your fingers out of his grip and slap at his hand when he tries to grab them again. 

“Get Vander to do it,” you snap, perhaps a little too harshly. 

“But he’s still at work!” He’s borderline pleading now. 

“Well, you’ll just have to sleep in dirty sheets then, won’t you?” You say, muttering a sardonic little, “Twat,” under your breath as you finally walk away. 

Predictably, Silco is in a massive sulk for a ridiculous amount of time after that.

He doesn’t even stop when you finally offer to help him change his bed sheets, watching him messily tucking the corners of the bed sheets under his threadbare mattress in silence, until you bat his hands away and show him how to do it properly (honestly, the boy is useless without you). 

By the end of the week, you decide that you just don’t understand him and probably never will. (It still doesn’t stop you from thinking about him every second of every day, though.)

-

PART 3

-

super secret taglist: @oceansssblue @inolaphoenix @holographicgarden

[buckytakethewheel]

it's been a long, long time [part 1]

Summary: Sergeant Bucky Barnes from the 107th gets injured a lot. And when he does, there's only one nurse he lets touch him. Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Female Nurse!Reader Warnings/tags: Bucky is injured (shoulder gunshot, not very detailed because this is my first time working with medical terms); unrequited crush (for now and only if you kinda squint); no use of Y/N; unbeta'd Word count: 2.5k Notes: so, I don't know how many years after i last wrote a thing...... i am back to writing things! i've had this idea for a while. i apologize for typos, i wrote this in a couple of hours and really wanted to get this first part out there asap :) hope you guys like it!

War breeds misery. You are of the opinion that it could never bring anything good; it won't even bring peace, not a real one. War breeds misery and soldiers, who go back home broken and bruised, and not just physically. Many of them don’t even return home. Those who do, leave a part of them behind.

But you’re a silly little girl, and you had read once in a book that the best thing a girl could be in this world was a beautiful little fool. So you spoke to no one about your disdain for war. No one would want to hear a pretty woman talk about it, anyway. And you did your part, as everyone else in the country did.

You were a nurse back home. Lived to see too many people die on your hands, many of them from stupid, small things. When the war comes, you tell your family goodbye and you’re sent off to England. Things are worse, there. Your knowledge doesn’t feel enough. Every week, more people die than you could have ever saved in a lifetime working at the local hospital.

Today, however, there has yet to be death on your hands. You're tending to a wounded soldier who's not going to die from his injury. Some shrapnel lodged in his arm, but by the time you finish disinfecting it, he'll be good to go and fight some more. Probably die another day, from another injury. Maybe in your hands, maybe in another nurse’s.

You’re chatting casually with the soldier while you clean his wound when you recognize a very familiar, particularly loud voice in the tent.

"No one's gonna have a look at it unless it's her." The voice hisses through clenched teeth, and it couldn't sound more annoyed while, simultaneously, annoying.

Sergeant Barnes has been a difficult pain in your side at camp. Whenever he's wounded, he'll come crawling to you — says you're the most capable nurse in camp, won't let any other nurses tend to his wounds, but you know he's being impossible on purpose.

The first time Sergeant Barnes was brought to the field station, he had been near a loud explosion and lost part of his hearing for a few hours. He was terrified it would be permanent. He landed on your hands and you watched over him, did some tests, didn’t find anything particularly wrong that would dictate permanent damage.

Next time, a blast injury to the leg. Jessica, another nurse, was supposed to tend to him. He asked for you. You weren’t busy with any other soldier, so you obliged.

From the third time on, it was like clockwork. No other nurse could touch him - it was either you, or no one, to the point the Captain once walked into the tent already yelling your name. “Nurse, check out Barnes immediately!”

It doesn’t take a lot of brains to figure Sergeant Barnes out. He thinks you’re pretty, and this is his way of flirting his way to you. And you’re not blind - he’s a handsome man. But you’re not looking to find romance in the middle of war, where he could leave tomorrow and never return. No, you wouldn’t go down that path.

Back to the present, you excuse yourself from the soldier you're taking care of, and you walk in the direction of the Sergeant's voice. Barnes is half-sitting on a chair, shirt covered in blood around the right shoulder area, and Nurse Beth is giving him an exasperated look as she tries to convince him she is just as capable as anyone else in here. "Sergeant Barnes, you were shot, I need to take a look at—"

"No." He interrupts immediately, his voice stern. Then, he sees you and his expression lightens up almost in a second, a boyish grin settling on his lips.

"Beth," you say softly. "Could you please finish tending to Corporal Johnson? It’s a simple injury. I’ll care for Sergeant Barnes."

Beth seems happy to run from this hell-given situation, and she leaves without making a fuss. You approach Barnes with a stern look. "Sergeant. You cannot keep doing this. All nurses at camp are perfectly capable of tending to all your wounds."

"None have your hands," he says with a stupid grin. "And I thought we agreed you'd call me Bucky."

You raise an eyebrow while you find the necessary tools for treating his wound on a nearby cart. "We didn't agree to anything. You made a request, and I ignored it."

"Shouldn't be ignoring Sergeant's orders," Barnes says, and he sounds way too smug for his own good. You'd like to slap him out of it, but that wouldn't be much of a good idea.

"Thankfully, I'm not a soldier, so I'm not under your orders," you reply, and that seems to throw him off balance for a minute before he regains his composure and is smirking again. You wish that smirk didn’t mess you up as much as it did. It would make this easier if you were a little more impermeable to his obvious flirting.

"Lord, I missed your quick wit. Had to get myself shot to find an excuse to come talk to you again," he answers, and something about his tone really feels like he's being way too honest.

You ignore that specific remark.

"Relax, Sergeant. Let me take a look at your wound." You put on a pair of gloves before you slowly move his shirt down. On his shoulder, there's a small bullet wound, the skin slightly pushed in with a ring of red around it and some gunpowder staining the skin. On his back, there's an exit wound — bigger, tissue pushed out, an irregular shape. You hum in quiet approval, like the sight isn’t as bad as all the blood on his shirt would have led you to believe. "Good news, the bullet came out and it didn't leave fragments behind. We just have to disinfect the wound and patch you up, and you'll be ready to go."

"So I won't have to stay overnight for observation?" Barnes almost sounds hopeful, but you shake your head no with a chuckle. "I really need to learn to get shot in more dangerous places. What could get me killed? Femoral artery?"

"Sergeant Barnes," you call out, and there's a clear hint of scolding in your tone. "Don't joke about things like that. I deal with a lot of serious injuries every day. They're ugly and nasty, and worst of all — they really do get you killed."

"You could stop me from being reckless if you just told me I am your favorite patient," he answers, smug again, like he's just downplaying your scolding. "And do I have to beg to get you to call me Bucky? I'll do it, I'm not against the prospect of getting on my knees for you." The double entendre in his last sentence isn't lost on you, but you ignore it. Mostly. Your body does not, because your cheeks turn a light shade of red, and Bucky absolutely notices. Oh, he notices. Bastard even sits a little more upright on his chair, eyes trailing over your face.

"I can't have favorite patients," you say, and then you add, like something in you has cracked a little, "—Bucky."

That seems to crack a bit of his smug exterior, too. Like, somehow, he wasn’t truly expecting you to actually follow suit and call him by his preferred nickname. And now he thinks that name will never sound as pretty in anyone else’s mouth.

"I won't tell if you won't," he murmurs to you, and it sounds a little too sinful to be appropriate. You ignore it. Lord, you're doing a whole lot of ignoring when Bucky is around.

"Lean back. I'll take care of that wound now," you say, trying to sound as calm and professional as you can. Your fingers work masterfully over the wound, careful, disinfecting with alcohol and cleaning the blood with a white, soft rag before you give him a pitiful look. "The stitches will sting a bit, Sergeant Barnes."

He gives you a mischievous grin. "Glad I have your pretty face to keep me distracted, then."

There's a certain soft touch in the way your hands work on stitching his skin, a softer touch than you would normally use with the other soldiers. No, you would never admit that Bucky was your favorite patient, but you can't help but have a certain tenderness in the way you take care of him. You're not sure he realizes it. But you also have a very specific sense of humor, and you don't try to hide when you pinch his skin a little harsher than necessary the first time the needle goes through the skin.

Bucky doesn't make a full noise, but he hisses through his teeth. "I thought my pretty face was distracting you," you comment, clearly amused. He squints his eyes at you, like he's realizing you did it on purpose.

“Didn’t think you had a mean streak in you.” He says back, but after a moment of slight sting in his body, he’s grinning at you. Again. “I like it.” Is all he says before he goes quiet, watching you work.

You finish the stitches relatively fast, and then you cover them with some gauze, protecting them from possible infection.

“You’re all done, Sergeant.” You say, patting him on his good shoulder. He doesn’t seem to appreciate how you’re back to calling him that instead of Bucky. You open the medicine cabinet and grab a bottle of pain killers before handing them to him. “These will help you manage the pain. In a normal situation, I would give you some antibiotics, but we are trying to ration those for more serious situations. I think you’ll heal just fine. In any case-” A deliberate pause, because you know the next part is going to elicit a reaction from him. “-I would recommend you come in every day to change the bandage, so we can keep it clean and lower the risk of infection. At least for the first week.”

And you were right about the reaction, because Bucky is smiling, ear to ear, as he grabs the bottle from your hand. His fingers brush against yours when he does, the touch a little rough, and they linger on your skin for a little longer than necessary.

“So I will have an excuse to come see you every day.” He says, like he’s suddenly a kid who has been offered the biggest piece of candy in the store.

“It’s not an excuse. You do need to come in every day to change the bandage. I would prefer if you let all the nurses take care of you, though.”

“No.” He answers way too quickly, and his expression is not hard, but there’s an uncomfortable shift to it. It’s quieter when he speaks again. “Just you. If that’s okay.”

If that’s okay.

Well. It’s not like you mind it. You find it strangely affectionate that since June, the first time Sergeant Barnes stepped foot in this camp, there is a sense of routine and normalcy to your life. Soldiers come and go, almost too many different faces to remember. And then, a few days every week, in comes Sergeant Barnes. The one face that is always the same in the mess. His ocean blue eyes, staring at you like you’re God sent in this hell of a place. Hands that sometimes try to reach half-way and see if your own cross the rest of the way. You never did. Even though a part of you wanted to.

“Okay.” You say, after a moment of silence that definitely stretched too long. “Let whichever nurse receives you know that I gave you the okay to ask for me specifically.”

He seems content with that answer. Slowly, he stands up from his chair and dresses the half-destroyed shirt over his torso again, the blood dry and brown staining his right shoulder. He slides the bottle of pills inside the back pocket of his pants and, for half a second, there’s a look in his eyes. A shift, something softer than the usual flirting. Inquiring. There’s a question behind his eyes.

“We are having a get together tomorrow night.” He finally says when he figures he is tired of holding it back. “Bonfire, stupid music, the whole lot. A part of the unit is returning to camp and we like to welcome back the survivors with some good times.” It takes him a second to continue, and it feels like he’s reaching for the right words. You feel slightly uncomfortable, but you don’t make anything of it. “You should join us.”

Of course you know what he’s talking about. It isn’t the first time, and surely won’t be the last, that the soldiers do this. It’s good for morale, they say, and you think you believe them. Anytime soldiers come back, a lot of dead come with them. But the living are there by their side, dreading, seeing their future laying in a gurney next to them. They need to be reminded of a little happiness, even if fleeting.

Nurses will usually be in attendance, too - they look pretty while they sit on soldier’s laps, singing some happy songs about better times. They dance together, make them happy for a night. Some of them will disappear into the nearby woods for an hour or two. Come back with their hair disheveled and their clothes messed up.

You don’t usually go. Not because you’re not invited - in fact, you didn’t need the Sergeant’s invitation, and you know his words mean something closer to ‘I’d like to see you there’ - but because the fleeting happiness didn’t particularly work for you. Never in your life did you feel as hollow as you do these days, working to save people who could be killed tomorrow, or the day after, in an instant. It feels pointless and stupid to sing along to pretty little tunes while people are dying for things you don’t defend.

Sergeant Barnes says your name and you’re brought back to your senses, realizing you were a little lost in thought.

“Sergeant Barnes-” You begin, and in a second, his hand wrapping around one of your wrists. It’s soft and quick and you are a little startled because he’s never been this direct. Of course you have noticed him staring, of course you’ve heard his thousand different ways of flirting and saying you have a pretty face - but the touch was new. He never touched you before.

“Bucky. Please. I mean it.” Your stomach does a flip at the way he speaks, because does Sergeant Barnes - well, Bucky - sound… vulnerable? “You don’t have to say yes right now, but, maybe, don’t say no yet?” Hopeful. Vulnerable and hopeful.

“Bucky-,” you start, finally giving into his request fully. He smiles at that. “I will think about it.”

And you do. Tonight, when you go back to the sleeping tent and you lay in the hard mattress, under the cold sheets, you think about sitting by the bonfire with Bucky by your side.

[aangelinakii]

BATBOYS + BEING THEIR BENCHPRESS.

....because who doesn't want to be lifted by a really fit vigilante !!!!?????

characters written about in this piece : bruce wayne, dick grayson, tim drake, duke thomas

warning : mention of weight and bodies but it's not critical, but you're lit being lifted

note : thank you so much to the person who suggested it !!! we already had push-ups soooo this ties in perfectly !

note 2 : this is my first fic after a stupid long writer's slump, so sorry if it's a bit shit i will do better in the future !

BRUCE WAYNE.

watching bruce wayne work out ??? and you get it all to yourself ??? you thank the lord for it every day

you'd been trying to not bother him too much, but sometimes a person can't help themselves. each time he rested, the metal clanging against its holder as he dropped the bar, you pulled him from his flow

"that looks really difficult"

"i can't believe i get to just thirdwheel your workouts"

"what do you want for dinner?"

by the time he had put down the bar for the fourth time, you opened your mouth to speak, say something about how good he looked with his gelled hair coming out of its cast, the beads of sweat drooling down his temple, tracing collarbone and down to chest

but bruce cut you off

"hey, come here, will you?"

and who are you to say no to that ?

as you approached, bruce leaned back again on the bench, broad chest and big, toned arms all there on display

"what do you need me for?" you'd asked, belly bubbling in anticipation. you couldn't tell if you loved or hated how he had such a chokehold on you

bent slightly at the elbow, he raised his arms up

"want to push myself for my last set"

and, god, was he already sweating

with his help, you attempted to balance on his two large hands, calloused and certain.

though the world was not privy to it, this man was the vigilante detective who perused gotham city once the sun lowered beneath the industrial skyline

you trusted yourself in his hands; the flutter beneath your ribs never-ending as he lowered you down to his chest, and pressed you back into the air with ease

the weight he was using before had to have been tens more than what he was pushing now

DICK GRAYSON.

laughter trickled throughout the bedroom, sunlight beaming through the cracks in the blinds, opening in the sheer curtains

the product of what could only be the laziest of mornings, you'd found yourself hovering, quite literally, above your boyfriend

his legs had come out from under the sheets to hold you up, placed on your lower stomach to take most of your weight; the muscles in dick's arms were straining, extended up, fingers interlocked with yours

and, as you stared down at him, you could only muster more laughs, more giggles

something more nerves than anything

"i'm scared!" you pushed out past your grin

"i'm not gonna drop you," dick replied, laugh huffing past his own lips, tugged so tight in a toothy smile that dimples had etched into the plump flesh of his cheeks, dimples you weren't even sure he'd ever had before. "i promise!"

nerves shooting down your arms, you felt yourself wobble

and you were falling

it wasn't a long drop, nor a hard one,, dick brought his knees in to slow you down, arms coming around your shoulders, holding you in close to his bare chest

you hadn't fallen, it was more like he'd purposely pulled you in

with dick grayson, you could never tell purpose from accident, for they were all as flawlessly executed as each other

laughs spilled once more, yours and his mixing, like meeting chocolate and vanilla; an unbeatable match

"hold on, i want to try something..."

dick's arms squirmed from beneath you, pushing you up slightly

"does involve me being in a position to fall again?" you half-joked

although you trusted him, too much falling and you were sure you'd get some brain damage

"maybe"

without any further convincing, you were laying horizontally across dick's chest, his arms placed firmly beneath you, hands digging softly into skin

TIM DRAKE.

"we could totally do this," you hummed as you turned the phone screen towards him

tim's eyes flickered up from where they had been on his own phone, and the corner of his mouth immediately curled in a smile. "hell yeah, we'd break records"

those words quickly led to your phone perching against a stack of books on tim's desk, leaving an area of space in the middle of his room for your antics

you tapped the red record button and ran back to tim, where he stood a couple feet back

"okay, first things first, which one should we do? do you think you could deadlift me?" you asked, prepared to cut and splice the conversation between efforts once the filming finished

tim stood for a moment, index finger tracing his lips like he were deep in thought... "let's start with the trickier things first, so i won't struggle with them later. i'll bench you."

well, you weren't going to argue with that

you might get squashed when it's your turn to bench him, but you could still try

tim was quick to lay himself flat on his back, making sure he was comfortable, before he lifted his arms up, beckoning you over

of course you knew he was strong, but his lean, skinnier build did cast some doubt over you

with a breath, you attempted to stay rigid as you lay along his hands, his arms immediately beginning to tremor, just slightly

he could do this, of course he could do this

it's being filmed, he doesn't want to embarrass himself too badly

exhaling and inhaling softly, tim began to lower you down slowly, urging his legs to stay still on the ground

once you were so low your clothes brushed against his chest, he pushed up in a quick, though controlled movement

tim was the first one to react, half a gasp, half a laugh running through his throat, and you gave a cheer, clambering off him as safely as possible

perhaps it was the fact tim had been able to do it that gave you the bright idea, the shining courage, that had to shooting to the floor with haste

but as soon as you felt even half of tim's weight on one hand, barely even laying along the other, you could feel the air practically running from your lungs

if you were going to get crushed, at least it would be the man you still had a crush on

DUKE THOMAS.

day bleeding into night, duke found himself eating some dinner on the couch, half his attention on the meaty aroma, half his attention on what show to watch whilst he ate

a door closed somewhere else in the apartment — probably the bathroom — and you came rushing in, phone in hand

"do you think you could lift me?" you asked, causing duke to tear his eyes away from the modern family rerun he had stopped on, chewing coming to a stop

"yeah." he chewed a few more moments. "why?"

placing your phone on the coffee table, you spread your arms. "i mean, actually lift me!"

a breathy chuckle brushed duke's lips as he leaned forward to set down his plate and the remote, and climb to his feet

without another beat, he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, just for a few seconds, before carefully placing you back down upon your feet

he moved to sit back down, but your voice stopped him

"that was great and all, but i mean lift. like lift me, like you're at the gym"

duke's eyebrows furrowed, though he stood back to his full height. "where on earth are you getting these ideas from?"

"the internet," you replied, like it were obvious, like it were funny

"so, what do you want me to do?"

"lie down on the ground"

"ground? really? i just started eating"

"then you'll work up your appetite, i want to see if you can bench me"

a more genuine laugh sounded now, and duke followed through, discarding his meal on the coffee table to lay down for you

when you balanced out upon his two hands, warm, safe, not going to falter, you soon began moving

there was never a doubt duke couldn't benchpress you, but you hadn't realised exactly how proficient he was going to be

[gardenwons]

The road to rejection

SYNOPSIS: Three miles, a pocket full of poems, and one stubborn poet knocking on the same door, hoping that no might eventually rhyme with yes. PAIRINGS: poet!jungwon x hard to get!reader GENRE: fluff just fluff, angst (if u squint), literally hopeless romantic vibes also lowk loser!jw i lovv A/N: inspired by henry wadsworth longfellow’s story with his wife, it was too sweet to not make jw a lovesick puppy. anws i highly suggest u guys read about his life lol

It started with a wrong turn.

Jungwon had been walking home from his poetry class, his head full of verses and not enough sense to look up from his notebook. The ink on the page was still wet when he crashed straight into you- books flying, curses slipping, and a coffee cup spilling down the front of your perfectly pressed blazer.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me" you hissed, stepping back as the dark stain spread across your perfectly pressed blazer, the smell of cheap espresso filling the air like a bad punchline to a joke you didn’t find funny.

Jungwon’s mouth fell open, eyes darting between the puddle on the pavement and the damage on your clothes. His heart stuttered, embarrassment rising faster than the heat in his face. He fumbled with clumsy hands, patting down his pockets for something..maybe a napkin, an apology, or even a way to reverse time. Nothing.

“Some tragedies are best written in stains” he blurted out before his brain caught up with his mouth. The words hung awkwardly between you as his eyes squeezed shut in a desperate attempt to erase them from existence.

Your brows shot up, and your lips curled with scorn. “What?”

When he dared to look again, his gaze landed on your face, memorizing every curve and crease, the sharp arch of your brow, the twist of your lips as you exhaled in disbelief. Heat prickled the back of his neck, and his heart raced as if his own words had betrayed him.

You wiped at your ruined blazer with a resigned sigh, shaking your head as if dealing with a hopeless case. "Then I hope you’re a better poet than a pedestrian" you snapped, brushing past him with quick, purposeful steps.

He turned to watch you walk away, the words lingering like a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. The sound of your voice echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgettable

The next morning, a poem sat crumpled in his hand as he knocked on the door he’d seen you vanish behind.

And so began his journey walking three miles, one heart, endless rejection,  and a muse who never made it easy.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

For weeks, Jungwon walked.

Three miles from his dormitory to your corner of the city, each step a steady rhythm against rain-soaked pavements and autumn leaves that crunched beneath his worn sneakers. The crisp evening air carried the familiar scent of jasmine from your mother’s garden, a fragrance that marked the final stretch of his journey, a pilgrimage guided by longing and stubborn hope.

He knew you would not answer. He knew you would not say yes.

Yet he knocked.

Every time, without fail, you opened the door. Your brow lifted in amused curiosity, and a slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips. You stood there, a picture of untouchable grace framed by the golden glow of the porch light, looking as if you belonged to a world far beyond his reach.

“Still here, Poet?”

“Still here.”

The ritual remained unchanged. He asked if he could walk with you to the market, along the riverside, or anywhere you might let him follow. And, as always, you refused, laughter slipping from your mouth like soft, mocking music, as though he were nothing more than a foolish boy chasing impossible dreams.

“Try again tomorrow, Jungwon. Maybe I’ll say yes when the moon turns green.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

His friends called him mad.

“She’s never going to say yes” Sunghoon sighed, his voice heavy with the kind of exasperated sympathy reserved for fools in love. He slung an arm over Jungwon’s shoulder as they trudged back from your house yet again, the scent of jasmine still lingering faintly on Jungwon’s clothes, as if the very air mocked his persistence.

Jungwon’s gaze remained fixed on the ground ahead, eyes burning with quiet determination as he stepped over fallen leaves and cracked pavement. “Some flowers bloom only in the wild” he muttered, the words low and resolute, as if willing them into a truth he alone believed.

Sunoo, walking just behind them, let out a sharp laugh that bounced between the streetlights. “You’re writing poetry for a wall, my friend” he said, shaking his head, his grin filled with amusement and pity. “She doesn’t even read it. What’s the point?”

Jungwon’s lips curled into a small, stubborn smile. His fingers tightened around the frayed edges of a folded poem resting in his pocket, ink smudged from too many readings, too many dreams scribbled into desperate verses.

“Then I’ll carve it into stone if I must” he whispered, as if confessing a secret only his heart could hear. His voice was soft, but his resolve was unshakable, each word heavy with the weight of devotion that no rejection could crush.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The next day, he walked again.

Three miles stretched out before him, step by aching step, each one an echo of his unshakable devotion. The autumn wind bit at his cheeks and tangled in his dark hair, but he didn’t slow. His feet knew the path as intimately as the lines of his own hands, worn smooth by repetition, driven forward by a longing that lived too deep to name.

In his pocket, a new poem lay folded and creased, the edges softened from the restless grip of his fingers. Ink smudged the corners where he had touched it too many times, tracing words meant for you alone. His heart was a raw, beating thing as he approached your door once more, a fragile offering wrapped in stubborn hope.

When the door opened, it wasn’t the jasmine-scented air or the golden light that stole his breath. It was the sight of you, effortless and unreachable, with eyes that seemed to dance between amusement and something he could never quite catch.

Jungwon drew in a slow breath, his chest tightening as he met your gaze. He spoke before you could beat him to it. “I know you’ll say no.”

You leaned against the frame, crossing your arms as if this were all a game you had already won. “Then why do you keep coming?”

For a moment, silence hung between you, taut and heavy. His eyes held yours without flinching, and in that stillness, the weight of his soul stood bare- raw, unguarded, and fierce with a feeling too vast to contain.

“Because you’re the only answer I want.” His voice was steady, low, and sure, each word cutting like the edge of a blade. “And if I have to write a thousand verses, take a thousand steps just to hear one yes, I will.”

The wind stirred the space between you, cold against his skin, but he felt nothing except the pounding in his chest. His truth had been spoken, a prayer and a promise laid at your feet.

—-----------------------------------------------------

That night, you sat by the window, the dim light of the moon casting long shadows across the room. The stillness of the evening wrapped around you like a quiet secret, and yet, your thoughts raced, unsettled and restless. A strange, unfamiliar warmth had settled in your chest, a warmth that felt like it didn’t belong to you, something uninvited, a quiet stirring that wouldn’t be ignored.

You thought of him. The boy with ink-stained fingers and weary shoes, whose every step seemed to carry the weight of his unspoken feelings. His face, flushed with both embarrassment and determination, came to mind, the way he held himself, always so sure of his purpose, even when you shut the door in his face. You thought of his poems, the ones left unread on your doorstep, crumpled by the cruel wind but still clinging to the faint hope that you might one day read them, might one day understand. You had ignored them, tossed them aside with the same coldness you had shown him, but now, they lingered in your thoughts like the trace of an unanswered question.

His words echoed in your mind, cutting through the silence like a quiet thunder. "Because you're the only answer I want."

You bit your lip, looking out at the darkened streets. The thought of him, the persistence, the belief that something in you was worth the fight, made the warmth inside you grow, unfamiliar but undeniable. What would it feel like to stop turning him away? What would it be like to open the door, to let him in, to finally answer him in a way he hadn’t expected?

For the first time, you wondered if you were the one who had been running all along.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Jungwon went away, seeking peace of mind and space for his scholarly pursuits. The quiet of distant places was a balm to his restless soul, a necessary separation from the world he had tried so hard to win. His letters, once frequent, became infrequent, each one carrying the weight of his thoughts, his poetry, and his quiet heartache. In the last one he wrote to you, he poured his heart onto the paper, the words raw and unguarded, as if he knew this would be the last time he would try to reach you this way.

The letter lay unopened for days, then weeks, and finally, months. You never meant to ignore it, but life had a way of slipping by. The rejection had made it easier to push him aside, to lock away the words that might force you to confront something you weren’t ready to face.

But one evening, after so much time had passed, you finally sat down and read it.

"I leave, not because I want to, but because I need to. I need to find my own way, not as the boy who walked miles to see you, but as someone who can stand on his own, who can breathe without the weight of unrequited love on his chest.

I will never regret these steps, these words, or the way I believed in something that, in the end, was only meant for me.

But perhaps, in time, you will come to understand that my poetry was never about you. It was about me. And even if you never say yes, I will still be the poet who writes, who walks, who lives.

I hope one day, when the moon turns green, you will find yourself ready to say what I long to hear. Until then, I’ll be walking my own path, where I can finally stop chasing after something that can never be mine."

You read those words, and for the first time, you understood. The sting of his absence, the weight of what he had carried all along, settled deep in your chest. You had been too afraid to open your heart, to let him in, and now it was too late. The quiet, stubborn boy had walked away, not in defeat, but in hope for something he had never been able to find with you.

But now, with the words in front of you, you wondered if it was truly the end.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Seven years.

Seven whole years had passed, but the weight of those years felt more like a single breath than the stretch of time they represented. Jungwon had left, chasing peace, running from the ache that had clung to him for too long. In his absence, life had moved on, his friends had changed, she had changed- but he remained tethered to a past that refused to loosen its grip.

When Sunghoon had called for a reunion, Jungwon had agreed without much thought. It wasn’t so much about reconnecting with old friends as it was a quiet test for himself. How much had changed? Had those seven years reshaped him, or had they only deepened the parts of him he’d tried to forget? He hadn’t expected her to be there, not really. But when the door opened and he saw her standing in the room, everything stopped.

It was her- the same face, but sharper, a little more guarded, like she had learned how to protect herself from whatever weight the world had put on her. The smile she gave him was thin, more of a polite gesture than anything else, and it didn’t reach her eyes. For a moment, he was paralyzed by the recognition of everything he had left behind, everything he had lost.

"Jungwon" she said, her voice tentative, as though unsure whether they were still familiar to each other.

He didn’t know what to say. He was supposed to have words for this moment, but all that came out was a soft, “Hey”

Her gaze flickered over him, and he felt the tension coil between them. There were no pleasantries, no casual laughter. Only silence that seemed too loud for everything they had once shared.

"I didn’t expect you to be here" she said, and there was something fragile in her tone, something he hadn’t expected.

Jungwon managed a wry smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his heart. “I could say the same thing.”

The air thickened between them. The years felt impossibly long, but somehow, the moment felt like they were standing in the same place they had been seven years ago. The gap between them wasn’t just time; it was everything they hadn’t said, everything that had been left undone.

“You’ve changed” she said, her voice careful, almost as if she were trying to figure out if he was still the person she remembered.

Jungwon looked at her and shrugged, the faintest surprise pulling at his features. “Yeah, I guess I have. But I think you’ve changed too.”

There was a pause, a beat where neither of them knew what to say, but both of them felt the weight of everything that hadn’t been spoken over the years. Jungwon had rehearsed this moment in his mind countless times, running through apologies and explanations, but now that he stood before her, those words felt foreign, as if they had been left behind in the past where they belonged.

“I never meant to hurt you-” he blurted out, the words slipping from him before he could stop them. “I thought... leaving would be the only way to find peace, but it wasn’t. It didn’t fix anything.”

Her gaze softened for a moment, and for the briefest instant, it felt like she was seeing him again, like the years hadn’t erased everything they once had. Jungwon’s heart twisted. Maybe it was too late, maybe the distance was too wide to cross, but he couldn’t help the flicker of hope that burned quietly in his chest.

“Maybe we’ve been walking in circles all this time” he muttered, almost to himself. “Maybe this is where we’re supposed to be.”

She didn’t answer immediately. She just stood there, looking at him like she was weighing the possibility of what he had said. Her lips quirked, the faintest smile touching the corners of her mouth, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was a smile full of questions, of hesitation, as if she wasn’t sure if they could move forward, or if they even should.

“Maybe” she whispered, barely audible. The word lingered between them, suspended in the air like a promise that could either be broken or fulfilled.

Jungwon stood there, a quiet storm brewing inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was a sign of hope or just the end of something that had never really started. But as they stood there, inches apart and yet a lifetime away, there was something in the silence, something fragile but undeniably real that told him maybe, just maybe, this was worth fighting for.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The soft murmur of the café wrapped around them like a blanket, a comfortable hum that masked the quiet tension between them. The table was small, just a few inches separating them, but it felt like a world apart, the kind of distance that could either keep them apart forever or draw them closer. Neither of them could tell which.

She stirred her coffee, her fingers delicate around the spoon, her movements slow as if she was trying to draw out the moment. Jungwon watched her, his eyes tracing the curve of her fingers, the way she absentmindedly traced the rim of her cup. It felt so familiar, so heartbreakingly normal. Yet, everything about this moment was different, charged with something neither of them was willing to name.

"So, you still write?" she asked, her voice quiet, but there was a softness in it that hadn’t been there the last time they spoke, a gentleness that made his heart skip, just a little.

Jungwon nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I do. Sometimes. Though, I think my poems are a little less hopeful than they used to be."

She met his eyes then, her gaze steady but searching. "What do they say now?"

"Mostly about missing things I didn’t even know I wanted," he said with a half-laugh, the words escaping before he could stop them. His fingers tightened around his cup, the weight of the admission heavier than he expected.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, he thought she might say something, maybe something sharp or maybe something sweet. Instead, she simply nodded, her gaze flickering away to something outside the window. "I guess we’re all writing those kinds of poems now" she murmured.

Jungwon’s heart ached, but he couldn’t look away. "I never stopped thinking about you" he said, the words slipping out before he had a chance to think about them.

Her eyes snapped back to him, wide and unreadable, but there was something softer in them, something more open than before. The way she held his gaze, the way she didn’t look away felt like everything had led to this one moment, the space between them shifting, the distance slowly closing.

"I thought you were gone for good" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought maybe I was better off without you."

Jungwon’s chest tightened at the honesty in her words. He leaned in slightly, his hands clasped on the table, feeling the heat of her presence like it was burning through him. "I thought the same. But I guess some things are harder to forget than others."

There was a long silence after that, a silence that felt thick with everything they had left unsaid, everything they hadn’t been able to say in all the years that had passed. She looked down at her cup, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and for a moment, Jungwon wondered if it was because she was remembering something, too.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was light, but there was a certain warmth to it that made his heart beat faster. "You know, you always did have a way with words."

He smirked, the familiar teasing glint in his eyes. "I think you liked it better when I was just a poet."

Her gaze softened, and she let out a soft laugh, the kind of laugh that only came from long, shared memories. "Maybe... But now? I think I like it better when you’re just here."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the words hanging between them like the unfinished lines of a poem, both beautiful and unresolved. Jungwon couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way, like something was on the edge of being real, but still so fragile that it could slip away at any moment.

When she stood up to leave, Jungwon didn’t move, not right away. There was something in the way she smiled at him that made his chest tighten. She seemed like she might say something more, but instead, she simply glanced at him with that same half-smile he remembered so well.

"I’ll see you again, right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she wasn’t sure if it was okay to ask.

He nodded, his heart in his throat, and smiled. "Yeah, I think you will."

She turned to walk away, her footsteps soft against the floor, and for a moment, Jungwon didn’t move, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure. He could feel the pull between them, the gravity of everything they had yet to say. But as he stood and made his way to the door, he knew one thing for certain:

Maybe they weren’t together yet, maybe they weren’t even sure what they were. But somewhere in that café, in that unspoken moment, there was something real between them, something neither of them was ready to walk away from.

And for the first time in years, Jungwon allowed himself to believe that they were walking toward something worth waiting for.

[sageshouldknowbetter]

So… what are those weird “twin” beings?

In my opinion, one of the terrifying parts of Severance S2E4 was when those Mandela Catalog analog horror-type… things showed up to point the way for the refiners. (This whole episode seems to be pretty inspired by analog horror. I was half-convinced that at the beginning, Mr. Milchick was going to turn into a distorted police sketch captioned “The Milker 😈😱” or something.)

So… what’s their deal? I’m going to explain why I believe they’re not clones, actors, or robots… but something else altogether.

First, they don’t have coats. The twins are outside in an extremely cold climate, standing there for who knows how long, and they don’t. Have. Coats.

If they were really clones (or even hired actors), wouldn’t they need to be warm too? Why would Lumon risk damaging what they undoubtedly worked so hard on (or popsicle-ifying an employee) by dropping them in a freezing climate with no protection?

Some clone truthers would argue that maybe the clones can’t feel pain or sensations yet. They’re not finished: maybe fixing their brains is what MDR is working on. But I find the idea that they are somehow super-resistant to weather a bit harder to swallow. And while the innies are at least smart enough to avoid danger and seek safety, a clone unable to feel pain and with a half-formed brain would have no self-preservation instinct. They might be curious about what happens when they insert a stick between their ribs or go cheerfully gallivanting off a cliff like some kind of suicidal Roomba. Boom. Millions of dollars down the drain.

And there’s another thing they don’t have: footprints. Lumon-hired actors have footprints. Robots have footprints. Clones would have footprints. But the doppelgängers… don’t.

For the clear shots of shadow Helly and shadow Mark, we just see them appear with no tracks to show how they got there. We don’t even hear boots crunching in snow. The only explanations are a) Lumon somehow shot them up to the surface on a Hunger Games-style platform (implying that the ORTBO wasn’t actually outside), b) they got some poor guy (probably Milchick) to hurriedly cover up the footprints as they made them for Maximum Creepy Effect, or c) whatever these things are, they’re not corporeal.

I’d vouch for the latter. Because no matter how dramatic Lumon is, I really don’t think they’d spend THAT egregious an amount of money for a bit of extra goosebumps.

So, then… what are they? I’d say some kind of hologram or Lumon-approved hallucination.

I don’t think the ORTBO actually took place outside. There are many reasons for this. The TV at the beginning and the theremin needed to be plugged into something, there was a large room on Petey’s map called “team-building,” Milchick’s walkie-talkie range would be too small, it’s too risky for Lumon to ask outies to shut off their brains for multiple days in the middle of nowhere… and Lumon wouldn’t actually let the innies outside. Not because it would be dangerous for them, necessarily — but because it would be dangerous for the company.

Lumon doesn’t actually need to take them outside. They don’t want to cause a potential PR scandal from the outies talking about the “work retreat” or risk one of them running away. All they need to do — the whole purpose of the ORTBO — is to make them think the outside world is a terrible place and never want to go there again. The cold is real. The hunger is real. The danger is real (to an extent). But the environment… is not real.

So they can project holograms. They can power the TV and theremin. Milchick can remove the Glasgow BLOCK (the term “block” implies Helly WOULD have usually appeared but was blocked from doing so, and the only place that could happen is the severed floor). They make some basic holograms clearly based on the MDR group picture and boot them up. They don’t need to be realistic. All that matters is the message gets across.

Now all that’s left to wonder is: if Mark and the team were surprised at this team-building, that implies that they’ve never done it before. So how did Petey find it and map it? And why was one of the twins behind Mark in S2E1? We might never know.

[sigmasoyboy]

The primary mean of thermoregulation.

A while ago one of you asked if I would ever write something about Coeus and Hunter's drunk (first) hookup and I'm happy to say I finally finished the drabble I started on this very topic ! Now you can read about this scrawny scientist getting pounded into a sopping wet mess, you're welcome (?)

cw: explicit description of sex, alcohol abuse, mention of fever-induced corpse abuse, poor hygiene, self-hate, ableist language, yearning, pathetic men

Anything gets you wet nowadays. The faintest touch, hell, even when he pushes you around, brutalize you in a primitive show of dominance, you can feel it: the dark spot in your boxer brief. And yet you had not craved sex in months, maybe even years.

The last time you did you were more mad than aroused, fever and desperation guiding your hands like a cat feasting on it’s owner’s tender flesh by instinct after tasting the first drops of blood on it’s raspy tongue. Stress licking, stress kissing, stress rubbing flaccid, rapidly cooling body, as if your burning skin could bring him back.

But the mouth kisses back, and the lips are pleasantly hot, if nearly as raspy as yours. You weren’t calculating anything when you started brewing this piss, neither to attempt an escape or to lower the inhibition of your unwilling housemate for nefarious purposes. Only a bottled up excuse, one to hide behind in case your shoulder lingered a bit too much against his. It’s what drunkards too, that’s all.

You got more than you bargained for. Full, soft chest pressing against your ribcage, heavy weight almost knocking the air out of you, getting lightheaded from forgetting to breath. Swapping spit like teenagers, your tongue runs after his when he pulls away, hands too busy ridding yourself of your underwear to keep him close, closer, anxiety swells in your chest, a pathetic noise escapes your mouth, half moan half cry. Language has long devolved back to the primeval vocalization, like a starving infant begging for it’s mother’s breast, you’ve gone without that skin-to-skin contact for too long, wishes he would rid himself of his clothes already. He doesn’t, but he makes you forget about it, hand disappearing under the fat pressed against your bones. Sparks fly behind your corneas at the first brush, fingers tentatively feeling their way against your flesh, making you bite down hard on your flaky lips, strangled cry shooting straight through his eardrum, but you don’t notice him doing a face, and he doesn’t bicker, or shove you, though you’d let him take you by the neck, call you a bitch.

You can’t focus on anything, toaster dropped straight into your swimming mind, too much and too little at once. You gasp for air, gasp for his mouth, kiss haphazardly, mouthful of stubble and scarred cheeks, tasting sweat and salt and the daily grime, you don’t care, he doesn’t either even though it’s been a while since he threw you in the shower, threatening to forcefully strip you, if only, if only.

He lifts your leg, prosthesis uselessly squeaking, piece of trash like you are, to be soon discarded once you’ve served your purpose. Not right now though, no. You could almost mistake it through the haze of moonshine and the explosion of dopamine in your brain, like it did back then; a cocktail of chemicals that spells feelings you know aren’t there: he hates your guts, probably just felt pent up, cooped up with no one else to look at but you and your stupid experiments, a hole is a hole and you don’t know how you didn’t cry out from the pain when his thick finger slipped in, thumb still teasing you. You smile, just for a second, an annoying factoid about nerve endings wanting to slip through, but all that does is more obscene gibberish, a cry for an entity you never believed in, clinging to his shirt so hard you surely are going to warp the fabric.

Maybe you did get brain damage, malnourished and feverish, huddling in the dark like a feral animal; maybe you’re getting some right now, that brilliant mind reduced to slop with just one hand, the other holding you so tightly you could mistake it for an armlock. Can’t be a hug, could never be with this guy, but you lean into it just like one, cling to his fist like he’s dangling you above the precipice and you're holding on for dear life. But he coos sweet words into your ears when your voice hitches, barely registered through the mist, and doesn’t even bite back when your teeth sinks into his thumb, swallowing down the wail that’s building at the back of your throat. You don’t remember when he slipped another one in, too soaked to notice; it’s dripping everywhere between your quivering thighs- did you piss yourself ? Or is it all transudate and cervical mucorrhea ? That shit used to leave the inside of your panties discolored, alien queen with a cunt that could melt steel or whatever the hell was this movie your peers at university invited you to watch, the details blur as your mind wanders away from this building itch behind your breastbone and between the legs that desperately want to meet each other because you know once it spills over it's over, but he’s holding you fast and well while his fingers pound into you with such ease, as if he was holding a rabbit by the legs, or more like a weird, fucked up hare; he must be really shitfaced for willingly going knuckle-deep into someone like you, curling fingers caressing your innermost blindspot as these adolescent thought resurface like your brain purging itself of all the pus that was hiding out of sight, silly insecurities reserved to the simple minds, the pleb, who cares about the body that houses your brilliant neurotic genius, it’s a mean to an end, the vehicle that allows it to transcend humanity again and again and again who cares about jutting bones dull skin huge nose crippled one-eyed FREAK that’s what he usually mutters under his breath but right at this moment as you hyperventilate he’s calling you baby and the sickly-sweet pet name makes a bark of laughter bubble up your throat but all that leave is a sob eclipsed by the scream that blindsights everything: bone-shattering convulsion, throat raw, toes curling, iron on your taste-buds, shorting the connections between your synapses contained by strong arms that barely budge through the climax and for a second you get it, like really get it, not jacking off with your pants around your ankles still sitting at your desk high off your own genius or too late during the night chasing sleep through masturbation but the deep secret to the only study you ever abandoned that still throbs even after your body goes slack, spent and exhausted and utterly empty.

The clarity sets in, dulled by alcohol but present enough to register the kiss he presses to your cheek, not hungry but something else you dare not even hope think. You chase after it though, fighting with the exhaustion that has been clinging to your frame ever since you were dug out of your quarantined grave, missing more than a limb and an eye. Burying your face in his damp chest like the spoiled child you were you resist being put to bed, pleading for just a little bit more, greedy, starving, annoying thing.

He relents, encircling your shivering frame with his maddening warmth, and you pretend it’s sweat, it’s just sweat.

[fir-fireweed]

I love how the ask button being labelled ‘Speak’ has significance for both of your IFs lol

also I FINALLY PLAYED CHAPTER 3 AND OMGDKJFDNVOJDFVNODJFVNVODFJN I AM UNWELL FOR CODA/TELLUS HAHAHA

literally every smidgen of resistenza that popped up as the chapter progressed (which is like. nearly all of it) even before the name Coda was mentioned had me perking up thinking “omg he’s here oh wait no that’s not even what he looks like” even though I already spoiled myself (completely my fault no worries) and knew he’s only revealed at the end. HIS VOICE!!! WHAT HAPPENED PLEASE DONT TELL ME HE PHYSICALLY/SURGICALLY ALTERED ITTTT FOR HIS SAFETY OR UNWILLINGLY OR BY SMOKE??? AAAAAAA

dakhdbiwydbiy I love all your characters so much. also the fight with vicente? did you have to describe them like that 🤨 but yes I got the tease flavour text from eva and I mean have you SEEN him and those pretty blue eyes??? yes so maybe he does stick around in my head, can you blame me dearest sister. if you’re so nosy about your adopted sister’s questionable love life go notice nik and figure that out first why don’t you. also not to mention the wing tattoo on vicente’s neck and that recent ask about what the ROs like 👀 would love to trace the outline of those feathers.

ANYWAYS I love love love the update and all the musical terms as someone who played the piano! I can’t wait to assassinate the regis do more things and spend more time as part of the resistanza (I don’t know if I’m spelling that right but if I am is that stanza bit on purpose? idk, it relates more to poetry than music but I think my brain is just a little overactive after your lovely story) so yeah! shame we couldn’t meet bayram in person again this chapter but all the time with the ROs and the lore and everything is just like wow.

can’t waitttt haha! shoutout to that other ask, because if you really do write a conversation with tellus into the earlier bonfire scene, I think I might go a bit more feral (the angst!! mc and us, the reader, will know him even better and it’ll make the loss + subsequent reunion even worse + emotionally contrasting omg) so that would be really cool if you do decide to do it. no pressure though, of course. anyways I love your writing so much as usual and I hope you have a good day. take care!

Hello, carp! Hehe, yeah I have a theme with words and speech, lol. Glad you like it! 😁

I’ve mentioned it a little so I don’t think it’s too spoilerish, but yes, the smoke and ash from the camp attack damaged Tellus’s vocal cords.

Yay! I’m glad you found the extra tease from Eva about Vicente! And you’ll definitely be able to tease her back. 🤭

I love how your mind went with the music and poetry, but Resistenza is just Italian for resistance. 😉

I looove the idea of adding Tellus to the bonfire scene! I’m like 99% sure I’m going to do it. I just need more time to write chapter 4 because one, it’s big, and two, it’s emotional. I’m about 2k into the start of the chapter and I’m already bawling, lol.

Thank you for this ask and for your kind words! Your comments always make me giggle. 🫶🏻

[beasangel]

damage control

⤷ toxic!rafe cameron x toxicfem!reader

💭 “my mood swings? You broke my fucking car this morning!”

you and rafe have always had a love fuelled by jealousy, pride, and a mutual refusal to back down. after a stupid argument spirals you catch him getting too friendly with another girl at a party, you decide two can play that game.

rafe masterlist main masterlist

The party was already too loud when you walk in, bodies pressed together, cheap beer spilling, someone yelling about pong in the kitchen. But you’re not here for the drinks or the music.

You’re here because he’s here.

That morning, you’d torn into each other over nothing something about a look, a laugh, the way he tensed when another guy said her name.

She called him possessive, he called her desperate. Voices rose, doors slammed, and before noon, she’d already keyed his car, and he'd told her not to bother expecting him to come back.

 As if that wasn’t her line.

You catch sight of Rafe within two minutes, leaning against the far wall like he owns it, some girl laughing too hard at something he said. She’s pressed in close, touching his chest, lips too close to his ear.

You could leave. You should. Most people would.

But instead, you smile, turn toward the nearest guy (not even cute, honestly) and say, “What are you drinking?”

You know how to play the game. Rafe taught you.

The guy’s into it. He leans closer, makes a joke, you laugh, too loud, too pretty. Your hand brushes his forearm as you sip from your cup. Just enough to sell the image.

And just enough to snap the thread in Rafe’s brain.

It happens fast. One second, you’re still smiling at the guy’s lame story about…. something, the next you’re being grabbed.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rafe growls, grabbing your elbow in a grip that’s way too tight as he drags you through the party.

“Oh, get over it,” you snap, trying to twist your arm back. “You’ve got a girl on you like every five seconds-”

“Yeah, but I don’t flirt back,” he spits.

You laugh, sharp and nasty. “That’s a fucking lie and you know it.”

Outside now. The air’s colder than expected, but the heat between you two doesn’t drop for a second. You rip your arm away from him and spin around.

“You jealous, Rafe?” you sneer. “Maybe if you weren’t always drooling over every bitch in a mini skirt, I wouldn’t have to find someone who actually looks at me.”

“I look at you, all the time.” he snaps, chest heaving.

“Yeah? When you’re not busy making eyes at whatever girl won’t slap you?”

His hands clench. “I just told you it’s not like that.”

“But it is,” you say, stepping in. “And the second I do the exact same thing, you act like I cheated.”

“You’re doing it on purpose!” he shouts. “You want to embarrass me? Make me look like a fucking idiot?”

“No,” you say sweetly. “I wanted to piss you off.”

His jaw tics. “You think it’s funny?”

“Yeah,” you say, slow and vicious. “I think you’re hot when you’re mad.”

He steps forward. “You drive me mad.”

You pull your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it with a grin. “Guess you’ll have to get some help, then.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. “Maybe I’m done babysitting your mood swings.”

You spin to walk off … and then your phone is gone. One second in your hand, the next ripped out and hurled across the yard like it burned him. It hits the brick of the back wall, screen shattering on impact.

You freeze.

“Are you crazy?!” you scream, running to the broken mess. “That was my phone, Rafe!”

“My mood swings? You broke my fucking car this morning!”

“Oh I broke your car? So fucking dramatic, you were the one who blew up at me earlier over nothing.”

“Nothing? You flirted with a guy right in front of me!”

“I smiled at a waiter Rafe.” Your tone monotone, not interested in having a repeat of his hissy fit this morning.

“Yeah a waiter who smiled back at your fucking tits, and now you’re using it to act like a whore,” he snarls, eyes blazing. “What, gonna text that guy just now?”

“You think you can treat me like shit and I’m just gonna sit pretty and say nothing?” you spit, storming back to him.

“You keyed my car,” he growls. “You scratched up my fucking car.”

You smirk, proud. “Maybe next time don’t say you’re leaving if you don’t mean it.”

“You’re a goddamn lunatic.”

“And you love it,” you shoot back.

“I could’ve left with anyone else,” he says, voice shaking.

“But you didn’t,” you whisper, stepping closer.  “But maybe you’re right, I should go text that guy now huh.”

His breathing’s shallow now. His hands twitch like he doesn’t know whether to grab you or shake you.

“You ruin me,” he says.

You grin. “You deserve it.”

Then his hands are in your hair, and yours are yanking at his collar, and its teeth and tongue and too much and never enough. He pins you against the wall, groaning into your mouth, breathing you in like a drug.

“I’m getting you to bed,” he growls between kisses.

You hesitate , just long enough to pull back and murmur, “Might want to call a uber first.”

His brow furrows. “What?”

You smile sheepishly. “Slashed your tires.”

He blinks. “You what?!”

“Before I went in,” you say, batting your lashes. “I know your games Rafe and I wasn’t going to take the chance of you actually going home with some slut

He starts laughing. It’s unhinged. “You keyed my truck and slashed my tires in the same day?”

“Technically it was over two arguments,” you say.

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re still here.”

He stares at you, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon. He strokes your face with his knuckles as he holds your jaw tight and kisses you so hard it knocks the sense out of you.

When he finally pulls away, breath ragged, he says, “I’ll buy you a new phone.”

“You better,” you whisper. “And if you flirt with that girl again, I’m taking a bat to your windshield.”

He grins. “My girl.”

And you’re kissing him again like it’s the last time. Like chaos is the only language you both understand.

[ruins-of-babylon]

Legacy

Mattheo Riddle x reader angst & smut

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♥︎

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎：after your traitorous brother runs away, abandoning his carefully placed destiny, you are forced to take his place, abandoning any and all plans you had for your future.

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈：blood, main character gets cut, kinda psychopath main character at the end, fem pronouns, some smut, arranged marriage, kinda mean!mattheo, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of self harm, you have a brother, let me know if I missed anything!

𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ：how I felt writing, “it hung over your head like a halo, but it was nowhere close to holy.” : 😈

⚠︎︎⚠︎︎this fic is pretty dark. MDNI❗️⚠︎︎⚠︎︎

Your fate had been decided when you were 5 years old. It hung over your head like a halo, but it was nowhere close to holy. It was placed by your father, who was among the many servants of Voldemort, which made your role very important. You were not here for yourself, you were brought into this world for one purpose only. When he sat you down and told you this, it was hard to comprehend, your 5 year old brain not quite wrapping around the concept, but it became more and more real as you grew older. It went as followed: You would grow up, and at 20 years old you would marry the dark lord’s son, Mattheo Riddle. It would add power and influence to your family name. Your older brother, Alexander, would carry the family business along with the new generation, that ‘business’ would be working as the right hand man to the dark lord, his own private assassin. It was all set in stone, an unwavering commitment.

————

The first time you met your future husband was on the first day of your first year. He was gentler then, a mischievous but likable boy, before he turned bitter. He recognized you, having also being told his decided fate since day one, and came up to you. While you expected a handshake, maybe a hug, he instead pushed you to the hard ground before running away. The concrete dug into your soft skin, tearing your skin mercilessly. Your knees, palms, and elbows took the most damage, but his apparent dislike of you almost hurt more. You avoided him as much as possible, knowing you and him had an inevitable lifetime to spend with each other when you graduated. That, however, was hard, since you were both in the same house and had many classes together.

As the time passed, your disdain for him only grew. As he got older, his physical bullying turned to mental and emotional, plus he had earned himself the reputation as a manwhore, his ego growing too large for your liking. He was cocky, arrogant, irrational, and just a fucking dick. His attractiveness only made everything worse. You were conflicted; he clearly wasn’t attracted to you, from what you could tell, and you realized he would be a terrible husband. But god, was he handsome.

One night, you were hanging out with your friend group, which just so happened to contain Mattheo, at this moment. No one could tell where he was or would be at any given time. You all had gathered in a circle, playing truth or dare. Theodore Nott, being the annoying prick he was, picked Mattheo. He chose truth.

Theo’s exact words, “Are you happy to marry (Y/n)?” You all held your breath, his question echoed around the room as all the side conversations went silent. Everyone wondered the same question, but no one was brave enough to ask. Anticipation hung in the air, and you had a bad feeling he was going to say no.

“Not at all. I’d rather be with anyone else, but I have to be stuck with her, of all fucking people.” He said, looking at Theo as he spoke your worst fear. He made eye contact with you before continuing, “You’re the reason I’m miserable, you’ve ruined my life.” You held eye contact with him, an evil smile on his face, trying to maintain a stoic expression on your own. Your heart tensed, feeling heavy in your chest. You broke eye contact with him and stood up, waking away as calmly as you could. No one tried to stop you, or call out your name to come back. They all watched you as your feet carried you back to your room faithfully. Your vision swirled as tears brimmed in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall until you were out of sight. A shaky breath of relief exited your lungs as you shut the door behind you, locking it and holding yourself as you let your body slide down to the floor against the door. The tears finally fell, a seemingly endless stream of them flowing down your cheeks, past your chin, settling on your lips. After what felt like hours, you stood up and walked towards your desk. You opened the top drawer and sorted around the various distractions you kept for moments just like these. To stay numb, you kept a small selection of drugs, small blades, a lighter and pack of cigarettes, and a few small bottles of various alcohol. You decided on a bag of fine white powder and a cigarette.

Later that night there was a knock at your door, as there usually was. You didn’t feel like opening it, satisfied to stay sitting on the windowsill blowing smoke into the night sky. But, unfortunately for you, you forgot to lock the door. As the door swung open, you didn’t even turn to look at him, already knowing who he was.

You blew out the smoke from your lungs. “What do you want?” You could hear his footsteps getting closer to you, but you still couldn’t find the energy to turn your head and look at him. His cold hand gently placed itself on your shoulder, turning you around to face him. You stared into his eyes, which looked like deep pools of honey if the sun shines just right. Now, in the darkness, they almost looked black, a probable reflection of his soul.

He held your gaze, an almost sorry look in his eyes. “You know what I say isn’t true, right?” He asks in a whisper. You nod, taking another drag of the cigarette between your fingers, looking back outside the window. His sighed, not content with your response. He took the cigarette from your hand and put it out on the ashtray next to you on the window. “Let me make it up to you.” He proposed, waiting for you to say yes.

A small smile graced your lips, “You better.” He laughed softly before picking you up and walking you towards your bed. He gently laid you down, your back on the soft mattress, taking off your clothes and throwing them down on the floor. His kisses started on your neck, your soft whines fueling his desire to please you. He moved down your body inch by inch, slowly placing his lips over your body, your collarbones, chest, breasts, torso, hips, and thighs receiving equal attention from him. He laid between your legs, slowly dragging a finger through your folds.

“My pretty girl, so wet for me.” He said, gathering some of your wetness on his fingertip before bringing it to your clit, keeping it still. Your body jolted at the stimulation, moaning for him to just move, do something. He quietly laughed at your desperation, finally moving his finger in small circles around your little bundle of nerves. “I love this perfect pussy so much.” You jumped at his actions, a whiny groan slipping past your lips. Taking his finger away from your clit, he brought it down to your entrance, slowly pushing it in as your inner walls gladly sucked him in. You grumbled at the loss of attention on your puffy clit before he replaced his finger with his mouth. He started with soft licks with the tip of his tongue, letting you relax into him, before he harshly sucked on your pearl, wrapping his lips around it. You nearly screamed from how good it felt, your legs moving around, switching between squeezing his head and opening wider, the stimulation almost too much. He laughed against you, sending delicious vibrations to your core before taking his finger out of you and pushing your legs apart. You moaned his name along with curses over and over again, almost sounding like you were worshipping him. How could you not when he made you feel so good? He switched between harsh sucks, gentle licks, and grazing his teeth against your sensitive clit, every now and then teasing your hole by pushing his tongue into it. It took almost no time before you were cumming against his mouth, breathing heavily as he drank up every last drop of your release. As you came down from your high, he pulled his body up until he was hovering right above you. His lips met yours with so much passion, so much love, you could almost believe he felt even a fraction of what you felt for him. After a moment, he pulled away.

“You’re so fucking good at that.” You told him breathlessly, savoring his chuckle. Oh how you wished he would love you. A silence settled between you, whether it was comfortable to awkward, you couldn’t tell. You just stared at each other, and you would have given anything to know what he was thinking about.

That was 2 weeks before your life would change, for better or for worse, you would find out. It was also the last time you would let him hurt you with his words. This change would start with an unexpected letter from your father:

（𝒴／𝓃）， ℐ𝓃 𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓃ℯ𝓍𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁ℯ 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃 ℴ𝒻 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃𝓉𝓈，𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℴ𝓁𝒹ℯ𝓇 𝒷𝓇ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇，𝒜𝓁ℯ𝓍𝒶𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓇，𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓇𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎．ℐ 𝓈𝓊𝓁𝓁ℴ𝓈ℯ𝒹 𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓉ℴ 𝓈ℯ𝓇𝓋ℯ ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℒℴ𝓇𝒹，𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈ℯ𝓇𝓋𝒿𝒸ℯ 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉ℯ𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓂ℴ𝓈𝓉 ℯ𝓍𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒶 𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓃ℴ𝓌．ℋℯ 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻ℯ𝓇 𝒶 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓈ℯ 𝒻𝒶𝓉ℯ，ℐ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓇．ℱℴ𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉ℯ𝓁𝓎 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊，𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝑔ℯ𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝓁ℯ𝒹𝑔ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸ℯ．𝒜𝓈 𝓈ℴℴ𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒹𝓊𝒶𝓉ℯ 𝓁𝒶𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒷𝒿𝓈 𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇，𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑔ℴ 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℴ𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝓇ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇，𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇ℯ𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸ℯ 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅ℯ𝓇𝓈ℴ𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃 𝒻ℴ𝓇 ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒢ℴℴ𝒹 ℒℴ𝓇𝒹．𝒫𝓇ℯ𝓅𝒶𝓇ℯ．

－ℱ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇

At first, it didn’t feel real. This had to have been some kind of joke, right? Alexander was so excited to take on his role, or so it seemed. As reality settled in, you started to distance yourself from everyone. You blew off your friends, preferring to stay in your dorm and wallow in self pity. It wasn’t fair. Your brother had his fate, you had yours. It was set in stone. You had almost looked forward to it at times. But not anymore. You had to suppress your emotions, adapt to this new world. You would train to become an assassin for the Dark Lord, you would destroy what you loved, everything you touched would break. For this, you had to sacrifice your feelings, tears, and longing for a life you could no longer have. You counted down the days until graduation, the time in between was hell. You left all your friends, replacing them with drugs. The time seemed to tick by slower and slower, like staring at a clock’s hands tick tick tick as they seemed to hesitate to go where you wanted.

A soft knock sounded from you door, and you had a sneaking suspicion of who it was. You didn’t know why he even bothered knocking. You never opened the door for him, nor anyone as of late. As the door slowly opened and his frame emerged from it, looking around for you. His eyes landed on your desk, slowly walking towards you to investigate. You slowly blinked at him as he watched you, clearly intoxicated. The evidence sat right behind you, the little white pills contrasting with the dark wood of your desk.

“Oh, angel,” he whispered, placing his hand on the back of your head and stroking your hair as you stared up at him. “Why?”

He was surprised when you laughed. It was mocking, cold. You didn’t feel anything for him anymore. You couldn’t. “Why are you here?” You asked him, clumsily pulling his hand from your head. Everything felt fuzzy, and you couldn’t stop chasing the feeling.

“Just wanted to check on you. You haven’t been coming to meals and your friends said you dropped them.” He answered, a seemingly genuine look of concern in his eyes.

“Haven’t you heard?” You asked him, referring to your cancelled marriage and your new role to fill.

“Heard what?” He was confused, his brows furrowed together as he anticipated your answer. You laughed again, thinking he must be joking.

“Your daddy didn’t tell you? My brother ran away so I have to take his place. And our arranged marriage is cancelled.” You state. You laugh again, everything seems so funny. Now he looks even more confused. Shock, horror, and despair run through his features as he takes it all in. Then he laughs, a nervous-sounding forced laugh.

“You finally get what you want. Lucky you.” You add, bitterly. Now, he’s silent. As you stare at his face, a sudden rage floods your veins. You stand up, facing him, and push him, your hands pressing against his muscular chest. Again, again, and again, you push him until he’s standing before your door, letting you move him. As you move to push him one final time out of your dorm, he stops moving at your will.

“Wait,” he starts. “I-.”

You interrupt him. “GET OUT!” You scream at him, balling your hands into fists and beating his chest as hard as you can, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. A cold bucket of water seems to fall on your head, everything you’ve bottled for the past weeks suddenly bursting from its cage. Tears flow freely down your face, you finally stop hitting and screaming at him, placing your palms flat on his chest and resting your head between your hands, crying into him. He gently strokes your back, holding you against him. He rests his cheek on the top of your head, comforting you.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says. “Let it all out.” He’s so gentle, holding you, speaking comforting words, trying to make you feel better. This might be the only time you’ve ever felt truly safe and loved, and that scares you. Just as you feel the warmth in your chest, you push him away one final time, so the cold can settle in again. You slam the door and lock it, sliding down it onto the floor as he bangs against it a few times.

”Please, baby, let me in.” He says, you can tell he’s right outside. You’re tempted to open it, let him in, let him hold you and make you feel loved for the last time. But as your hand hesitantly reaches up, you stop it. It will hurt more if you let him again. The tears still fall, an added weight on your shoulders. You slowly crawl from the door to your bed, exhaustedly tucking yourself in, curling into a ball as he continues to try to convince you to open the door from the outside.

❀❀❀❀

How did I get here? You wonder as you stood before the dark lord himself, his son standing a little farther behind him. Your father’s instructions had been rather clear: tell him what he wants to hear, don’t talk back, be respectful. You fidget with your fingers behind your back, subtly wiping your sweaty palms against your pants. Your heart was beating fast inside your chest, your head pounding.

“It was such a shame that your brother ran away. Now you must take his place, revise any plans you thought you had for a life you never imagined.” He said, walking in tight circles around you. You stared at the floor in front of you.

“He made his decision, however selfish it was. The show must go on.” You curtly replied, a tone in your voice that you didn’t intend. You brought your hands back to your sides, pressing your palms to the sides of your thighs, brushing the fabric of your pants. You could feel his presence behind you, radiating a cold sort of energy that contrasted with the hot room.

“Yes, you are correct. I must inform you that your first assignment will be to hunt him down and kill him. Will that be a problem?” He asked, now standing a foot away from you to your left. You had suspected something like this.

“Not at all. My duty will always come before emotion.” You answered, hoping that would satisfy him. You still looked down, following a crack on the concrete floor with your eyes. You could feel your palms sweating again.

“Good answer, my dear.” He said, now standing directly in front of you. You brought your eyes up to meet his. “There’s one last thing I will do, then you’re official.” He finished. Mattheo stayed completely still, not a single word from him as he stood watching you. So much hung between you, there were so many emotions, words, and tension you wanted to share, say, and break.

“Anything.” You calmly replied, ready to face whatever he had for you. From his robes he pulled a dagger with a jagged blade, spurring your curiosity. As he reached for your right hand, he pulled it towards himself, facing your palm upwards. He inspected the dark mark inked on your wrist before bringing his attention back to whatever he was doing. You held your breath, waiting for him to place the knife in your hand. Several seconds passed as the both of you just stood there, his cold hand grasping your wrist as you nearly shook from anticipation. He briskly pulled his hand up, and as you stared at your reflection, you felt a wave of some emotion you couldn’t name flood your bones. As you began to prepare to be pierced by his blade, he instead rested it in your hand. Just as you breathe your sigh of relief, he rotates the blade slightly and slices right through your palm, a deep and forceful cut. The blade must have been very sharp; It seemed to glide through your skin with little effort. The pain hits you all at once, a stinging sensation emitted from the wound. You gasp, sucking in a sharp breath, and bite your lip hard enough to pierce the delicate skin, now bleeding.

Blood poured from the wound like a fountain as you took it all in. All the pain, all the feeling, all the blood, flowing down your wrist and soaking the ground below you. You couldn’t close your eyes. That was the moment you knew this would suit you. The sight of your blood flowing from you satisfied an itch deep inside. You craved it, again and again, ready to devote your life to the craft assigned to you by cruel karma, god, the universe, or whatever you want to call it. Although, it was right. This is what you were born for. This is what you will die for. In fate’s eyes, you watch yourself. ‘This is me.’ Is all your reflection seems to say.

This is me.

𖧷𖧷𖧷𖧷

Hello lovelies! I hope you enjoyed. I’m thinking of doing a part two about Mattheo’s POV, so let me know if you’d like that! <3

[badninken]

I'm gonna drop so many screencaps of Law vs Big Mom right now. Hold on.

I really enjoyed the fight between Kid and Law vs Charlotte "Big Mom" Linlin. Kid and Law are fun and Big Mom is a real powerhouse of a boss to fight. Love the whole back and forth between Baba and the brats. I also enjoyed Law looking like a teeeny tiny fairy prince with a magical glowing toothpick sword for most of this fight. Kid has his huge metal monstrosities to work with but Law just hops around, being himself, doing things like aggressively flicking pebbles:

(presumably for shambling purposes although he doesn't actually teleport anywhere just after this so maybe he just peppered them at Big Mom to be annoying)

He twirls his sword! I have another favorite who is also a twirly guy (Kakashi) and I'm so happy to see they have this in common. Twirling your blade deals +5 psychic damage to your enemy upon hit, everyone knows this.

More twirling:

Like, that's a nodachi too. It's freakishly long even before he makes it long.

Here he is tossing it between his hands, cape a-flappin' in the wind:

Do you remember Zoro's lucky cleavage fairy in Dressrosa?

Well, Law is also a cleavage fairy. Except cursed. Like. Literally everything is cursed in this scenario. Big Mom, Law, the cleavage, the sword. Law probably is a curse himself, just in general.

He is also crushed

She had every right to do that actually. I just hope he knows how to pick his own brain out and put it back together again after all the damage she put on it.

Anyway, loved to see him thrive in this fight! He's just a tall teeny tiny guy with a really long little cursed toothpick that can reach the core of the earth probably. On a good day when he's not tired.

Wihoo! Look at him go!!

[redbullgirly]

Hellooo 👋, can you write enemies to lovers with fernando alonso maybe with some angst? 🤭

It's totally alright if you don't want to! Thankssss :))

EL DESTINO [FA14 oneshot]

Fernando Alonso x reader

Masterlist

Summary: Y/N works for Alpine, and even though Fernando Alonso isn't part of the team anymore, they can't forget their distaste for each other. The driver seems to think she's just an irresponsible party girl and Y/N doesn't like him because he's, well... annoying and mean and doesn't care about anybody but himself. Though could they be both wrong in their prejudices?

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Not much, maybe they're kind of mean to each other and stupid at the start, but that's the point of enemies to lovers, right? XD

Author's Note: Hello Anon and thank you for the request! I didn't expect it to turn out so long, but hey XD. I hope you and everybody else will like it. Also I tried for a little bit of angst, but I'm not sure if I'm good at it... you can let me know :).

If anyone could read your thoughts at the moment, you’d probably end up locked behind bars and with the key from your cell thrown far away. Whoever's great idea was to allow the group of inexperienced interns to touch the important data and statistics deserved to rot seven feet underground. Chopped into small pieces. And doused in poison that eats their lifeless body until there's nothing left.

Okay, that's maybe a bit too violent, but still not far from the truth.

You rubbed your tired eyes, not caring about smudging the mascara anymore. There was basically no one left in the building, just a few mechanics desperately needing the cars to be in perfect condition tomorrow – or should we say today? And then there was you, who stupidly agreed to fix the disaster caused by too much excitement and not enough cautiousness. You knew the interns didn't do it on purpose, and blaming them wasn't going to help you, but still. It wasn't them who had to sit there long after their working hours ended, staring into a too bright computer screen.

When you finally managed to save all the damaged data, it was almost three in the morning, and before you made it back to the hotel, you weren't sure if it was even worth going to bed. Because of the emergency, you didn't have time to finish your usual duties. And even though it wouldn't be fair to want the analysis from you, that wasn't how the game was played in motorsport.

Legs almost giving out under you, you dragged yourself to the elevator. The poor lady sitting at the receptionist desk looked at you skeptically, but didn't say anything as you stepped in and pressed the button with the number of your floor on it. Generic music started playing, numbing your brain even more.

The metal door was about to close, but then a hand came between it. Before you blinked and processed what's happening, a man slipped into the elevator right next to you, pressing his own number.

You see, everything could have been fine. You could've just survived the thirty seconds of embarrassing silence, then mumble a polite goodbye and go to sleep in peace. But no. Fate apparently had other plans for you.

Because as the man turned to you and the bright light hit his face, you realized it wasn't just some stranger.

Suddenly, the silence shifted from the normal elevator weirdness to tension. You pressed your lips together, silently cursing the higher power that decided to mess with your life just today, when you looked like a zombie. With smudged mascara. Perfect.

For someone, maybe it would be a fulfilled dream to be in an elevator with Fernando Alonso. Two time World Champion, great driver, loved person. And a dickhead that almost ruined your whole career.

“You look like you had a wild night,” he murmured with a thick Spanish accent. You narrowed your brows, trying to control the anger bubbling inside of you. Was he trying to insult you? You wouldn't even be surprised.

“Perhaps I did, thank you very much.” Your voice lacked any signs of friendliness, clearly trying to provoke him. It was quite funny, really, how a minute ago you didn't have energy to think clearly, and now you were ready to argue with this man over anything. Almost like the magic of despising someone.

You noticed his jaw tensing and knew it wouldn't be good. But still, his words hurt: “Maybe if you focused more on doing your job instead of wild nights out, Alpine would do better.”

The sting in your chest was strong, but by some miracle the elevator finally stopped, and the robotic voice announced the twenty-sixth floor. Even life itself took pity on you, it seemed.

Without any other word, you turned away from Alonso and walked into the empty hallway, hearing a quiet scoff and then the door sliding closed again behind you, leaving you all alone in the darkness. How poetic.

Every door you passed looked exactly the same, and you just hoped you remembered your room number correctly.

You didn't even remember taking out the card and entering your temporary home for the weekend. You didn't remember taking your clothes off, removing the remaining makeup with a tissue because you were too tired for your usual skin care routine. You didn't remember responsibly setting up your alarm and then falling into the soft mattress.

All you could remember before the exhaustion took over were his words that cut deeper than he thought, and deeper than you'd like to admit.

-----

You couldn't believe it.

As you walked out of the debrief, you could basically feel everybody's frustration crawling up your spine, mixing with your own. The team, all the mechanics and engineers, pit crew members and marketing, hundreds of people worked so hard the whole week. And for what?

It was already bad when both cars didn't finish the last Grand Prix in Silverstone. But for it to happen again? That was downright embarrassing. Not only did it bring exactly zero points in the Constructors' Championship, but the drivers were angry, disappointed. You could see that in the team, the motivation level decreased quickly. And honestly, you couldn't blame them.

Last year, Alpine was the fourth-best car on the grid. Best of the rest, as they'd call it. But this season, everything was going terribly. You honestly weren't far from crying.

To lighten up the mood, some of your colleagues decided to enjoy a night out in Budapest before you'd have to fly to Belgium tomorrow, to prepare for yet another racing weekend. At first, you declined the offer, insisting you needed to catch up on some work, do analysis for the car and figure out exactly what happened to it. But then, one of the mechanics you were friendlier with saw your drooping shoulders, and pulled you into the club despite all your weak protests.

Soon enough, you let loose and after an hour, you were a few drinks in. Your head was spinning, a big smile planted on your lips and giggles coming out of your mouth uncontrollably. Not that you had low alcohol tolerance, but the last time you got properly drunk was some time ago. Perhaps you just forgot how it felt. The freedom, the sweet mist of oblivion clouding your mind.

Currently, you were sitting at the bar, sipping on a cocktail. You already enjoyed your time on the dance floor, which tired you more than expected. Thank God you went to the club right from the paddock, so instead of high heels that'd kill your feet, you had comfortable sneakers on.

As you waved at the young barman to give you another round of whatever he mixed for you before, you felt someone's eyes on your back. You didn't bother to turn around, thinking it was just another drunken man checking out half of the women in the club.

Then, someone stood behind you. “The drink's on me, hermosa,” the man said, voice smooth like honey. You froze. You knew that deep, thick Spanish accent too well. What the hell was Alonso doing here?

He clearly mistook your silence for an impressed one, or so you thought when he came to sit down next to you, his hand gently brushing your back. That was the moment you turned your head towards him, eyes wide, and his face dropped. So did yours.

You hoped for a split second you could pretend you were total strangers randomly meeting in a bar for just a little longer when he instantly frowned and his demeanor changed from charming gentleman to pain in the ass.

“Y/L/N,” he uttered it in a way that made you wonder if there was something wrong with your last name. “Guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you here.”

And here it was — the instant wave of anger and hurt he managed to bring up by just a few poking words.

“Says the right person.” You rolled your eyes, the flowing feeling the alcohol gave you before now gone. You felt like you were going to be sick. “I bet if it wasn't me you tried to hit on, you'd bring the poor woman to your hotel room tonight.”

“Careful, or you might sound jealous.”

“Oh, you wish, Alonso,” you laughed humorlessly. 

The bartender chose that moment to bring you the requested cocktail you already forgot about. You gave him the cash, though you had no intention of actually drinking it. As always, Alonso left a sour taste in your mouth.

“I see you're drinking the team problems away,” he pressed harder, knowing damn well it was a sensitive topic. You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself to be the better person.

Then you looked into his dark eyes, and your self-control was gone. For some reason, you couldn't stand the look he was giving you. It was full of something that was too similar to disappointment. You hated people being disappointed in you, even if you hated that very person.

Out of nowhere, the alcohol kicked in, and you remembered why you didn't drink in clubs too often — it made you emotional. So stupidly sensitive that you couldn't stop your eyes from tearing up. You shook your head, opened your mouth, wanting to tell him something. Anything that'd make him just as much hurt as you were.

Instead, you bit your trembling lip and abruptly stood up. You almost knocked over the bar stool, though at the moment, you didn't really care.

Was it cowardly to run away from him and his harsh words? Yes, you knew that. But you did it in the elevator, and so you could do it again.

In a rush, you got through other people enjoying their night out, oblivious to the lump forming in your throat.  You needed to get out, breathe in the fresh air and just forget about everything.

It was probably nearing midnight, and even though it was late July, you still shivered when you stepped outside the club. Just then you remembered you left your jacket back in the paddock. And you also realized the mechanic and his group of friends drove you here, and you had no idea where you were or how to get to your hotel room.

“Great. Just fucking perfect,” you mumbled to yourself, a few tears running down your cheeks. You wiped them away, willing yourself to calm down. Budapest couldn't be too different from other European cities, so you'd just walk to the nearest public transport station and then see what you could do from there. Yes, that was exactly what you're going to do, and it's going to be okay.

Having a plan calmed you down, at least a little. You walked in a direction you hoped would get you to the center and took your phone out. The battery was low, and you cursed yourself for not charging it during the day.

“Where are you going?” You winced and nearly dropped the phone when you heard the loud voice calling after you.

When you turned around, you already knew exactly who was standing before the club entrance.

“That's not any of your business,” you tried to sound tough, but it came out tired and weak. So instead, you lifted your head, trying to save the remaining bits of your dignity.

Alonso tilted his head, brown eyes studying you for a moment before he made a step towards you. “Don't tell me you don't have anyone to take you back to your hotel?” The undertone of his voice was strange, and if you didn't know better, you'd think it was worry seeping out.

“Oh, then I won't tell you,” you fired back, satisfied with your own answer as you turned around and left him standing there.

You made it around the block when a strong hand suddenly grasped your hand, and you screamed, prepared to fight whoever attacked you.

“¡Ay dios mío!” Alonso cursed and held his red cheek, where there was a clear hand print now.

You stared at each other in shock. You wanted to kill him for scaring you to death, but at the same time, you were relieved it was just him and not a creepy kidnapper.

“I'd say I'm sorry… but I'm not,” you managed to mumble. A weak attempt, you knew that. But it still seemed to wake him from his trance and make him scoff at you in annoyance.

However, he didn't let go of your hand.

“Let's go,” Alonso urged you back towards the direction you came from.

“I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Y/N, if you think I would let a drunk girl wander around a city she doesn't know, alone, at night… then you clearly don't know me at all.”

It took a few seconds for his words to hit you, and all there was left for you to do was to look up at him with surprise written all over your face. That seemed to annoy him for some reason, but with alcohol still very much present in your system, you didn't have the capacity to think about it too much.

“Let's go,” he repeated, though this time you didn't protest when he started walking towards what turned out to be his car. You knew it very well, from the years you used to work together, for the same team. Silently, you wondered how the hell did he get it to Hungary, but you soon forgot about that.

Fernando unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you. Your mom would probably tell you to be more cautious about getting into the car of a man you didn't like and were sure he didn't like you as well. But hey, it's still better than being lost in a foreign city, right?

So you sat down, and before you could reach for the seatbelt, he took it and strapped you himself, mumbling something about safety hazards with drunk people. You were so surprised by that unexpected action you didn't even have time to feel offended.

You closed your eyes, the comfortable seat making you sleepy. You heard him get in the car as well and join the night traffic. For a moment, silence reigned and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel horrible and tense.

“Isn't it illegal to drive with alcohol?” you whispered, eyes still closed.

“I didn't drink anything in the club. Too busy with you.”

Just then, you realized you actually asked the question out loud.

“Sorry for ruining your celebration night. Probably didn't want to leave it with me,” you laughed quietly. When he approached you in the club, he thought you were a random pretty woman with whom he could share a drink and take her to his bed for a fun night.

“Whatever.” You could hear him shrug his shoulders. “Sorry for ruining your night. Though you don't have much to celebrate.”

That made you open your eyes and gaze at him. He was looking straight ahead, concentrating on the road ahead. The lights of the other cars occasionally landed on his face, and you wondered if he was always so handsome, or it were the cocktails speaking for you.

“Wow, even in an apology there's a hidden insult,” you snickered, though there was a small grin on your lips now. Yes, definitely the alcohol speaking for you, you told yourself.

This time, Fernando actually looked at you before he averted his sight back to the traffic. “I wasn't insulting you, Y/N. I was insulting the team.”

You raised your eyebrows, but didn't comment on it. It was pointless to argue over this, he had his opinion about Alpine and given the fact both your cars didn't finish two races in a row, you didn't have exactly the best arguments to convince him otherwise. After all, he was part of the team last year. And the year before.

For the rest of your ride, there wasn't much more said between the both of you. You were tired — not just because of the night out and drinking, but from the whole week, from the whole season.

Finally, he parked the car before a building you recognized. You didn't ask him how he knew which hotel your team booked, perhaps he remembered it was the same one as the year before. Honestly, you were just glad he helped you get out of the car and walked you inside.

Then, you found yourself in an elevator alone with Fernando, again. Though unlike a month ago, he gently held your hand for support this time.

You told him your room number and somehow, he got you all the way in front of the door. You thanked all the saints in the world when you dug the keys out of your purse. After three unsuccessful tries at unlocking the room, Fernando's patience apparently ran out. He took the keys out of your hand and silently opened the lock.

“Thanks,” you muttered, and let him lead you inside your own hotel room.

When the light switch turned on and illuminated all the papers lying around, he looked at you, flabbergasted.

“What's all this?”

You shrug your shoulders and look at him like he was stupid. Which he was, at least in your humble opinion. “Work. What else?”

“Yes, yes. But why is it… here?” He motions towards the desk, nightstands, and bed.

“Because I don't have time to do it all in the office.”

“You work overtime?”

Now you were starting to get irritated.

“Yes, I work overtime. Maybe if you weren't so insistent in thinking I'm a dumb party girl ever since I made one stupid mistake in your car's analysis a year ago, you'd see I'm actually trying my best.” You hated how hurt you sounded, pathetic in your own ears.

But honestly, who was he to judge you? You never actually stood up to him before, defended yourself against his mean words. You always sucked it up, let him complain about you to your boss, who almost fired you because of the driver's obvious distaste for you. And when he left the team at the end of last year, you never tried to contact him, talk to him. Fix your non-existent relationship.

Today, though, you had enough. Maybe it was the alcohol giving you courage, maybe it was his shocked face when he realized you actually did your job.

“Y/N, I-”

“Get out,” you said in a tone that didn't allow for any objections. Fernando seemed to understand, but the pained expression didn't leave his face when he slowly walked to the door. Like he didn't really want to leave, like he desperately wanted to tell you something.

You didn't care about him. He never cared about you before as well, did he?

And so, with one last, regretful look in his dark eyes, Fernando Alonso left your hotel room. When tears ran down your cheeks, you weren't sure why you were even crying.

-----

You were avoiding him after that. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, but you managed and after surviving the Belgian Grand Prix in Spa, you were excited about the summer break as never before. Almost a whole month without races, which meant you wouldn't have to meet anyone from the other teams, including Fernando.

Usually, the team worked tirelessly through the summer break — it was a great chance to have a proper look into the car's engine and come up with new ideas and improvements. God knew you needed that. Typically, you were amongst those loyal employees, basically living in the Alpine headquarters.

However, this year you really wanted a break. So you used your vacation days and stayed in your flat, finally sleeping like a normal person for once, eating home-cooked meals instead of team catering and enjoying the summer, though the weather could be better in England.

It was the start of August when you started finding flower deliveries on the threshold of your door. First, you thought it's a mistake, though what woman would refuse a beautiful bouquet of her favorite flowers. When it happened a whole week in a row, you thought about having a secret admirer or, in the worse case scenario, a stalker. Though, you still took the flowers inside every morning, cherishing them.

And then, one day, there was an envelope attached to the bouquet, and you had to curse yourself for being so, so stupid. Of course it's him, Fernando. Begging you to talk to him, to let him explain. One dinner, he said. One dinner, and then he'll let you go on about your life.

When he tried to write a poem in the middle of August, you finally gave in. You found his old phone number saved amongst many other contacts and sent him a simple “okay”.

The next morning, there was a time and address of the restaurant in the envelope.

You didn't let yourself get too excited about any of it. It's Fernando Alonso, the man who almost caused you to get fired from your dream job, the one that was so mean to you after making wrong assumptions about you and your way of life. Yes, he was trying now, but was that enough?

When the taxi dropped you off in front of the fancy restaurant, you took a deep breath. You had a simple dress on, light makeup, and a few accessories.

You walked into the empty restaurant. The waitress smiled at you when you told her the name of the reservation and led you to the only set table. You could see the deep brown eyes looking directly at you from afar.

Suddenly, nervousness settled in your stomach. If you didn't know better, you'd think this was a date — it certainly felt like one.

Without a word, he helped you sit down on a chair across from him and the waitress handed you the menu. It was without prices, but you were certain this place was lavish and expensive. Perhaps Fernando didn't want you to worry about it and let you order anything you wanted. And you tried not to be too impressed by that.

“You look very beautiful, hermosa,” he spoke after a minute of tense silence while you pretended to be interested in the menu. You didn't miss the fact he used the same nickname like that night in the club, when he thought you were someone else.

“Compliments won't make it easier for you.” Maybe you lied, because you liked him calling you beautiful.

“I know, but I couldn't help myself.”

The waitress came back with a bottle of wine that Fernando must've ordered before you arrived. You took a sip and it tasted like heaven. It almost made you forget about everything, almost.

“Please, can we talk?” You never heard his voice sound so… unsure.

“Aren't we talking right now?”

“Y/N.” The way he said your name was so soft, so delicate.

“Fernando.” You saw him flinch, and you realized it was probably the first time you called him by his first name. Suddenly, the whole situation felt more intimate.

He gulped, but there was determination written all over his face. Fernando Alonso wasn't the type of man to give up, you knew that. His amazing racing career was proof of that.

“Listen to me, please. I know that you have the right to never speak to me again after how I treated you. But I want to fix it, Y/N.”

Those brown eyes were going to be the death of you, burying themselves into your soul, your heart.

“I want to fix all of it, Y/N,” he repeated with all seriousness. “If you let me,” Fernando added.

And how could you say no to him? Deep down, you always admired him. Liked him, even. Before that fuck up with his car's analysis, you thought he might like you back. You always wanted his approval, and that was one of the reasons why his words and insults hurt so much.

Sometimes, people deserved second chances. Especially when they were looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

Slowly, you nodded. “I think I might let you, Fernando.” You smiled, liking how his name felt on your tongue. “But it's not going to be easy, I'm telling you that,” you warned him with a raised finger.

“I wouldn't dream of anything less,” he replied with a thick Spanish accent that was stronger when he felt emotions. Fernando returned your smile and clinked his glass with yours.

-----

Brazil was a good race. Both Alpine cars ended up in points and Fernando, your Fernando, got another podium. You clapped along with others during the podium ceremony, eyes just for him. A proud feeling settled in you, and as he accepted his trophy for well deserved third place, he looked down at the gathered crowd. Mostly people from Aston Martin, McLaren, and Red Bull.

And then there was you — in your Alpine t-shirt, clapping for the driver who scandalously left your team last year, without a care in the world. That was when he knew he loved you, and that he'll always will.

You knew you loved him too when, after all the celebrating around the circuit died down or moved to clubs and private parties, instead of going to his hotel room, he knocked on the door of yours. Checking on you.

“Hermosa, I hope you're not working.” He rolled his eyes as he stepped in, seeing you indeed staring into your notebook at some data he probably shouldn't see as a part of a rival team.

“But Nando, I need to finish these-”

He cut you off the best way he could — hugging you from behind, gently turning your head towards him and placing his lips on yours. You instantly melted into the kiss, giving up the fight before it could even start.

“I think you need to properly celebrate your boyfriend winning,” he smirked, biting your lip teasingly. You felt like a teenage girl when the butterflies took off in your stomach.

Fernando slowly walked you to the bed, never parting your lips, as if his life depended on kissing you. You sat on his lap, your hips grinding against his as you moaned into his mouth.

And he couldn't help himself. He wanted to take you out on a magical date and tell you there, but how could he keep it a secret when you were sitting on him, so beautiful that his heart clenched. Smart and pretty girl. His smart and pretty girl.

“Te amo,” he whispered into your sweet lips, and your breath caught.

You pulled back a little, looking at him, silently asking if you heard him correctly.

“Te amo, Y/N,” he repeated. You knew enough Spanish for your eyes to tear up. “I love you very much.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, probably the longest one in your whole life.

“I love you too. So much,” you whispered back. And then, for him: “Te amo, Fernando.”

Now it was his turn to tear up, hold your face in his hands and press your foreheads together.

Perhaps the fate and its plans for you weren't so horrible after all.

THE END

Author's Note: Wow, if you read it all to the end, thank you very much! I'll be glad for likes, comments, reblogs, follows and every other way of support. Let me know how you liked this story and if you'd maybe like another oneshot from this "universe" because I have to admit, this version of Fernando and Y/N kind of grew on me... Have a great day and see you at the next post! :)

[ramp-it-up]

The Gentleman Returns

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Veterinarian!Reader

Summary: Henry comes back. Can he keep his composure around you?

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Explicit description of graphic sex. P orn with just a little bit of plot. Read at your own risk.  Flashbacks, Facetime s ex, long distance romance, Angst, pining, flirting, arguing, reader insecurity, wagering, brat behavior, dirty talk, size kink, or al s ex, raw p in v (wrap before you tap),  b reeding kink, pain kink, m asturbation,o ral sex (f recieving) Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is part two of Doctor and Mr. Cavill. Let me know if you liked it!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

“I am in control. I am not a man possessed. I am not an animal.”

Henry repeated it to himself as he prepared for his morning cardio run down, which just happened to be 3.5 miles down Route 60 to your house. He decided that running would serve two purposes: One, to round out his morning exercise, and two, to calm him down. 

It had been a long two weeks away. 

You were constantly on Henry’s mind and it took all of his acting skills to attend to the matters that took him home to Great Britain. But he was finally back in your town, which happened to be the location of his latest film role, and he was focused on letting you know that he didn’t think of you as just a good time in America. 

Henry knew that you thought he just wanted to have his way with you. The truth was that he felt for you deeply, and he didn’t quite know how to tell you. Things had gone much farther and faster than he ever imagined they would.

That’s why Henry was determined to be a gentleman today.

He’d stop by and say hello, collect Kal, ask you out on a date, and leave you intact like the lady you are. And then, maybe later, perhaps…. His heart rate escalated as he decided that he wouldn’t just grab you and take you up to your bed and fuck your brains out. 

No.

Absolutely not. 

Henry shook his head and smiled as he started the 5K run to your house. 

He’d landed the night before, and you both agreed that he needed to rest before he was in charge of Kal again. He slept, and then bounded out at 5 am the next morning to train and also to tame the boner that he’d awakened with for the past fortnight.

Henry’s head was in the clouds and he barely registered any exertion on the road to your place; he just daydreamed about led him to this point.

-------

Two weeks earlier...

Good morning Doctor. How are you?

The text was sent at 7:43 am, as soon as he touched down at JFK. Henry found that he had no qualms about looking desperate for you, because he actually was. 

Henry was surprised when you responded so promptly this early in the morning, but he was pleased.

Good morning Mr. Cavill. I’m a little sore. Fed the animals and am now taking a nice, hot bath.

Henry was concerned as he shouldered his backpack and walked down the jet bridge to the car area for his service. He was stopped for an autograph by someone who recognized him despite his baseball cap and mask, and as such, he didn't have time to really think when he responded.

Oh no! Did you lift too much feed? You really must lift heavy weights properly.

Henry’s brow was furrowed as he thought of you injured. You chuckled at Henry’s cluelessness. 

You’re carrying the weight that did the damage.

It took a second for the lightbulb to go off in Henry’s head, and when it did, he groaned, remembering how tight you’d been around him, but then he frowned again. He dialed you as soon as he was in the SUV with the door closed. 

You stared at your phone, not believing that he was facetiming you. After hesitating for just a moment, you answered.

“Hello?”

Henry peered at you through the screen then smiled, bringing the sun into your world.

“Hullo.”

You smiled back and bit your lip and Henry watched your mouth turn into a little pout. Damn, he was a goner. 

“Are you okay?”

His voice was laced with a sexy tone that sent a tingle down your spine. You could swear that your title had now become a term of endearment instead of a joke. Your head was spinning with desire, need and a little uncertainty. 

“I am perfectly fine.”

You certainly looked fit, Henry thought. And then he spied the bruise on your lip.

“What happened to your mouth?”

Henry looked angry, and your heart beat faster, thinking of how attractive he was when the dark clouds entered his eyes.

“… I split my lip when I… “ 

You looked down, eyelashes fanning your heated cheeks. What came next out of your mouth was a low and husky, but perfectly clear, whisper.

“I split my lip on you.”

Even in the bath, you grew moist at the memory of trying to accommodate Henry’s girth the night before. The slight pain of your bruised lip was forgotten the night before when you’d looked up at him through your lashes. 

Henry’s barely perceptible moan brought you back into the moment and made you rub your thighs together under the water. He took you in, an alluring vision all slippery and wet and beautiful. If he could actually fly like Superman back to your side, he would.

“Dear God. Do you know what you do to me?”

Henry intoned it deeply as he rubbed his jaw and licked his lips. 

“No, I don’t know, Mr. Cavill. Tell me?”

Henry let out a dark chuckle, double checking that the privacy partition was up in the car even though he had his airpods in.

“You’re an enchantress. I cant resist your allure, my dear Doctor, you’re captivating and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I left.”

He watched you blush and had an idea. 

“I have to get out of this car soon, and I’ll have to make it to my room to take care of this evidence of your affect on me…” 

He panned down to his lap.

“Don’t…please.”

Henry's hand stilled on the ridge of his denimed dick. You’d commanded him with a whisper. He growled your name deep in his throat and you visibly shivered.

“I mean. It’s not for me to decide, but, if you were looking forward to us participating in activities like we did last night again…I’d rather you not…spill anything without me there to collect it. That is, if you could wait that long to cum again. To cum.. inside… me again..”

When you looked up at him again, you saw Henry’s eyes dilate as he bit his lip thinking of your wet heat. His cock jumped as debased images of what he wanted to do to you flooded his brain. He cleared his throat and his eyebrow rose as he bared his teeth in a feral smile to speak to you, his deep bass rumbling through you.

“You want me to save my seed to fill you up with, hmmm?”

You nodded, biting your lip, and your half closed eyes and whimpers only made him harder. He moved his hands to the leather seat of the suv, as he listened to the water moving around you as your free hand floated to your thigh. 

“How about I come back with my balls heavy with cum to pump you full of and let drip out of your pores. Could you handle that?”

You squirmed, your face full of desire. Henry felt like a man starved for your touch although he just left you not 4 hours earlier.

“Mmmmmm... I’d like that. Very, very much.”

Henry watched you throw your head back and licked his lips,trying to find the taste of you from last night.

“D’you need to be fucked again, Doctor?”

He was speaking softly, but resolutely now, his dulcet tones making you feel some kind of way.

“Ohhh, Henry… I’m still a little sore and swollen.”

Henry bit his lip. He didn’t want you to be discomforted, but the idea that he’d ruined you made him mad with need. He was panting as if he’d played a full rugby match and he was ready to burst inside his pants. 

“Are you? I should be there, to kiss that sweet little cunt. Soothe all her sore places with my tongue. D’you need that?” 

Henry stopped himself from calling you Love, but the pet name reverberated in his brain as he watched your beautiful face full of want for him.

“Yes Henry. Oh my goddd!”

You brought your hand up to your neck and Henry wished it was his.

“Lemme see those nipples, play with them for me, yeah?” 

You did as you were told and Henry watched as you filled your hands with yourself. He nearly cried at the sight. He instinctively rubbed his cock again, but he could control himself.

Couldn’t he?

With you he was not so sure, but there was no going back now, he had to see you through to your end.

“Feel that pussy for me, let her know how much I miss her already. Get in there, Love. Let me hear how much she aches for me.”

He’d let it slip. And he didn’t care. You didn't either. He could call you anything he wanted as long as he didn’t stop talking you through this need. 

“Oh… Hen-ry…”

Your mouth opened wider and your head was thrown back as your hands ventured further down your body.

“Are you circling that plucky little bud for me?”

“Y-yessssss.”

The stutter and the look on your face made him even bolder. Henry clenched his jaw and his fists to keep control.

“I’m not far from the hotel. Give me one before I get there. Be a good girl for me…you were so good last night…took my cock so well, although I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“I’m not…hurt so good Henry…”

Henry kept his eyes on you as you licked your lips and keened. You had him sweating 1500 miles away. 

“I wanted to fill you up and watch it drip out of you…”

“F-f-fuck…!” 

You were panting like a wild animal, and Henry swallowed the whine that was lodged in his throat with a growl. 

“Now stuff three of your pretty little fingers in that pretty little plump cunt. Cum for me. Give me something to dream about.”

You heard his fierce whisper and your eyes rolled as you tried to catch your breath. 

“H-h-henryyyy!”

Henry experienced three things: your beautiful face as you screamed with pleasure, his cock raging hard in the confines of his jeans, and his heart beating a mile a minute in his ears. Henry cursed under his breath and reached for the cold bottle of water provided by the car service. He took a swig, then closed it and put it on his forehead. 

Henry tried to collect himself as he listened to your breathing settle and watched you open your eyes slowly and smile shyly at him.

“Such a good girl for me. You alright?”

You hummed. 

“Yes, Mr. Cavill, Sir.”

Henry grinned. Maybe he had tamed the brat a little.

“Now. No more orgasms until I return.”

Henry the Dom was in full force. How was this your life? All you could do was smile at the fortune of having one of the sexiest men in the world lavish this attention on you. You decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

“Right.”

Henry cocked his brow at you. He hoped he looked hard. Because inside….Well, inside, he was all mush for you.

“What was that?”

“I mean, No Sir.”

Henry wanted to say a lot, but he needed to get on with his day; his first interview was in less than two hours.

“We will talk later, Doctor, before I board the redeye for London..”

“Of course, Mr. Cavill. Sir.”

Henry threw you a look as you winked and ended the call. He sighed and stepped out of the car, head full of you as he headed to the penthouse.

You climbed out of the bath and fell back into bed naked, dreaming of Henry in your arms.

—--

Three days later….

The picture you’d sent made Henry wild.  

It was an innocent picture of Kal, his snout resting on your bare thigh. It was exactly where he wanted to be.

“That rake. Trying to steal my girl,” he murmured to himself as he grinned at his phone.

“What’s that Hen?”

Henry looked up at the two men who were smirking at him over their brandies. Henry looked from Corey to Jamie’s face. He hadn’t heard a word they’d said.

“What?”

“You’ve not stared down at your lap and smiled like that since Year 7.” 

Corey knew Henry better than almost anyone.

“Who is it?”

Jamie was curious what had his mate so distracted. Henry’s head was in the clouds in between press for their movie that was being released, he was working out every spare minute, and he wasn’t looking at any of the lovely ladies that threw themselves at him, not even a little. 

Henry’s face lit up.

“I don’t even know where to begin. She’s… she’s amazing…”

Henry commenced to waxing poetic about you. 

When he finally took a breath, Corey asked, “Yeah, yeah.. But how does she look, lad?”

Henry grinned and flipped through the pictures that you’d sent him on request. He found one that was relatively tame, with you sitting ensconced in his sweatshirt and nothing else. All you could see was your freshly washed face, that smile, and those legs.

Corey whistled.

“There’s a looker!” 

He passed the phone to Jamie who looked at you and then up at Henry, who was beaming.

“That’s why you’ve been hitting the gym harder than usual. Working off that tension.”

Henry grinned.

“Yeah, she’s going to get it when I get back.”

Corey was quick to catch him.

“He’s saving himself? Oh shit. This is serious. When’s the wedding?”

Henry blanched.

“What?...No… we only just…”

“Henry. Did you notice the girl with the huge rack who’s walked by our table four times?”

Henry looked around the restaurant.

“Where? No…”

“She’s right there!”

Henry looked in the direction that Corey pointed.

“Her?” Henry laughed. “She’s… passable.”

Corey looked at Jamie and shook his head.

“You’re right, James. He’s gone. Raise a glass.”

Henry shook his head as Corey and James toasted and took a mockingly somber drink, then he clinked his own.

“Here’s to My Dear Doctor.”

“If she can tie you down, then cheers to Dr. Y/N!”

Henry shared a laugh with his friends.

“Now who wants to go on a run in the morning?”

—

Later that night:

Although it was after midnight for Henry, it was only after 7 where you were. But your insecurity permeated your conversation with him that night. You went on about his dating history and he railed against online gossip mongers. Finally, you said what you were really thinking.

“I am so not your type, Henry.”

Henry sighed.

“What are you on about?”

I’m a convenience while you’re in town. And you still think you want me because we’re practically sexting every moment of the day. I bet that if we didn’t talk until you had to come back, you’d forget all about me. You’ll find some beautiful English rose…”

“How much?”

“Hunh?” You were being thrown off of your rant.

“How much do you want to bet?”

“Henry….”

“We’ve got, what, 10 more days? 100 quid.”

You couldn’t believe him.

“You’re trying to make light of this. Don’t worry about it. I’m not upset Henry.”

“So you’re chicken?”

“I am NOT!” You huffed. “What is a ‘quid’? A pound? You’re betting me a hundred pounds?”

“I forgot how poor the dollar is. I’ll take it easy on you. 100 dollars US.”

“You have a deal Mr. Cavill.”

Henry grinned on the other end of the line. Your brat side would work to his advantage this time.

“Deal. No more phone calls. Just two texts a day. Good morning and good night.”

You were quiet a long time. Then you decided, if it was going to end, you should just go ahead and end it.

“Okay. Goodbye Henry.”

“See you soon, Doctor.”

—-----

Ten days after that conversation, you were feeding the sheep when Kal started barking and going crazy at the fence. You approached it and looked down the road to see Henry running toward you at an impressive pace.

Butterflies began to flutter in your belly. The last 10 days had sent you spiraling. Two texts a day were not enough. You missed Henry horribly, and you’d imagined him diddling half of Europe since you practically told him to. Well, you only had yourself to blame. You’d ruined a good thing, even if it were temporary.

You didn’t want to face him, but you had to give him his dog. You didn’t have much time prepare yourself because Henry’s time was good. He ran up and leaned on the fence as he greeted Kal. Then he looked up at you, hypnotizing you with those eyes and that smile of his. 

Damn, you’d missed his face.

Henry was unequivocally a goner. The sight of you made him light headed, the erratic nature of his heart not a good combination with the increase from running.

“Hello, Doctor. How are you?”

Henry smiling at you made you warm. It felt like you’d never been asked that question before and you wanted to tell him your life story, but you just said, “Fine. And you Mr. Cavill?”

Henry grinned at the formalities. You were still his incorrigible brat that he’d left in bed two weeks ago. 

His?

Yes, His, he decided as he watched you unlatch the gate enabling Kal’s attack. He laughed and rolled around in the grass with his pup and you watched fondly. You could get used to these two brutes. You tried to walk around them when Kal went after you too, tripping you up and causing you to fall onto Henry, straddling him as Kal barked excitedly beside you two. 

You looked into Henry’s eyes, feeling him beneath you. It wasn’t sexual, not quite, just familiar. Henry was being calm and his hands just rested on your sides as he grinned up at you. You wanted to hug him. But instead, you made to get up.

“S-sorry.”

“No problem at all, Doctor.”

You cleared your throat and stood up, placing your hands on your hips, grimacing at Henry, who was up now himself. His hair was haloed by the early morning sunlight, and he winked at you as he brushed himself off. Damn him and his perfect features.

“D’you want some water?”

Henry regarded you, solemn and intense, when a drop of sweet traveled from his hairline into his right eye. You felt like you were drooling as you watched his biceps flex as he wiped it away.

“You’ve read my mind.”

The timbre of his voice reminded you of that night on facetime, and your pulse quickened at the thought that you had indeed read his mind. You wanted him, and here he was acting like you were just acquaintances. He really had fooled around in Europe. You could have kicked yourself.

You turned and Henry followed you into your house, taking off his shoes and washing his hands as you did. You watched Henry gulp down the water and you kept your distance. Kal seemed content to give you both your space in the kitchen as he laid in the sunlight from the window in the dining room.

“Doctor, we need to talk.”

Your heart dropped. You knew it.

“There’s nothing to talk about. We talked already. You found someone else. Or had some random hookups. Just as I told you you would.”

Henry’s blood was starting to boil. He took a deep breath, but his voice still came out menacing.

“You are the most maddening woman.You don’t get to tell me what I want, or what I did or what I should do. Like you said, we don’t know each other that well. But I thought that we had an understanding, L/N…”

Now you were angry.

“What understanding? How can we have an understanding if we’ve never really talked. We just fucked. You were horny. I was there. We. Just. Fucked. That’s it. It was good. Now it is over.”

“Oh? It’s over is it? I’ve half a mind to turn you over my knee.”

You chucked your chin up at him like you were daring him.

Henry saw the glint in your eye and he knew what had to happen. Gentlemanly thoughts were out the window. He put the glass down and advanced on you.

You moved back and opened your mouth to reply, but what came out was a squeak. You closed it quickly

“That’s right, listen good, little mouse.”

He moved again and you stayed put.

“Yes. We fucked. We fucked and it was amazing. But we fucked because I’m insanely attracted to you in a myriad ways, not just because I wanted to fuck. You were right. I know how to smash and dash, Doctor, and this is not that.”

Henry paused to look into your eyes, to make sure you understood him. 

“I’m in awe of you. You’re a skilled professional, you’re kind, and gentle, and a nerd who loves to have a good time. You soothe me. You make me think and you make me go mad every time I think about how your body seems made for mine.”

You were inches apart, but he didn’t touch you. 

“I’m entirely and utterly smitten with you. And I’m afraid of the power you have over me Doctor. I’m supposed to behave as a gentleman, but you make it impossible.”

Then, he stepped back leaned up against your counter, running his hand through his curls. It was the counter where you first kissed. You smiled at him.

Henry eyed you warily and crossed his arms, showcasing his muscles and veins. You were dangerous. but he was going to be strong.

“What?”

“You mean that you didn’t get with anyone else when you were away?”

Henry sighed and rolled his eyes.

“No. Didn’t want to.”

He stood up straighter as you advanced on him now.

“This perfect specimen of a body?”

You pointed, just shy of touching him. Henry reached back and grabbed the counter to keep from grabbing you. 

You reached out and trailed your hand down his muscle shirt, stopping shy of the waistband of his shorts.

“And you’re willing to wait even longer?”

Henry cleared his throat.

“Yes.”

Henry’s voice broke and he caught your eye. At that moment, you knew your power.

“It’s just for you, Doctor. When you’re ready.”

You scoffed at him. And leaned up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. 

“But this body is for the world, Mr. Cavill. After all, millions drool over it every day.”

Your lips brushed the shell of his ear, and Henry closed his eyes and suppressed a shiver. He gave in and reached for you, grabbing you and pulling your flush to him. He looked down, eyes sparkling.

“Maybe so, but how we feel pressed together is just between me and you.”

You looked into the softness of his eyes and you could tell he was sincere.

“But how can you know?”

“I just know that I know. I want to protect you, I want to comfort you… I want to...”

“Oh, Henry…”

You threw your arms around him and kissed him. He lay claim to your mouth again and after, he rested his forehead on yours, panting.

“I’m… I want to be a gentleman…Want to take you out. Wine…dine…”

You palmed him over his shorts and watched his eyes dilate.

“What if I take you out?”

Henry watched you lick your palm and reach into his sweats as he forgot to breathe.

“I- I …”   Henry looked down at what you were doing. “Careful…’

You looked up at him, determined now.

“I thought you were going to cum inside me and leak out of my pores.”

“Mmmmmmmmmother of god!” 

Henry clenched his jaw as he growled at you. 

“I do want to fuck you very badly, Doctor. But you deserve… to be treated….”

Henry’s voice faded away as you continued to stroke his rock hard length.

“It’s been 14 days. I deserve to be fucked. Hard. Need you ... please… Sir.”

You took his right hand and put it on your breast. He rolled your nipple through your shirt and then mirrored the gesture with his left. Henry had a brief thought that you were trying top him before his brain short circuited.

Before you knew it, you’d been spun around and your face was on the cool marble of your countertop. Henry pulled your leggings down to your ankles. You pulled one leg out and Henry hoisted it up on the counter. You leaned back and desperately grabbed at his curls.

“Please Henry, Give!”

He leaned over and whispered in your ear as his fingertips spread you wide. 

“Trust me Doctor, you will take. But first…”

Henry sank to his knees and whispered to your cunt.

“Been so long. Need to taste…mmmmmmm.”

You were pulled back onto Henry’s face as he buried his mouth into your wet crevasse. He hummed and smacked as if he were eating the best meal of his life. Henry certainly thought so. He destroyed your soul as he alternated fucking you with his tongue and licking you rudely throughout your entire crease.

After you came on his face, he took off your pants completely, and lifted you easily in his arms, walking a few feet to your couch.

Henry set you down face first before him, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“You’re a venus, my dear Doctor.”

Henry’s thick fingers moved from your knee digging into the couch cushions up your thigh to the wetness dripping there. Four fingers found your slick and swiped, while his thumb ghosted your puckered hole.

“Mhmmmmm. Henry…”

“So responsive f’me. Want to be everywhere all at once.”

Henry enjoyed the feeling of his cock slipping in your wetness, the way you moved to try and get him inside you. He moaned knowing how much you wanted him too. His hands moved up from your hips to find your nipples under the top you were wearing and your moves became more wanton. Henry became irritated at the confines of your shirt. He reached for the hem.

“Take this off…There we go.”

He pulled you to him, your cool back against his warm torso, and he trailed his hands up and down your body.

“‘ve wanted my hands on you ever since I left…”

“Me too, Mr. Cavill.”

You’d turned your head to whisper, and Henry’s mouth captured yours in a kiss. You wiggled your ass against the pounding organ that was wedged between your cheeks, and he reached down to grab your hip to still you.

“Want my cock?”

You shook your head.

“No. Need it.”

And with that, you bent down again and looked over your shoulder at him, arching your back.

Henry gazed down at your presented ass and turned his head to the side, admiring, as that eyebrow raised and made you that much wetter.

“Yesss…” His blue eyes met yours. “I believe that you do.”

You whimpered and dropped your head, watching from below as Henry grabbed his cock at the base, his fingers splayed out against his big balls as he lined up and breached you with his rude, wide, mushroom tip. 

“Let me…”

The stretch burned deliciously, and both of you grunted as Henry eased into you, his length and girth making you question reality again. 

“…Slide into this warm…”

“Oh, Henry! Feels so-”

He cut you off.

“Shit! Love how you take it.”

“Oh god!”

You were almost sobbing at how good it felt.

“I feel you inside me.”

“D’you feel it getting bigger?”

You could hear the grin in his voice. You nodded and sobbed, the feeling indescribable.

“Stretching you out. So, so good.”

“Uh unhhh uhmmmmm. Missed you Hen...ry!”

“Me, too, Love. Me....too!”

Henry was moaning behind you as he smoothly thrust in and out of you, making it so good that your buried your head into the pillow and drooled into it between your screams of: “Oh my goddd!”

“Mmmm just like that, take it all for me.”

He delivered a sound slap to your behind and you keened.

“Love it when you take it all.”

He smacked you again.

“D’you like my cock?” he demanded.

“Mmmmyeah hmmm, I love itttt!”

Henry moved his hand around to your clit and started manipulating it.Then, he moved your hand to your sensitive nub as you whimpered.

“Now take over for me. Circle that clit. Justttt like that.”

You did as you were told, your legs shaking.

“Ohhh oh my god, Henry!”

“Just like that. Good girl.”

Henry smacked your ass yet again.

“Now keep it up.”

The stimulation was getting to be too much. This man knew how to fuck all of you, not just your body, but your mind.

“Henry…” 

Your plaintive wail was almost too much for Henry. Yet he persisted.

“M’ gonna fuck you….”

Your wetness was making what was now happening sound obscene, and served to get you closer to the orgasm he hadn’t given you permission to have yet.

“Oh god!”

You wanted to pull your hand away, but you obeyed his command.

“There…”

Henry swiveled his hips so that your insides lit up like a christmas tree as he fucked you.

“Please…”

You couldn’t breathe, and you were beginning to feel a certain pressure in your pelvis. You whimpered again as Henry made you feel every nerve ending in your body.

“…Just…. there…”

Henry’s thrusts were controlled and steady, despite feeling your cunt clenching in waves around him as you tried in vain to stave off your end.

“Oh yeah I like that.” 

He’d leaned down, hot breath in your ear.

“Oh I feel it Henry.”

“God yeah. Me too. You like that, Doctor?”

“Oh Godddddd!”

Henry pulled you upright and you struggled to keep circling your clit as your hips sped up of their own volition. You used two hands as Henry squeezed your hips, holding on as you bounced up and down on his dick. His eyes were glued to your bouncing tits. 

“Oh shit! Just there…bounce like that, yeah.” 

Henry’s mouth descended and latched on, sucking your jugular as you fucked yourself on him. His hands kneaded your bouncing breasts. He was in heaven.

“Use me, Baby. Make yourself feel good.”

“You’re so fucking big….”

Henry grinned into your neck.

“Feel it Doctor…” 

Henry was blowing in your ear as he suckled on your lobe now. He bent you back over, placing his hand between your shoulder blades so you would move your hands and deliver the arch. You were relieved yet still desperate. Henry looked down and groaned.

“Look at that cream.”

The timbre of Henry’s voice and the slapping of skin on skin was more than you could bear.

“Henry… Please! Can I cum?”

The slapping intensified as Henry sped up and got sloppy, losing control finally.

“Cum… now Doctor…”

Henry stroked into you fiercely, prolonging your orgasm until your spasming channel forced him out of you.

You both exclaimed in disappointment, and Henry in laughed as he kissed your neck and plunged back inside you, fucking you even harder now.

“Thank you for that. I was about to spill everything inside you and this would be over. Gave me a bit of a breather. Now give me that arch again.”

He bent you over again.

“Just there. Oh yeah… Looka there…that arch…yesss. Love that arch.”

He crossed his arms to hold your hips still so that he could go even harder.

“Am I fucking you properly?”

You were drooling and your eyes were rolling; you barely registered his question. Henry slapped your ass.

“Oh. Yesssss! Fuck yesss. Cock is so hard…so big.”

“Oh, shit…sssssss!”

Henry hissed as he felt his cum crawl up from his balls. 

“I….ugh… Henry!!!... I’m cuming…”

“M…Me toooo!”

—-

You were the little spoon to Henry’s big as he held you on your couch, the plaid throw covering your nakedness. You stroked Henry’s arm as he held you close.

“Did you spend the entire two weeks thinking that up?”

Henry leaned over to look at you, smiled, and kissed your nose. Then he relaxed again.

“That was entirely off the cuff. You’re an inspiration. A muse.”

“A sexual muse, hunh.”

Henry pulled you closer to him. 

“So much more than sexually. You inspire me in so many areas.”

You looked back at him quizzically. He just grinned.

“Come, lets get cleaned up and get dressed. And give me ride over to my place, would you? We have a brunch reservation in… two hours at The Orangery. I’m taking you out on the town.”

“And you can pay, because you owe me a hundred dollars.”

You realized that it was put up or shut up time as Henry grinned at you.

——

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