#Ashen talks shit

[ashenious]

The drakenier game series is just what happens when reverse isekai goes horribly wrong

[pucksandpower]

Hail to the Chief

Lando Norris x First Daughter of the US!Reader

Summary: in which Lando doesn’t realize exactly who he took back to his hotel room after the Miami Grand Prix (and almost causes an international incident in the process)

You stir awake, blinking slowly while you take in the unfamiliar surroundings. The sheets rustle as you stretch, a pleased smile spreading across your face. Strong arms tighten around your waist, and you glance over your shoulder to see Lando gazing at you with warm eyes.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your bare shoulder.

You hum in contentment, snuggling back against his muscular chest. The sunlight streams in through the curtains, casting the hotel room in a cozy glow. Clothes are strewn across the floor, reminders of your passionate night together after meeting at the club.

Lando’s hand trails up your side, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. You shiver as his lips find the sensitive spot behind your ear, his breath hot.

“Ready for round two?” He whispers, his voice husky.

You twist in his arms to face him, locking your legs with his beneath the sheets. “I thought you’d never ask,” you purr, capturing his mouth in a deep kiss.

Just as things start heating up, loud banging erupts from the suite’s door. You break apart, startled. Lando frowns.

“Housekeeping?” You ask in confusion. More pounding follows, furious and insistent.

“I don’t think so,” Lando says warily.

Before either of you can react, the door crashes open, wood splintering. Men in dark suits pour into the suite, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. You yelp, grabbing the sheet to your chest. Lando scrambles upright, shock written across his handsome face.

“What the hell?” He exclaims.

The men converge on the bed in a swarm. Two sequester you, gently steering you away. The others tackle Lando, shoving him to the floor.

“Don’t fight it,” one orders as Lando struggles. He pins Lando’s arms behind his back.

“Get off me!” Lando shouts, face smushed into the carpet. “What is this?”

You know exactly what this is. Your security detail, come to collect you after last night’s escape. Panic rises in your throat.

“Please, don’t hurt him,” you beg the agents holding you.

Their grips remain firm but nonviolent. One talks rapidly into his earpiece, confirming the situation is handled. The apparent leader of the group stands over Lando, who glares up at him defiantly.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” the man states gruffly. “But you’re coming with us.”

Two agents haul Lando to his feet. He stands there in only his boxers, completely perplexed. You bite your lip, shot through with guilt. This is all because of you.

The agent in charge approaches you next, his gaze softening slightly. “Time to go home, ma’am. Your father is waiting.”

Lando’s head whips toward you so fast it must give him whiplash. “Ma’am? Your father?” His face goes ashen with dawning comprehension that there’s more to you than meets the eye. You wince, knowing there’s no way out of this now.

The agents begin herding you and Lando at a brisk pace through the ravaged hotel room door. Lando cranes his neck, trying to look at you.

“Y/N, what the hell is going on?” He hisses, stumbling along in the grip of two agents. “Who are you?”

You open your mouth, an apology on your lips. Before you can speak, the lead agent interjects sharply.

“She’s the First Daughter of the United States, son. And you’re in deep shit.”

Lando pales. “The President’s-”

“That’s right,” the man confirms. “And he’s mighty unhappy you took certain liberties with his little girl.”

Lando gulps audibly. Your heart twists with regret, seeing him so distraught. But the agents allow no further discussion, marching you both through the hotel’s back corridors. In minutes, you’re bundled into a black SUV with tinted windows. Tires screech as your motorcade peels away, sirens blaring.

You reach for Lando’s hand, relief flooding you when he doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper earnestly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He searches your face, brow furrowed. But his fingers tighten around yours. “It’s okay. Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

You nod, knowing you owe him an explanation. But before you can speak, the SUV rolls to a stop on an empty airport tarmac. A sleek private plane awaits, engines rumbling. The agents hurry you both up the stairs into the lavish cabin.

Once settled inside, the lead agent fixes Lando with a solemn look. “We’re taking you straight to DC. The President wants to have a word with you both.”

Lando gulps again. You squeeze his hand, offering a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry. My dad’s just a little … overprotective sometimes.”

You nestle close to Lando as the jet taxis down the runway, hoping to provide some comfort. But he sits rigidly, face pale.

“Hey,” you say softly, “It’s going to be okay.”

Lando turns to you with wide, frightened eyes. “Okay? Your dad is the President! And I … I ...” He gestures helplessly at you, at a loss for words.

“Deflowered his only daughter?” You supply with a teasing grin.

Lando gulps loudly. “Oh god. He’s going to kill me, isn’t he? I’m a dead man. They’ll waterboard me or worse.”

You have to laugh at his flustered expression. “Relax, it won’t be that bad.”

“Easy for you to say,” Lando grumbles. “You’re not the one who’s gonna get shipped off to some CIA black site never to be heard from again.”

“Oh come on, he won’t go that far.”

Lando turns to you with wide, frightened eyes. “Are you sure? I’ve heard stories about shady government stuff. Secret torture chambers under the White House. Experimental poisons. Attack eagles trained to go for the jugular.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment before stating in a deadpan voice, “The eagles prefer to go for the liver actually. More tender that way.”

Lando lets out a whimper, his face draining of color. “Oh god, you’re serious?” He squeaks. “I knew it, I’m never getting out of this alive!”

You can’t keep a straight face any longer and burst out laughing. “Lando, relax! I’m just messing with you. There are no attack eagles or secret torture chambers.”

You take his hand and kiss his cheek reassuringly. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. My dad will probably just want to have a talk with you. That’s all.”

Lando still looks uncertain, but manages a shaky nod. “If you say so. But I think I’ll say a prayer or two just in case. Please tell me your old man doesn’t have a shotgun.”

“No shotguns,” you confirm, patting Lando’s knee. “But the Secret Service on the other hand ...”

Lando’s eyes widen in renewed fear. He clasps his hands together dramatically and looks upward. “Dear spirit of Ayrton Senna, please protect me from the wrath of the President and his highly trained special agents. I know not what awaits me in Washington, but I beg you to guard me from grievous bodily harm ...”

***

The plane touches down at Andrews Air Force Base, and you and Lando are swiftly escorted from the plane into an armored SUV. Lando fidgets nervously in his seat during the short drive through the capital, hands clasped tightly in his lap.

“It’s going to be okay,” you murmur, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. He attempts a weak smile in return.

All too soon, the SUV pulls up to the White House. You and Lando are ushered quickly inside by Secret Service agents, bypassing security checks. As you walk briskly through the historic halls, Lando gapes at the lavish architecture and priceless artwork adorning the walls.

“This is unreal,” he whispers. You give his hand an encouraging squeeze.

At last you arrive outside the Oval Office. The agents pause, stone-faced, before opening the tall wooden doors. Your stomach flip-flops with nerves as you enter behind them.

There, seated at the Resolute Desk, is your father — the President of the United States. He rises as you approach, his face impassive. You offer a timid smile.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Your father’s stern expression instantly melts. He circles the desk and pulls you into a warm embrace.

“There’s my little girl,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “You had me so worried.”

Guilt gnaws at you. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t you worry about that now. I’m just glad you’re safe.” He pauses, then adds, “Though if you really wanted an F1 driver, why couldn’t it have been that nice American boy Logan Sargeant? Now there’s an upstanding young patriot.”

Your father holds you by the shoulders, surveying you with concern. Seeing that you’re unharmed, his gaze shifts to Lando hovering awkwardly behind you. Your father’s eyes harden, his jaw setting. Lando audibly gulps.

Stepping between them, you take a deep breath. “Daddy, this is Lando. The man I was with last night.”

You lace your fingers through Lando’s in a show of solidarity. Your father’s piercing stare makes him fidget.

“Lando Norris,” your father states coldly. “Formula 1 driver. British national. Born and raised in Bristol, England. Competes for McLaren Racing. Net worth of $30 million USD. Had unauthorized relations with my daughter approximately ...” He glances at his watch, “ ... twelve hours ago.”

Lando pales under your father’s recitation of his biography and recent activities. You shoot your dad a pleading look.

“Go easy on him, okay?”

Your father’s face softens slightly at your words. He beckons for Lando to step forward.

“Son, you have exactly one minute to explain yourself before I set the full force of the United States government on you for defiling my princess. And believe me when I say there are dark places in this world where no one will ever find you again.”

Lando looks ready to pass out. He glances at you in panic, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. You give his hand an encouraging squeeze, signaling for him to speak.

“I-I’m so sorry, Mr. President,” Lando stammers. “Obviously I didn’t know who Y/N was when we met last night. But I care about her a lot, truly, and I would never intentionally do anything to hurt her. I have nothing but respect for her and for you, sir.”

He straightens his shoulders, gaining confidence. “I understand I made a mistake, and I take full responsibility. But I promise, my intentions are honorable. If you’ll permit it, I’d like to properly court Y/N with your blessing.”

Your father studies Lando for a long moment, face unreadable. The tension in the room is stifling. Finally, he cracks a wry smile.

“Very well. You’ve got spunk, kid, I’ll give you that. And clearly my daughter sees something in you worth all this trouble. But understand this—” Your father leans in, eyes flashing. “You’ve got one shot to prove yourself worthy of her. Mess it up, and you’ll be scrubbing toilets in Guantanamo Bay for the rest of your short, miserable life. Are we clear?”

Lando audibly gulps again. “C-crystal clear, sir.”

“Good.” Your father claps Lando on the shoulder firmly enough to make him wince. Then he turns to you, expression softening.

“I’m not happy you were out all night without security, young lady. You’ll be grounded for two weeks. No cell phone, no social media, and no racing events.” You open your mouth to protest, but your father silences you with a raised hand. “However, in light of the circumstances, we’ll reduce it to one week. Consider yourself lucky.”

You sigh but don’t argue. Your father pulls you in for one more hug. “I’m glad you’re alright, sweetpea. Now run along back to the residence while I have a few more words with your new suitor here.”

You give Lando an encouraging smile as you exit the Oval Office. The last thing you see before the door shuts is your father clapping a hand on Lando’s shoulder again, steering him toward the Roosevelt Desk. “Have a seat, son. We’ve got lots to discuss ...”

Lando perches anxiously on the edge of the chair across from your father at the Roosevelt Desk.

“First things first,” your dad begins. “I expect you to treat my daughter with the utmost respect. No staying out all night and no unsavory activities. You will be a gentleman at all times. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Lando says quickly.

“Second, you are not to distract her from her studies. Y/N is on track to graduate top of her class at Georgetown and I won’t have anyone jeopardizing that.”

Lando nods. “Of course not, her education comes first.”

“Good,” your father says gruffly. “Third rule: you will check in with me weekly to provide updates on where you are taking her and what you are doing. And know that my security team will be monitoring your activities closely as well.”

Gulping, Lando agrees to the terms. Your father continues laying down the law for several more minutes, covering everything from curfews to social media posts to PDA.

“And if at any point I decide you are no longer an appropriate suitor for my daughter, you will end the relationship immediately and without argument. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, Mr. President,” Lando says quickly. “You have my word I intend to do right by Y/N.”

Your father studies him a moment longer before cracking a wry smile. “Well, you’ve got guts at least, son. Most boys your age would’ve wet themselves by now. I suppose I can give you a chance. But remember, one toe out of line and ...”

He makes a slicing motion across his throat. Lando audibly gulps.

“Yes sir! I understand completely.”

“Good man,” your father says, standing to clap Lando on the back. “Now let’s get you out of here before you really do pass out ...”

***

After the whirlwind events of the day, Lando is given a plush guest suite in the White House residence to spend the night. He collapses onto the king-sized four poster bed, emotionally exhausted.

Just this morning he woke up with the President’s daughter in his arms. Now he’s been threatened within an inch of his life by the leader of the free world. What a wild rollercoaster of a day.

A soft knock at the door makes Lando jump. Before he can respond, you slip inside, closing the door quietly behind you.

“Y/N!” Lando exclaims in a loud whisper. “What are you doing here?”

You smile mischievously, walking over to sit beside him on the bed. “What does it look like? I missed you.”

Lando’s eyes dart around the room, half expecting your father to burst out of the closet. “Are you crazy? If we get caught together your dad will annihilate me!”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Oh relax, no one patrols the residential wing’s hallways at night. We’re completely alone.” Leaning in, you brush your lips teasingly along his jaw. “Now where were we this morning before we were so rudely interrupted?”

Lando can’t restrain a small groan of desire, but retains the presence of mind to gently halt your roaming hands. “Y/N, we can’t. You heard your father’s rules.”

You make a face. “Come on, live a little! He won’t know as long as we’re discreet.”

Biting his lip, Lando wavers. Having you here, so warm and willing in his arms, is incredibly tempting. And technically the President had only forbidden unauthorized nighttime activities outside of the White House ...

Sensing his hesitation, you straddle his lap and cup his face in your hands. “I want this, Lando,” you murmur sincerely before kissing him deeply.

That does it. Lando kisses you back hungrily, pulling you flush against him. You let out a delighted hum, fingers spearing into his curls. Within moments you’re both stripped down to your underwear, hands greedily exploring.

But as things heat up, Lando abruptly breaks the kiss, eyes wide. “Did you hear that?” He whispers.

You still, listening closely. “Hear what?”

“I thought I heard something in the hall.”

You grin teasingly. “You’re being paranoid.” But you indulge him and climb off so he can check, wrapping yourself in a sheet.

Lando cracks the door open slowly, peering out. Seeing nothing, he lets out a breath and returns to the bed.

“Okay, false alarm. Now, where were-”

His words cut off with a yelp as you pounce, pinning him beneath you. Laughing, you silence any further protest with your lips. Soon Lando is kissing you fiercely once more, hands roaming your body.

Just as he’s unclasping your bra, Lando breaks the kiss again. “Wait, did you lock the door?”

You huff in feigned annoyance. “Of course I did!”

But Lando is already slithering out from under you to double check. You flop back against the pillows with a sigh.

“Lando, would you relax? No one is coming.” You give him your best pleading look. “Now come back to bed and finish what you started, handsome.”

That seems to do the trick. With one final glance at the locked door, Lando grins and rejoins you. His warm hands and mouth resume their sensual exploration.

You’re both completely lost in each other when suddenly the door handle rattles.

“Someone’s coming!” Lando whispers in alarm.

He hurriedly gathers up the sheets around you just as the door swings open to reveal a Secret Service agent.

“Oh, uh, hello?” Lando says, trying to sound casual despite being shirtless and flushed.

You hold perfectly still under the sheet, heart hammering.

The agent surveys the room suspiciously. “Thought I heard voices. Everything alright in here, Mr. Norris?”

“Yep, all good!” Lando says with forced cheer. “Just chatting on the phone. With my … mum. In England. Time zones, you know.”

The agent clearly doesn’t seem convinced, his gaze raking over the disheveled bed. But after a long pause he simply says “Very well. Have a good night, sir.”

Lando sighs in relief as the door shuts. After a moment, you peek your head out from under the sheet.

“That was close!”

Lando flops back onto the bed, laughing. “No kidding! I thought we were busted for sure.”

Tilting his chin up, you give Lando a slow, sensual kiss. “Now then, I believe you still have some unfinished business to attend to, Mr. Norris ...”

Lando searches your face then grins sheepishly, pulling you into his arms. “You’re absolutely incorrigible. Come here.”

***

For your first official date night, Lando takes you out for dinner in The Inn at Little Washington. You emerge from your room in a stunning silky dress, hair and makeup impeccable.

Lando’s eyes widen and he lets out an appreciative whistle. “Wow. You look incredible.”

He pulls you in for a quick kiss, careful not to smudge your lipstick. Just then, your Secret Service detail emerges, dressed in their standard crisp black suits and sunglasses.

The lead agent addresses Lando gruffly. “Alright, here’s the deal. We’ll be accompanying you tonight, but our goal is to stay invisible. Don’t acknowledge us, don’t make eye contact, just pretend we’re not there.”

Lando nods, looking uncertain. With their massive builds and conspicuous attire, ignoring the agents doesn’t seem likely. But he decides to just go with it.

At the restaurant, the hostess seats you and Lando at a cozy table for two. As promised, your detail blends into the background, taking up positions around the dining room. Lando tries his best not to glance nervously at the two imposing figures lurking near the entrance.

After you order, Lando reaches across the table to take your hand. “You really do look stunning tonight,” he says softly. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

You blush prettily. “Smooth talker. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Lando grins. Just then, the sommelier arrives to present the wine list. As he’s rattling off descriptions of merlots and cabernets, you notice Lando’s gaze drift over the sommelier’s shoulder to where two of your agents are posted nearby. You squeeze Lando’s hand to get his attention back.

“Uh, sorry, what was that last one?” Lando asks, snapping his focus back to the confused sommelier.

Once you’ve ordered wine and appetizers, the conversation flows smoothly. Lando has almost forgotten about your not-so-invisible security until the entrees arrive. The waiter sets down your plates with a flourish.

As he pivots to leave, he collides directly with the broad chest of one of your agents, nearly upending the tray of food.

“Oh! Pardon me, sir,” the waiter stammers. The agent, true to his training, ignores the flustered waiter and remains statue-still.

Lando has to fake a coughing fit to disguise his laugh. You cover your mouth delicately, eyes sparkling with amusement. So much for blending seamlessly into the environment.

As dinner progresses, Lando finds his gaze drawn again and again to your hulking shadows scattered around the restaurant. He watches one agent accidentally block a busboy trying to clear a nearby table. Another nearly takes out a hovering food runner as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. It’s like seeing massive, well-dressed bulls in a china shop.

When the check comes, Lando signs quickly then leans toward you conspiratorially. “Have I mentioned how incredibly normal this dinner has been? Just two totally regular people on a date without armed guards watching our every move.”

You have to smother your giggles behind your hand. “Oh yes, completely low-key. I forgot the agents were even here!”

As you exit the restaurant hand-in-hand, Lando murmurs under his breath, “Nothing to see here, just a guy and his girlfriend trailed by four gigantic men in black ...”

You dissolve into laughter, drawing confused looks from passersby. Lando grins and pulls you close. Invisible security or not, it was a perfect first official date. And as your convoy of not-so-covert agents escorts you safely home, he’s already planning many more to come.

***

A few months later, you join Lando at Circuit of the Americas in Austin for the United States Grand Prix. As you walk hand-in-hand through the paddock, Lando smiles and waves at the fans calling his name from behind the fences.

Up ahead, a large group of people round the corner. Their eyes light up when they see you both.

“Here we go,” Lando murmurs, dropping your hand to sign autographs and pose for selfies.

But as the group draws near, you realize they aren’t fans — it’s the Governor of Texas and his entourage.

“Y/N!” the Governor booms jovially, arms open wide. Behind him are several legislators, donors, and a gaggle of reporters. “What a wonderful surprise!”

He engulfs you in a bear hug before holding you at arm’s length. “Don’t you look lovely! How’s your father doing? I just spoke to him last week about the education bill.”

Lando stands by awkwardly as you’re enveloped into the group. You glance at him apologetically while greeting each person.

“Daddy’s doing well, thanks for asking! Keeping busy as always.”

“I’ll bet!” the Governor chuckles. He turns to holler at one of his aides. “Hey Jim, tell the White House we said hello to his beautiful daughter, would ya?”

The reporters surge forward eagerly, microphones extended. “Y/N, what brings you to Austin this weekend?”

You gesture to Lando. “I’m here supporting my boyfriend, Lando. He’s racing for McLaren.”

All eyes turn to Lando curiously. Flashing cameras make him squint. The Governor grabs his hand in an enthusiastic shake.

“Lando, eh? Good to meet you!” Without waiting for a response, he turns back to you. “Y/N, your father briefed me on the proposals to increase Pell Grant funding. Seems like an excellent plan ...”

As the Governor launches into policy discussion, Lando shifts awkwardly on his feet. You keep one eye on him while politely engaging with each person. More politicians approach to lobby you about your dad’s agenda.

“Your father’s infrastructure bill was brilliant!” One praises. “Make sure to tell him he’s got my full support.”

You smile. “I’ll let him know. I know he appreciates your vote.”

One donor pipes up excitedly. “I’ll be holding a high-dollar fundraiser next month in Dallas. Your attendance would mean so much ...”

You tactfully deflect, making no commitments. The reporters pepper you with questions about your studies at Georgetown and future political aspirations. You give diplomatic answers about focusing on the present while the Governor boasts of your potential.

“Y/N here is gonna be President herself one day!” He winks conspiratorially. “I’m calling it now, folks.”

Mercifully, an aide reminds the Governor he’s late for a meeting. As the group prepares to move on, he pumps your hand enthusiastically.

“It was fantastic to see you, Y/N. Tell your old man I said hello! Keep up the good work in school.” He spares a departing nod at Lando. “Nice meeting you, son.”

And with that, the entourage sweeps away. You let out a breath, turning to Lando. “I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t expect the Governor to be here.”

But Lando just stares after the departing politicians, looking slightly stunned. “I mean … I knew your dad was the President. But I guess it didn’t totally sink in until just now ...”

He runs a hand through his curls. “It’s like you’re royalty or something. Paparazzi, donors, governors … you’re a big deal, Y/N.”

You bite your lip. “Not by choice. I know the attention is weird, but I promise I’m still just me.” You take his hand, gazing at him earnestly. “None of those people determine our relationship. Only we do.”

Lando searches your face, then smiles. “You’re right. It’s just … surreal sometimes. But it doesn’t change how I feel or that I want to make this work.”

He squeezes your hand. You grin, feeling a rush of affection. Standing on tiptoe, you give him a lingering kiss. Around you, cameras flash as photographers snap the moment.

Lando chuckles as you break apart. “I’d better get used to that too, huh?”

“Comes with the territory,” you laugh. Taking his arm, you continue through the paddock. “Now come on. Let’s go watch qualifying before more politicians ambush us!”

***

The cheers of the crowd are deafening as Lando crosses the finish line in first place, finally claiming his first ever Formula 1 victory. You’re jumping up and down in the McLaren garage, absolutely elated for your boyfriend.

In the frenzy of celebrations after the race, you and Lando manage to slip away from the crowds and teams back to his hotel suite to continue the festivities in private. As soon as the door shuts behind you, Lando whoops and sweeps you up in his arms, spinning you around.

“I did it, baby! I finally did it!”

You grin, happiness bubbling up inside you. “I’m so proud of you! I knew this day would come.”

Setting you down, Lando crashes his lips to yours in a fierce, passionate kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling like you might burst from joy.

Eventually you break apart, both flushed and beaming. Lando brushes his thumb over your cheek tenderly.

“I couldn’t have done this without your support, Y/N. You being here to share this means everything to me.”

You place your hand over his heart. “Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away. I’ll always be your biggest fan.”

Lando’s eyes darken and he pulls you in for another searing kiss. Your heartbeat quickens as his hands trail down your back, fumbling for the zipper on your dress. Blindly you shuffle toward the bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind you.

Things are just starting to really heat up when suddenly the hotel room door bursts open. Your Secret Service detail comes pouring in, guns drawn.

“HANDS IN THE AIR!” An agent bellows. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Lando yelps, grabbing frantically for a sheet to cover you both. “She’s fine! We’re just … celebrating!”

The agents quickly assess the situation. Their leader clears his throat, lowering his weapon.

“Apologies for the intrusion. Your smart watch alerted us to an elevated heart rate indicating potential distress. We believed you were in danger.”

You close your eyes, mortified heat flooding your cheeks. “Oh my god. It’s fine, everything’s fine! You all can go now.”

The agents shuffle out, mumbling apologies. Lando collapses back on the bed, absolutely hysterical with laughter. You smack his shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder.

“It’s not funny!” You exclaim, covering your flaming face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Lando gasps through his giggles. “It’s just — their faces! And then when they saw us ...” He dissolves into another fit.

Despite your embarrassment, his laughter proves contagious. Soon you’re both wiping away tears, sides aching.

Finally calming down, Lando strokes your hair back from your face affectionately. “Well, that’s one way to kill the mood.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “No kidding. We desperately need to tweak the sensitivity on this watch.”

“Maybe we could take it off temporarily?” Lando suggests with a playful waggle of his eyebrows.

You shake your head. “I wish, but this watch has saved my life before. I can’t take it off.”

Lando’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? What happened?”

You absently toy with the watch on your wrist. “About two years ago I was out shopping and some guys tried to grab me. If I hadn’t been wearing this watch with its location tracker, my detail might not have found me in time.”

You shudder at the memory. Lando takes your hand, face filled with concern.

“That’s awful, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

You offer a reassuring smile. “It worked out okay. So as annoying as it can be, it’s staying on 24/7 for my safety.”

Lando nods seriously. “Of course. I would never want to jeopardize your security just for some fun.” He kisses your temple. “I guess we’ll just have to get creative when it comes to celebrating in private from now on.”

You grin mischievously. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

***

“So Lando, I gotta ask — how are things going with Y/N?” Max Fewtrell asks with a smirk through the webcam.

You feel your cheeks flush from where you’re sitting on the couch off-camera as Lando grins sheepishly. “Things are going great, thanks for asking.”

The chat explodes with messages.

Is she there?

We want to meet her!

Max chuckles at the chat’s reaction. “Sounds like the fans want you to bring Y/N on stream, what do you think?”

Lando looks over at you. “I mean, if you’re up for it they’d love to meet you.”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling shy at the thought of going on Lando’s stream. But the encouraging look on his face gives you courage. “I guess I can say a quick hello,” you say, walking over.

As you enter the frame, Max suddenly starts blasting “Hail to the Chief,” causing you to jump.

“Oh my god Max, really?” You groan, though you can’t help but laugh.

“I had to!” Max cackles. “The First Daughter deserves a proper entrance.”

Lando playfully rolls his eyes and pulls you into his lap. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the memes.”

You smile, leaning into Lando as you glance at the rapidly moving chat. Most of the messages are incredibly positive — welcoming you and talking about what a cute couple you and Lando are.

“Hi everyone!” You say with a small wave. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you all.”

“She’s just a normal girl who happens to have the most powerful man in the world wrapped around her finger,” Lando jokes, kissing your temple.

You grin up at him then turn back to the webcam. “I guess our relationship can look pretty weird from the outside. But Lando makes me really happy, and I hope we have your support.”

The chat floods with heart emotes and messages gushing about young love.

Max smiles. “You two are adorable. But inquiring minds want to know — how did you meet?”

You and Lando share a knowing look. “Well...” he draws out. “We actually met in Miami during the Grand Prix last year.”

“Oooh an international romance!” Max teases.

You poke Lando playfully in the side. “What he’s leaving out is that we met at a club. I was there on a rare night out and he came over to ask me to dance.”

“Is that so?” Max grins.

“Hey now, no need for the details,” Lando says, tickling your sides as you squirm and laugh.

The chat is begging for the full story, so you decide to give it to them. “Okay, okay! So we danced all night and really hit it off. Then the next morning ...”

You trail off, trying not to giggle as Lando shakes his head. “Do we really need to tell them about the next morning?”

Yes! The chat unanimously agrees.

You pat Lando’s cheek. “It’s okay honey, I’ll protect you from the memes this time.”

Clearing your throat, you continue. “So the next morning, after a night of … fun, my secret service detail may have burst into Lando’s hotel room to bring me back home.”

Max bursts out laughing. “No way! Lando, you absolute madman.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Lando exclaims, though he’s laughing too. “How was I supposed to know who she was?”

Max snorts. “I mean, who doesn’t recognize America’s Sweetheart?”

Lando smirks. “I’m British! And I was a bit distracted by her other, uh, assets.”

“Lando!” You swat his chest playfully as he cracks up, the chat going crazy over his flirtatious teasing.

“Anyway,” you go on. “I had to explain to my security team that I was fine and we were just hanging out. But of course they still dragged both of us back to the White House so Lando could meet my father.”

Max is wheezing. “No way, they took you to meet the President after an one night stand?”

Lando covers his reddening face. “It was mortifying. I was stumbling around half asleep still in last night’s clothes, reeking of vodka and bad decisions.”

You kiss his cheek, patting his leg consolingly. “Aww babe, you did great. My dad said he admired your composure given the circumstances.”

Lando peeks out from behind his hands. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm. “He could tell how much you cared about me and that you weren’t just fooling around. And obviously he was right, since here we are a year later and happier than ever.”

Lando smiles softly, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. “Yeah, here we are.”

The chat has switched to mostly heart eye and aww emojis, gushing about you two being relationship goals.

You turn back to the camera a bit bashfully. “So yeah, that’s the story of how we met. Not exactly a fairytale beginning but ...”

You trail off as Lando reaches out to tilt your chin towards him, looking into your eyes earnestly. “It was the start of my fairytale,” he says softly.

Your heart flutters at his words. You lean in and kiss him tenderly. For a moment, it feels like you and Lando are the only two people in the world.

When you finally break apart, you rest your forehead against his. “You’re my fairytale too,” you whisper.

Lando’s eyes are full of love and wonder, as if he can’t believe how lucky he is to have found you.

“Awww!” Max interrupts your intimate moment. “You two are just too cute. The chat is loving this!”

You glance over to see the chat flooded with positive messages about your relationship. Smiling shyly, you take Lando’s hand and lace your fingers together.

“I’d say this turned out to be a pretty good stream, wouldn’t you?” Lando asks, grinning.

You laugh, giving his hand a squeeze. “Definitely one of your best.”

[secondbeatsongs]

with twitter imploding, people are talking about how much it'll suck to have celebrities and brands on here, but...I think celebrities can exist on tumblr in a healthy way.

because I've already seen it happen.

I don't know if you guys remember, but there used to be a decent number of celebrities on here! I mean, the white house had an official tumblr! so did my local library for some reason! everyone thought tumblr was the place to be!

we had George Takei, Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, Hayley Williams, Ariana Grande, Dylan Marron, Dante Basco, Rebecca Sugar, John Green, Hannah Hart, Jacksfilms, Daniel Howell, and Ashens to name a few, as well as brand accounts for Doctor Who, Sherlock, Denny's, and so many others.

(Cole Sprouse was even on here, and it was fine. don't act like it wasn't. it was really not a big deal! it was fine!)

there were plenty of celebrities and brands on tumblr a decade ago - and it worked fine when people knew to stay in their lane!

did Obama's official account give a shit when people posted Obamney slash? absolutely not!

did we pay attention to whatever the brand accounts were posting? we did not!

and so we existed pretty well together on this site - because, after all, we don't have to look at anything we don't want to. we can block people. and they can block us. and we can keep posting what we want, no matter what any celebs or brands have to say about it, just like it's always been.

the only thing I think needs to change is, well...hey...remember how I mentioned John Green and Rebecca Sugar up there?

yeah the reason we don't see them on here anymore isn't because tumblr isn't a place they'd thrive - it's because a bunch of assholes harassed them until they left.

and that's not fucking okay.

so look, if you see celebs/brands on here, follow them, or don't! block them and ignore them, or don't!

but if you send threats and harassment to anyone on here, whether it be a celebrity, brand, or average tumblr user, you are the asshole. full stop. sending threats to other people is never okay. never.

and yes, this goes for the corporate accounts too! those are still run by people!

it's somebody's job to run those accounts, and guess what! that poor, probably-underpaid person doesn't deserve to get sent gore and death threats because their job is running a corporate tumblr account!

just, whatever happens when twitter explodes and dies a horrible death, it's gonna be okay. but please be kind. above everything else, please, I am fucking begging you, be kind.

it's really the most important part of thriving here

[aurumacadicus]

Listen, Steve is grateful he gets to work at a Stark-funded hospital. He is. Not only is the prestige of working there even for a year going to carry him through his entire career, but if he stays for five years, the Maria Stark Foundation will pay off all of his student loans. Their clientele are people typically in poverty and he loves that he can help the less fortunate. It's all he ever wanted to do after watching his single mother scrimp and save as a nurse just to make sure they had a roof over their heads. He would never do anything to jeopardize his position or the reputation of the hospital.

"That custodian is going to be the reason you're fired," Natasha declares, and both Clint and Bucky spin from their nursing charts just in time to watch Steve almost fall over as he attempts to get one more glimpse of Tony's ass as he pushes his cart, whistling, toward the elevator. "Is this your way of getting out of the gala? Getting shit-canned the day before?"

"Are you going to tattle on me to Dr. Potts?" Steve asks her bluntly.

Natasha says nothing for several minutes, mulling the idea over in her head. Finally, though, she mutters, "I guess you're better than Hammer. He actually put his hands on Tony."

Steve doesn't know how to respond, because he'd only gotten his position after Dr. Hammer had groped Tony one too many times (apparently Tony had never reported it? It had actually been one of the nurses) and got fired for it. Again, he's grateful for the position, but he knows other doctors would shank him for the opportunity. He's just looking, but maybe he shouldn't look? Tony isn't a piece of meat. He's a respected member of the hospital staff.

Tony stops and bends over to pick up a piece of garbage on the floor, and even Natasha whimpers as his pants lovingly cup each of his cheeks.

Luckily, they're saved by one of the PR interns coming out of a hospital room and chirping, "Are you going to the gala tomorrow, Mr. Tony?"

"Peter how many times do I have to tell you," Tony begins, sighing, then shakes his head. "Yes, my mother is finally forcing me to show up for the gala."

Steve does a minute fist pump, and Bucky immediately drags him into a noogie that makes him squawk about his hair in probably the most unattractive manner possible.

--

"Gala" is probably too fancy a term for it. Unlike the Foundation galas, where the Stark family squeezes donations from the other wealthy elite for all they muster, this is more of a get-together between other hospitals to compare notes. Women are in cocktail dresses and the men are a healthy mix of suits and slacks-and-polos. The only people really decked out in formal wear are those with the foundation.

Steve is trying to be very casual as he keeps an eye out for Tony. He hasn't seen him yet, but he's hoping to ask Tony for at least one dance. Dr. Potts had said Tony liked to dance when he'd been talking with her and Natasha at the start of the gala. (She'd made really deliberate eye contact with him when she'd said so, too, so Steve figures she at least approves of him??? Even if she also kind of scares him.)

"Oh my God," Bruce whispers, wine dripping down his chin. He's gone ashen.

Steve and Thor turn to see what he's looking at, and Steve immediately understands. He feels as if he's just been simultaneously punched in the gut and head.

Because Mrs. Stark has finally arrived at her gala, dressed to the nines and yet somehow making everyone feel at ease in their own clothes. She's being escorted by a handsome man in a tuxedo.

The man looks a lot like Tony from the custodial department. But Mrs. Stark keeps loudly and proudly announcing that he's her son.

"I'm so fired," Steve whispers, voice cracking, as Bucky finally steps up beside him and claps him on the shoulder.

[ivystoryweaver]

With You part 16 - conclusion

previous || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist || next

Summary: We are Moon Knight

Pairings: Moon Knight system x you (gn!reader)

Word Count: 2.4k

Content: mostly fluff, mentions of food, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY, on "With You"...

"You have to settle it. You have to decide if you are Moon Knight."

"I am," he answered resolutely. "I am Moon Knight."

Marc Spector stood gallantly on the rooftop of your building, peering out over the darkened city. Clenching his fists in determination, he drew a calming breath as the ceremonial armor of Khonshu wrapped itself around each muscle.

Fierce brown eyes chilled to a somber, glowing white as a thick, white hood enveloped his dark curls. A heavy, ashen cape unfurled behind him, swept aside by an ominous gust of wind.

"Marc Spector," the menacing voice of Khonshu boomed, the sound chilling his avatar to the core. "Jake Lockley assured me you would not interfere in our affairs again."

"Jake is me, in a way," Marc returned confidently. "He's a part of me. So your business with him is your business with me. It's my body too."

An ancient metal clang rang out in the night as Khonshu thumped his staff against the rooftop. “Jake Lockley asked for your protection, so long as you stay out of our affairs."

"Cut the shit," Marc bit out, turning to face the ancient one. "You need an avatar. That's me." Folding white, bandaged arms over his chest, he returned his gaze to the city below. "I'm the reason you're free. And you promised to set us free."

"You and Steven Grant," Khonshu corrected, moving around with a dramatic whirl, to block Marc’s view. "I did not promise the freedom of Jake Lockley."

"We come as a package deal, like Steven said," Marc huffed, glancing back up at the annoying deity.

"Jake Lockley is my perfect avatar. Nothing will change that," Khonshu argued, leaning in menacingly. 

"Then why didn't you protect us?" Marc hissed, not caring to debate the logistics of being a system with a literally boneheaded god. "Why did you take your armor away that night?"

An eerie chill swept across the rooftop.

"You wanted to be free, Marc Spector, so I set you free."

"You left me to die in an alley, outnumbered three to one with no armor...while I was trying to save a woman from God knows what!"

A condescending chuckle echoed. "Save? If you were my avatar, you would know how to protect the travelers of the night, and when to be my Fist of Vengeance."

"I was trying to!"

From your vantage point, hidden across the rooftop, you listened intently, proud of the stand Marc was taking. Khonshu probably knew you were there, but it didn’t matter. All four of you had decided to face the old bird.

You couldn't see him, but you tried to follow what was happening from your husband's side of the conversation.

“The woman you tried to save was meant to die that night. I was ready to give Jake my orders, but you interfered." The god’s voice explained.

Marc scoffed, starting to pace across the rooftop agitatedly. “You wanted me to kill a woman who was being attacked? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Okay, you might be proud of Marc, but you were still concerned. You couldn't take him getting hurt again. But that's why Steven and Jake were with him. It was pretty rare for the three them to be co-conscious but this was essential to you all getting on with your lives. 

"That woman was the vilest of humanity," Khonshu explained, disappearing momentarily, only to reappear directly in Marc’s pacing path. 

Marc listened to how the woman he was trying to save that night was actually the person who deserved "real justice". Apparently, she was the actual worst. Trafficking. Ew.

"Uhh, that information would have been a bit more helpful from the start," Steven piped, wagging his gloved finger condescendingly.

You gasped in amazement as Marc's white bandage-looking garb dissolved into a crisp white, three-piece suit. Damn, you loved those tight pants.

"I wasn't talking to you, worm," Khonshu grumbled, gesturing dramatically with his staff.

"Well this worm's not about to let you off the hook so easily, silly old bird," Steven countered, shrugging both shoulders with his hands up. "Can't expect Marc to go around delivering justice if you don't give him the right information, can you?"

"Marc Spector doesn't listen to me, so he can no longer serve me as my avatar."

"No one is serving you, pendejo," Jake interjected, hands landing on his hips. The three-piece suit transformed once again, back to the ceremonial armor of Khonshu, but this version had Jake's delicious thighs, torso, arms and face wrapped in jet black. You had never witnessed this suit in person. It was kind of hard to concentrate on the extremely critical conversation with all this skin tight armor.

"We help you; you help us," Jake went on. "No more games. No more orders."

The black portions of the Moon Knight suit brightened to an ancient white once more.

"That's the deal," Marc finished. "Take us or leave us." Searching for you on the rooftop, he extended his hand, inviting you to stand before Khonshu. You scurried to your husband’s side, gripping his white bandaged hand. You still couldn't see who he was addressing, but you were there to support him no matter what.

"All four of us," he added. "We're Moon Knight."

Khonshu spared you one glance...Marc told you later. He didn't really have eyes - just bony socket holes. Then he turned his beak away and thumped his staff again. "Very well. Be my Fist of Vengeance and you will all have my protection."

Steven and his white suit appeared one final time. "Time to update the Fist of Vengeance though, innit? How about hand of justice?"

Khonshu made an annoyed grunting sound and disappeared.

"Do you remember the first night you met me?" Jake murmured against the shell of your ear, tangling his thick fingers with yours as you lay side by side.

You shivered as his soft lips tickled the sensitive spot right behind your ear. "Mm-hmm. You let me hold your hand just like this."

He squeezed your fingers affectionately, planting sweet kisses down the side of your neck. Warm puffs of breath made you tingle with love and desire. "Do you know how it felt to lay beside you all those nights and never be able to touch you?"

"I think you've more than made up for it," you giggled as he found the ticklish spot just above your collarbone.

"Uh-uh, not yet," he playfully refuted, between kisses. "Never enough."

Releasing your hand, he climbed on top of you - always moving like a panther, this one - since that first night. You could tell right away that he didn't move like Marc or Steven.

"Never thought I could have this with you, mi corazón," he breathed, tracing the shape of your jawline with his fingertips. His head cocked to the side as he studied you, unable to believe you were his.

"You do have this with me, Jake," you assured him, wrapping your arms around his back to pull him even closer. "I think I loved you from the second we met."

"Then marry me," he blurted, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip tauntingly. "I know we are...technically married, but I-I want to..."

"You want to be there?" You softly asked, running your hands over his muscular back, scratching softly.

He nodded, smiling sweetly down at you. "I want to be able to say the things Marc and Steven said to you. But I want it to be from me."

Staring into your eyes, he whispered your name. Leaning closer, he nuzzled your cheek with his nose before sealing his mouth over yours.

A while later, you and Jake cooked dinner together, with him humming and singing little phrases in Spanish. Afterward, you cuddled up on the couch to unwind.

Jake shuffled around in the "couch basket" - a collection of various bits of entertainment to enjoy while relaxing. Jake had his crossword puzzle book, you and Steven shared a couple of word search books. There were a few of fidget toys for Marc, who definitely did not find any relaxation in putting pencil to paper. But since he was a man wound rather tight, he liked to have something in his hands.

There was also a sudoku book that no one ever touched.

The four of you shared a nighttime journal and a set of brush pens, where you would jot thoughts from your day, doodle and leave notes for one another. Now this, Marc would participate in, because brush pens seemed like markers and drawing with markers was fun, unlike boring crosswords and word searches.

Marc liked to draw little cartoons - he was pretty bad at it, which made it so, so cute. There was always a deeper meaning to his drawings too. He could be quite passive aggressive with them when he wanted to be.

A stick figure with dark curly hair and a cap, holding a sandwich, under a red "NO" sign meant Jake should stop eating Marc's food out of the fridge. Obviously. Sometimes he drew fish for Steven or hearts for you. It's not that he was terribly creative, it was just adorable.

Jake handed you both the journal and the word search book. You smiled at him, motioning for the brush pens. You quickly flipped to a blank page and pulled out a marker. In all capital letters, you wrote, “YES” and passed the book back to him.

He smirked cutely at the journal but raised a dark eyebrow questioningly. 

“Yes, I’ll marry you, Jake,” you clarified, reaching for his hand. “You asked me before, but I didn’t get a chance to answer.” The two of you had been busy for a while after he kissed you. “But my answer is yes.”

Fall turned to winter and Steven aced yet another round of finals for his university classes. You passed your nurse’s exam and moved on to the next level of nursing, which came with a raise.

It was the third night of Hanukkah - not the biggest of Jewish holidays, but still one your husband had started to celebrate with a bit more gusto now that the pain of the past was a little more of a dull ache, rather than a raw, sharp thorn.

To that end, you had gathered the correct ingredients for latkes, which Marc was going to attempt to make with you tonight.

You turned the key in the deadbolt to the door of your flat and entered a darkened environment. 

Shit. Every time you got home to a dimly lit flat, there was sure to be alcohol involved. Okay, maybe not every time, but - 

“Hey!” Marc greeted, in a way that contradicted his typically grumpy eagle exterior. He appeared out of nowhere and you jumped a little.

“Sorry…sorrry,” he grasped your arms, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I have a surprise.”

“Oh?” You chuckled. “Was the surprise like a haunted house surprise? Because you got me.”

“No, no, I was working in the bedroom and it got dark in the flat and then…just come on.” He grabbed your hand and dragged you down the hallway- a move much more typical of Steven. 

You followed without question, melting a little at his enthusiasm. It was a rare treat to see him this way. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna…” He eased behind you, cutely reaching up to cover your eyes with his hands. “It’s not a big surprise,” he warned, “just something I finished.”

Finally, you made it into the bedroom and he removed his hands.

Before you sat the broken table. The one Marc had been promising to fix for…well over a year now. It was one of the many broken things he collected, but this one, he actually completed.

“I thought you could use it for a night table, or…well, wherever,” he quietly gushed, his dark eyes sparkling proudly. “Do you like it?”

“Marc, I love it,” you assured him, running your fingers along the freshly polished surface. “When did you have time to work on it?”

He laughed, “I’m unemployed - I have plenty of time,” he teased. 

“Well, I love it.”

He explained that he’d been plugging away at it on Steven’s days off, while you were at work. He stained the wood up on the rooftop, so the smell wouldn’t overpower the flat. 

“You should do this with other found pieces,” you encouraged. “This is really beautiful work, and people love this repurposed stuff.”

Marc swallowed, his eyes dancing from your gaze to the table and back. “You think so?”

“I do,” you nodded eagerly. “It could be a hobby for you or…maybe even something more. And besides,” you went on, reaching for his hand, “I just got a raise, so maybe we could get a bigger place - give you some space to work.”

A space just for him? He loved the sound of that. And there might be another reason he wanted a bigger place…

Later that night, after some yummy latkes and a huge kitchen mess, you were flipping through the shared nighttime journal while Marc tinkered with another chair he’d found on the street.

You saw where Steven had jotted some notes for his finals - just a bit of a brain dump, really. Jake had left you a note in Spanish, which made your heart do flip-flops. (He wrote you a lot of notes after finally reading all the ones you had written him months ago).

And Marc had drawn another terribly adorable picture.

In it, he drew all of you, in stick figure form.

Jake had his hat. 

Steven had his glasses.

Marc was just Marc.

You were just you.

And there was a teeny, tiny stick figure in your arms.

Above you was a big question mark. 

Before you could react to what you were seeing, you felt Marc’s eyes fixed on you from where he was working on the old chair. 

“I was thinking…maybe we could talk about adopting,” he softly supplied, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he slowly made his way over to you. “You-you don’t have to give me some sort of answer right now, but…I thought maybe…um - well, I’m sure a lot of kids need homes, and I would hate for a child of mine to have…”

“Yes,” you instantly answered. “Yes, I want kids with you. Any way you want them, we can talk about it.” You reached out to caress his cheek as he scooted over close to you on the couch. “We can figure out how, but yes. Definitely yes.”

“Really?” He breathed, sighing in relief. “Oh god. I was really hoping you wouldn’t mistake that baby for a dog.”

You burst out laughing, throwing your arms around your husband - the love of your life - your superhero.

END

Read the standalone sequel Still With You

Thank you all for making my first Moon Knight story and my first tumblr-posted story such a sweet and wonderful experience! Hugs and high fives all around! Stay tuned for my next MK fic, dropping Sept. 1st!

*bear in mind, this was a gn!reader, so Marc presents adoption as one of several family-starting options

@apollo-enthusiast

@i-still-dont-like-your-face @wordacadabra @lilacspider @imonmykneessir @saints-and-sinners

@steven-grants-world @thewinterv @aquaarietes @suddenlysteven @ohantonia

@deputy-videogamer @toecurlingstories @zephyrixx @juleshadalittlelamb @tsukkie-daisuke

@pockcock @minigirl87 @uncle-eggy@cookielovesbook-akie @wyldeflovver

@animechick555 @tiffanypooh @thexsanctuaryx @majestic-jazmin @rosecentaur1916

@deezisnotreal @serren-diamandis @alexxavicry

@stormydaysxx @laaundromat @kindlover @flyestvenustrap @spxctorsslxt

@stevenknightmarc @marvelouslovely-barnes @evilbubu @usualsworld @ssp3ctor

@rivalriotrenegade @this--is--music @avengersinitiative2012 @lockleywife @poppyflower-22

[hey-august]

Hi hii

Do you also write angst?

If so...I'm genuinely curious on what's your take if Buggy's partner was severely injured and in the verge of death in his arms.

Don't mind me,,just craving a freshly baked Buggy angst 🤡

-soupsprout

Ahhhh, sorry this took a bit!

I love angst, but I've only ever written relationship-angst. Like poor communication skills or intense self-loathing.

This was a fun one to try! Fun and painful! I kinda hurt now! 🥲 I hope it hits the spot for you, @soupsprout

The ending is ambiguous and there isn't comfort because I like the pain, but I have an idea for an uplifting ending and one for a painful ending. LMK if you're interested in hearing about either 😉

Edit: Sad ending here

WC: ~900 Warnings: NSFW - grievous injury & blood, Buggy x GN!reader, established relationship, angst no comfort

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Injuries are inevitable during a fight, and this was a fucking ambush. The crew was bound to collect new wounds and scars when they started at a disadvantage. But when shit hits the fan, they’re relentless. This time, that was a bad fucking trait.

As the din diminished and the ship drifted into eerie post-battle quiet, Buggy found you sitting against a wall. The crewmates you fought alongside were also in various states of reprieve. Leaning on crates, crouching on the ground, some even laying down as they caught their breaths. But none of them were sitting in a growing puddle of blood. None of them looked as ashen as you did. The sticky red hand squeezing your leg told the story.

Ripping his bandana off his head, Buggy sprinted over to you and kneeled on the dirty ground. He peeled your hand back, exposing the gash. This was real bad. The placement was bad. The depth was bad. He could see the surge of blood come and go, following your heartbeats. Biting the hem of his bandana, Buggy tore it into strips and wound them just above the wound. Tight but not too tight - he remembered that much.

You winced as he tied a knot and tried to push his hands away. Adrenaline dulled the pain from the original wound, but all this extra shit was too much.

“Stop,” you whined, smearing blood from your hand to his wrist. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. Just a little more, okay?”

“Don’t, Buggy…it hurts enough, just leave it.” 

“Fuck, no! Listen, we need to stop the bleeding. I have to…” 

Buggy didn’t know how to tell you that he needed to pack the wound and it was not going to be pleasant. It had been years since he had to dress a wound like this. He didn’t have to do this for himself since eating the goddamn Devil Fruit and his crew had a doctor to tend to the others. Right, a doctor!

Dragging the closest crew member over by the collar of their shirt, Buggy started shouting, “YOU! Go get the doctor, get a medic, fuck - just go get someone! Get fucking Mohji!”

The pirate scrambled to their feet and yanked another mate up to join him in a search for help.

“Mohji?” you repeated with a soft laugh.

“He can help. He takes care of Richie, maybe he knows-”

“I’m not a lion, Buggy. It’s not the same.” 

Your over-dramatic condescending tone could have fooled the pirate into believing you were okay if your voice didn’t shake. If you weren’t talking more with your eyes shut than open. If you hadn’t lost enough blood that it was seeping into the knees of his pants.

“I dunno, you’re as annoying as Richie.” 

You smiled but didn’t respond. 

Buggy glanced around the room, which was nearly empty. The only ones left were the ambushers who didn’t survive and anyone who couldn’t run through the ship. No one had come back with any fucking help, though. 

“Hey, keep your eyes open,” Buggy said, squeezing your cheeks. 

You did what he asked, but it took a few tries. Your eyes fluttered shut more than once before you succeeded in keeping them open.

“M’tired, Buggy,” you said in a low voice. A sad voice. A scared voice.

“You can sleep later. I’ll even let you sleep on my side of the bed, okay? Just stay awake for now. Captain’s orders!”

Another smile, softer than the last one. Even Buggy could hear the desperation cracking in his throat.

“I have to do one more thing to stop the bleeding, alright? It’ll hurt and then you’ll feel better. Take a deep breath for me, okay? You can do that?”

You nodded and inhaled. It was slow and stuttering as you tried to take in as much air as you could. Buggy waited until you were too focused on breathing before jamming a wad of torn fabric into the leaking wound. He winced as you let out a loud groan and your whole body stiffened in pain.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m all done. You did so good.” 

Buggy rushed to comfort you, pressing kisses to your forehead and wiping away the tears falling from your eyes with the back of his hands. Blood didn’t make him nauseous, but the sight of his palms stained red with yours did. Nauseous and nervous.

Your eyes were closed again. He asked you to open them. He asked again. They cracked open just a little. Enough to make him feel better and feel worse.

“Hey, what do you call a lion at the South Pole?”

“What?” Your head tilted and your brows tightened. You were thinking.

Buggy watched your lips move slowly as you repeated his question.

You opened your eyes a little wider and looked at him with as much confusion as you could muster. You shook your head slightly. 

“Oh, you don’t know?” he teased with a big grin. A fake smile to keep you distracted. “Keep thinking about it. If you just can’t figure it out, I’ll tell you when you get better. Alright?”

You mouthed an affirmative response, but didn’t make a sound.

“So it’s a deal? You’ll get better and then I’ll tell you the answer. You gotta get better, though, okay?” 

Buggy grabbed your hands, hoping you couldn’t feel how he was shaking. He wished he couldn’t feel how cold you were.

You nodded and closed your eyes to think.

[madmanwonder]

Sequel to this

Prompt

Jaune is so disappointed at Marrow. Not because he is dating Winter since he supports that... but he kept it from him. They were supposed to be bros and Jaune wouldn't do that! That is until the knight gets a voice mail from Harriet... who refers to herself as his Thicclet and talks about the night that they had last night. The more she talks about it the more Marrow is staring at this hypocrite.

(Caught) (Implied Sex)

"What the hell bro,?" Jaune said with great dissapointment, looking at his brother-all-but-blood-and-name. "How can you hide you are dating Winter from me."

"Jaune. Let me explain-" Marrow tried to explain with a nervous look on his face.

"We support to be bros and bros don't keep secret from each oth-"

Jaune Ringtone: "Booty by Jennifer Lopez"

Jaune whole face turned ashen-white when he heard the familiar ringtone. "Oh...shit." Jaune took out his phone and tried to stop his voicemail but was too late.

[Jaune Voicemail]

[Hiya Knight. It me, your Thicclet. I tried calling and texting you to thank you for rocking my world last night but you didn't answer my tex or call so I did a voicemail to thank you for making it hard to walk around Atlas and making me skip breakfast, lunch and dinner due how much you filled with your-]

Marrow eyebrow slowly raised until it reach his hair as he looked at the paling, red-faced knight who was looking at his scroll in horror and humiliation.

"...You damn hypocrite."

[saiintofdiirt]

Summary: Parrot and Wifies have a talk some time after the fallout of Parrot finding out Wifies is a clone. A follow up to Ken's POV in Part 1.

notes: this is once again not edited, this was the result of some quick writing last night and a wrap up today. it's more like practice for Parrot's voice which i think i did a shit job at but it's here and u can now judge me urself. enjoy. or dont idk. divider from here

word count: 2568. just slightly less than the previous installment.

11:49

Parrot has picked through his feathers so many times he thinks he’s developing a bald spot in his left wing. He's usually better at waiting, has patience for his plans to go through, but today there is no plan, just waiting. He stares at his comm, open in his hand as he rereads the chat over and over again.

[Wifies]: Would you be open to talking with me today?

[Parrotx2]: yes

[Parrotx2]: of course

[Parrotx2]: what’s up

[Wifies]: I was actually wondering if we could meet up.

[Parrotx2]: yeah wherever you want

[Wifies]: I’ll open up my world.

[Wifies]: How does noon sound?

[Parrotx2]: perfect

[Wifies]: I’ll send you the IP then.

[Parrotx2]: great!

Great! He sounds like a loser.

So Parrot is waiting for the clock to strike noon on his comm to go. Part of him wonders if he's going to spawn into a pit, or straight into lava, or in an escape room, something that would make Wifies feel better to watch him go through after the hell Parrot raised. Parrot would be fine with that. Honestly, he hopes Wifies is mad. He's only going to feel worse if he's met with Wifies’s carefully thought out words and blunt kindness.

11:54

He stops touching his wings. He's been trying to organize his thoughts so he doesn't say something incredibly stupid to Wifies again. There’s a script now.

I’m sorry for reacting so harshly, I was shocked and didn’t know how to process what I was hearing. I felt hurt because I thought you didn’t trust me with the truth, but now I see why you wanted to keep it to yourself. I should have never acted that way. You’re so important to me, and I should have thought about all the trust between us. I always trust you.

11:55

It’s simple, but it’s straightforward, and he wants to be as clear as possible. He also wants to be sincere, but sincerity is scary. His sincerity is blue, bruised, gushes forward like an open wound and stains the world in his blood.

11:56

But he can do sincerity. He can do it for Wifies. He could probably do a lot for Wifies, but Wifies never asks for anything. He didn’t even ask to be freed from the chunkban. He just waited. Trusted Parrot, and waited for Parrot, and was happy to see Parrot after everything. Wifies is always trusting and waiting and happy.

11:57

And Parrot ruined it for what? Catharsis for his fears? A moment to let that horrible feeling of being second, third, fourth in someone's life tear through everything he’s done? Is that even the reason why?

11:58

God. When Wifies starts asking questions, Parrot is going to crumble like a house of cards. It'll be Parrot's unjust luck to be forgiven.

[Wifies]: IP XXXXXXXXXX

Parrot jolts and almost drops his comm. He scrambles to copy the IP down and flick through his comm settings. He pastes it into the server IP box and hovers over the connect button.

12:00

He clicks connect.

Landing softly onto a carpet of podzol in a chilly spruce forest, Parrot lets out a plume of ashen breath. There are a few cabins in a semicircle in front of him, warm light spilling out of each window and from the branches of the towering spruce trees. The afternoon sun barely breaches the canopy, but it speckles the ground just enough to give the world a surreal atmosphere.

There's a campfire pit to one side surrounded by log benches, and there sits Wifies. He looks brilliant in the firelight, dark hair loose without his headband and violet eyes muted.

“Parrot,” Wifies calls out as he stands up. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Parrot says lamely, hesitating for a moment before making his way over to Wifies. The campfire warms him up, but the chill doesn't go away. “How are you?”

“It’s going to rain soon, so I’m feeling it in my joints,” Wifies says, lighthearted as he rubs one of his shoulders. “Sit with me.”

So Parrot does. He’s not in the business of denying Wifies much of anything. He sits on one end of the log bench, and Wifies sits two feet away, turned towards Parrot, and Parrot looks at him, and his mind just— it blanks. His script dissolves like salt in the sea.

“I wanted to start with saying that I am a clone of the original Wifies,” Wifies says, giving Parrot space to try and reboot his brain. “He was. . . making clones for the sake of content, and I was the most successful one. I never knew. And one day, Ken showed up to what I thought was my single player world, and. . . it’s a very long story, but he got me out of there and we, um, we killed the original. He. . . wasn’t going to let me just leave. And those are the main points of my story. I just wanted you to know the important bits before we talk further.”

“Clones for content,” Parrot echoes, eyebrows scrunching up. “Clones for content? He was— what?”

“Making clones to put them into escape rooms for quick video production.”

“The— what the fuck?”

Wifies smiles awkwardly, but doesn’t speak again. He keeps rubbing his shoulder over and over, self soothing maybe, or maybe it’s just that painful from the onset of the rain.

“I'm sorry for how I acted. I don’t care that you’re a clone,” Parrot says, flinching at his own sharpness. He looks away and into the crackling fire. “I care about you. The clone stuff is— is whatever. Or not whatever, I’ll care about it as much as you want me to care about it.”

“Parrot, don’t make me promises you know you can’t keep.”

Wifies’s voice is gentle. It is so, so gentle, with no hint of disappointment or scolding. Parrot’s stomach churns. He wishes again for Wifies’s anger, pointed and cold, instead of this. Anger is easy. This stings like salt in a wound.

“Why do you think I can’t keep to that?”

“Not knowing drives you crazy.”

“You not being there has driven me more crazy.”

“Until you forget, and it starts bothering you again.”

Parrot deserves it, but his heart is heavy and he feels like he’s been shot right through it. Wifies isn’t even being cruel, just honest; he’s right, eventually it will drive Parrot crazy to not be able to talk about the whole situation, to understand Wifies better by prying into his life.

“I don’t like talking about it. It was a bad time for me. I also don’t know everything about. . . myself. About what you’ll eventually ask.”

Parrot has to physically bite his tongue. Wifies doesn't know everything. What if he gets sick? Or badly hurt? What if he starts feeling like something is wrong, and there's nothing to be done for it, because nobody knows? What if—

“This is why I never want to tell anyone,” Wifies sighs out, curling in on himself in the corner of Parrot’s eyes. “If nothing else, just promise me you won't tell anyone?”

“Never,” Parrot says firmly. That's a promise he can keep. “I would never.”

“Thank you, Parrot.”

Their conversation tapers off. The sunlight is disappearing little by little, the promised rain clouds rolling in from far away, far above. Parrot’s feathers puff up a bit at a slight, churning breeze that cuts through the forest.

“I'm sorry, for what it's worth. For lying this whole time.”

“I see why you did. I just ended up proving why lying was the right choice. Nothing to be sorry about.”

“It's funny,” Wifies says in a voice that promises to be anything but funny. “When I'm scared, everything hurts again. I can never remember how they got here, but all the little pains come back again, like the reminder of fear should pull a memory or two up. But there's nothing. I don't remember how I hurt my shoulder this badly. I don't remember how it got fixed. All I remember is that it’s hurt forever. I don't remember a life without pain, and when this all came to light, my reality went from a life where pain existed to a life that was lived with pain.”

Rain begins to dribble through the leaves around them. The campfire hisses and sparks but doesn't extinguish, too large and hot to be daunted by such a pathetic display. The canopy is too dense for the rain to punch through in earnest.

“What are you scared of?” Parrot forces himself to ask. Please don't be afraid of me.

“Losing another part of my life to this. I can never seem to escape the factory. What a lousy escapist I've become, huh?”

Wifies pulls his feet up into the log, resting his chin on his knee and watching the fire. Parrot doesn't remember turning towards him, but he inches closer. The space between them is too large. His hand is too far from Wifies’s own.

“You don't have to lose anything,” Parrot says. “There's nothing to be lost. You can always come back to the server. Nobody there will ever know except for Ken.”

“No matter how this plays out, I lose you.”

“I'm right here. I'm right next to you, right now, what do you mean?”

Parrot feels pathetic, but he doesn't care. Wifies won't look at him, is talking about losing him like Parrot isn't about to crawl out of his skin just so Wifies won't leave him again. The rain thickens the air around them with the promise of more force, and Parrot stretches a wing over Wifies’s head without a single thought.

“You'll always think about the fact I'm a clone. I lost my status of human. I lost our relationship. It took so long for me to feel normal, and now it's all gone.”

“Wifies, look at me please.”

Wifies does. He does, because he still cares, and Parrot is going to be sick at the resigned look in Wifies’s eyes. Parrot is close enough now, so he reaches out and holds Wifies’s face in both hands. He can feel the way Wifies’s jaw works, the thrum of his slow heartbeat in his throat, the way his breathing is shallow and quick. His eyes are a little glassy, a little red, and Parrot adds another wretched tally to the list of times he's made Wifies cry.

“No matter what, you are human, okay? To me, and to Ken, and I'm sure to whoever you were talking to that day as well. Don't ever doubt that.”

Wifies’s expression softens and he just barely nods, which is a small relief for Parrot.

“All I ever think about when you're gone is when you're coming back,” Parrot says. His sincerity bleeds, red and blue smudged across each word. He’ll bleed for them, every drop if that’s what it takes. “And all I've been thinking about this whole time is how I'm going to make it up to you. How I really, really want to do whatever it takes for you to stay. I want you to stay. And not a single one of those thoughts had anything to do with whether you're a clone or not.”

Wifies breathes in. It shakes something horrible. Parrot will crawl his way back into being trusted until he has no more body to move with.

“All of those thoughts had to do with how you've always been with me. Funny, kind, snarky, quick, the only person in this world I've ever been able to close my eyes next to knowing that I've got everything I need right there. That the only way I'll ever be apart from you is by being torn. And none of that, none of it, has changed. I still think all that about you. All that's been added is that I'm an asshole who definitely doesn't deserve your loyalty, but I'm too greedy to let it go so easily.”

That makes Wifies giggle, the sound wet and cracking. Parrot presses the pads of his thumbs under Wifies's eyes. If he's going to make Wifies cry, the least he can do is clean it up too.

“The only thing I ever need you to do is believe in me,” Parrot says, pressing his lips to Wifies’s forehead. It's easier somehow to speak like this, wetness pooling against Parrot’s fingers. “Believe that I love you so much. Believe that I'm going to make this right between us. Believe that learning this has done nothing to change how I feel about you. And if you can't, please believe in me anyway.”

“Of course I believe in you Parrot,” Wifies murmurs, voice crackling. “Why else would I follow you everywhere?”

“I'm that persuasive?”

“Hardly.”

“Hey, not even a little?”

Wifies laughs. It’s a sweet sound. When Parrot pulls back to look, Wifies has his eyes closed, and he’s not quite smiling, but he’s not frowning either, which is a win. 

“You’re determined and direct,” Wifies says, letting the full weight of his head loll into Parrot’s hands. Parrot raises his other wing so they're encompassed by green and red and blue. “Which is what made me agree to help you at first. But then. . . I don’t know. You can be charming when you want to be. Not often, but on occasion.”

Parrot squawks indignantly just to hear Wifies laugh again. Wifies blinks his eyes open, and Parrot wipes away a stray tear.

“Do you know how touchy you are?” Wifies asks suddenly.

“Should I let go?”

“No, I just wonder if you know that. When you were upset, you made a real effort to not reach out. That’s how I knew it was serious.”

“Well, now you know it’s not serious.”

“Mm, this is serious too in its own way. You’re serious that you want me to stay.”

Parrot lifts Wifies’s head so that they’re eye to eye, bloodshot violet to his own green-blue blur, and says, “Deadly serious. I don’t want to be separated like this again. Knowing I had hurt you and couldn’t make it better? The absolute worst time of my life, I think.”

“It sucked,” Wifies agrees, finally cracking a smile. “It’s over now though. I think.”

“Of course it's over now, you're never allowed to leave me like that again,” Parrot scolds him entirely lighthearted and Wifies snorts.

“Don't yell at me again and I won't.”

“I won't, I'm sorry for yelling.”

Wifies laughs again, and despite the fact he's clearly reveling in having Parrot wrapped around his finger like this, Parrot can't even pretend to be annoyed. Wifies won't leave him again. It's all that matters right now. Any question or doubt dies a quiet death when Wifies reaches up to hold both of Parrot’s wrists in a loose grip.

“This is weirdly nice,” Wifies says, closing his eyes again. “I don't think anyone's ever touched my face so gently. I can't remember the feeling.”

“You just say when,” Parrot replies.

He's not being entirely selfless here— there's something soothing about running the pads of his thumbs over Wifies’s skin, like a promise that this moment is as real as when he left. Wifies can't leave him when they're like this, tangled up under Parrot’s wings under the rain.

“Then for just a bit longer,” Wifies says, and Parrot agrees. Just a bit longer.

[minghaoyoudoin]

First

pairing: best friend!hyunsuk x fem!reader

genre: fluffy smut mostly

words: 6.5k (zoinks)

rating: 18+ ONLY!!! fr don't even think about it, minors

warnings: the concept of virginity, mention of and consumption of food, lots of kissing, dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (don't be stupid like these two), hyunsuk is hung, some minor biting and hair pulling, creampie, aftercare, I'm sure I missed some but that's all I can think of lol

a/n: I'm baaaaaaack 😈 this was requested a very long time ago by my lovely 🐢 anon, I'm so sorry it's been so long! with this, I've finally written for all the cix boys mwahahaha. feel free to keep the requests coming, I'm finally done with school so my tumblr shenanigans are back on schedule!

Hyunsuk looked like he was going to vomit.

You stared at him across the small dining table, your forkful of pasta frozen several inches from your mouth. His usually golden skin had turned ashen, his face so pale it was actually bordering on green. Whatever he was thinking about to make him look this way was making the other restaurant guests stare.

“What is going on with you?” You blurted at last. You set your fork back on your plate as Hyunsuk’s eyes flicked up to meet yours. Panic weighed heavy over his warm brown irises, a blanket of fog to mute their hue.

Your best friend grimaced and swallowed thickly, his strong throat flexing. God, you were so tired of noticing things like that. “I think I ate something I shouldn’t have,” he choked out at last.

It was a lie. A poor one, too. “I asked you to lunch so I could ask you a question. Why are you the one about to throw up with nerves?” Your teasing helped disguise the anxiety eating away at you, but you weren’t completely sure if Hyunsuk bought it.

In all honesty, your reason for inviting Hyunsuk out today had everything to do with the fact you noticed things like his adam’s apple bobbing.

“You know I hate when people do that,” Hyunsuk said roughly. He took several deep gulps of his water, your eyes tracking the movement of his throat. “’Sukie, we need to talk’,” his voice rose several octaves to imitate yours, “’Can I ask you something over lunch?’. Do you realize I’ve been shitting myself since then?”

You laughed and reached across the table to pat the top of Hyunsuk’s head, at which he scoffed indignantly. “You know it’s nothing bad, Hyunsuk. I would have stormed over to your place to talk right away if that were the case.”

Hyunsuk had been your best friend for nearly a decade now. You knew him better than you knew yourself most days, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have your fun with him every now and then. If the roles were reversed you were certain he’d do the same thing.

The majority of the green tinge to Hyunsuk’s skin subsided as he finished the last of his water. “Fine then.” He motioned in your direction and finally took a bite of the sandwich in front of him. “Go on, ask your question.”

You opened your mouth and promptly stalled. You hesitated for several moments, abruptly nervous again. When you had played and replayed this scenario in your head earlier, you hadn’t actually considered what his real reaction would be. Would he laugh at you? Storm out of the restaurant? Declare he was done being your best friend for all eternity?

Hyunsuk raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

“We’ve been friends for a really long time.” It was not what you had intended to say.

“Yes?” He looked more confused now, though it was obvious his curiosity outweighed any annoyance. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You ignored him and pushed on, “Have I had a boyfriend in all that time?” Hyunsuk frowned and looked at a point above your head, obviously trying to remember.

“No.”

“Exactly.” You leaned forward in your chair, your pasta forgotten. “I think I’m going insane. Like, actually. No matter how much I thought about it I couldn’t figure out why, and then a couple weeks ago I realized. I’m frustrated.”

“…Frustrated.”

“Yes. I’m restless all the time, I can’t concentrate. I can’t even be alone in the same room with you without—”

“Hold on.” You cut yourself off as Hyunsuk raised a hand to stop you. His other one fidgeted with the white tablecloth, worrying the edge between his thumb and forefinger. “You can’t be in the same room as me?”

You realized now how that sounded when spoken aloud. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I…” You hesitated again, anxiety gripping your throat in earnest. “I’m twenty and I’m still a virgin. It’s driving me up a wall and—I, well…”

Hyunsuk looked like he’d seen a ghost. His eyes were wide, though they had taken on a different quality now than the panic that had been in them earlier. You couldn’t place it. “Say it,” he urged.

You leaned further towards him. He mirrored your movement, his face close enough to share breath. You glanced around to ensure no one was obviously eavesdropping and, once satisfied, you took a deep breath.

“Hyunsuk, I want you to fuck me.”

You internally smacked yourself. Why would you say it like that?

Hyunsuk released the breath he’d been holding in a strained exhale. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, brown eyes studying your face. You tried to ignore the disappointment rearing in your chest. You’d been expecting more of a reaction from him.

After what could have been minutes or hours, he quietly asked, “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why me? I know we’re best friends, but you’ve never mentioned anything close to this before. Are you even attracted to me like that?”

Oh yeah, this would hurt to admit. Reluctantly and unable to meet his eyes, you nodded tightly. “I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t, idiot.”

You knew he was grinning without having to look at him. He was still near vibrating with nerves. “Okay. That’s… good to know. I just… are you just using me to ‘get it over with’? I don’t want to be that to you. I don’t want to ruin our friendship like that.”

At this, your eyes snapped back to his face. “It won’t, I swear it. And you aren’t just some tool I can use, you know. It takes two and all that, so if you aren’t up for it then I’m okay with never bringing it up again.” You paused, trying to gather your thoughts. “I suppose when I figured out I was frustrated sexually like this, I realized there’s no one else I could imagine doing it with. Someone has to be the first and I want it to be you.”

Hyunsuk was still staring at you with that unfamiliar gleam in his eye, something you now realized might be desire.

A new thought crashed through your fragile wall of hope and wiped the smile off your face. “Do you…” You cleared your throat. “Do you not… like me like that?”

Hyunsuk laughed softly, his expression gentling. “Are you kidding me? Of course I do. You’re, well, you’re you.”

That was as close as he would get to calling you beautiful, you supposed. Even so, it was enough to stoke the flames of hope in your heart higher. “Then that’s settled. I know it’s a lot to ask, trust me, I do. If you need time to think about it I completely understand—”

Hyunsuk was out of his chair before you could blink. He looked close to throwing up again, this time with his new knowledge rather than the lack thereof.

“I just need a minute to think.” Hyunsuk began to stride away but froze as soon as he turned around. He looked down at you, his expression pained. “I promise I’ll call you, okay? I swear it."

Despite yourself, this helped you relax. When you spoke, you meant every word, “Take all the time you need. I’ll love you either way.”

Hyunsuk flinched, just barely. He tossed some cash onto the table for lunch and walked away, his long legs carrying him much too fast. You watched him until he vanished around the corner, the anxiety in your chest only worsening when he was out of sight.

What have I done?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You found the only way to forget how horny you were was to bake. It didn’t matter what it was. Cupcakes, brownies, cobbler, muffins, you name it—anything that allowed you to focus on a recipe and quiet your mind was good enough for you.

The second you’d gotten home from lunch you busted out every baking-related item you owned. You’d started with a cake, then cupcakes because you accidentally made way too much batter. While they were in the oven, you took the opportunity to take a long shower.

You went through the motions of washing yourself on autopilot. First shampoo, rinse, then conditioner. Shave while the conditioner soaked. Rinse. Wash your body, then your face. The routine was second-nature, unfortunately, which meant it did nothing to distract you from your thoughts. Even after finishing, you stood under the scalding water for as long as you could, just staring at the wall.

You’d scared Hyunsuk away. You knew it in your bones. His promise to call you had made you feel better in the moment, but every time you obsessively checked your phone the screen was blank. At this point you didn’t even want him to say yes. Honestly you wished you’d never brought it up in the first place. You weren’t quite sure what you’d do if you lost your best friend over something as stupid as your virginity.

You didn’t get out of the shower until the water ran too cold to bear. Your teeth clattered violently as you pulled on underwear and one of Hyunsuk’s sweatshirts, big enough on you that it hung nearly to your knees. Across the front in big, bold letters was the phrase EXTROVERT UNIVERSITY. Perhaps not the most appropriate for you, but certainly accurate for Hyunsuk.

You were brushing the knots out of your wet hair when you finally remembered you had food in the oven. There was no way it had been less than 30 minutes since you got in the shower. You dropped your brush and ran, spewing profanities under your breath as you went.

You expected to see your apartment filled with smoke. Or, best case scenario, open the oven to see a pan of inedible hockey pucks. What you didn’t expect to see, however, was Hyunsuk seated at your kitchen island, slathering butter onto a cupcake.

For several moments you could only stare. Hyunsuk hadn’t noticed you yet, since his back was to you, and he was lightly bobbing his head to whatever music was playing in his airpods. You shook yourself free of your stupor and strode forward so you could lightly cuff the back of his head.

Hyunsuk jumped so hard he nearly fell off his chair. He ripped his airpods from his ears as he whirled around, his eyes comically wide. “Dude, you scared the fuck out of me.”

“I scared you?” You shot back. “You’re the one who used your emergency key to get into my apartment! And you’re eating my food.”

Hyunsuk grinned. “Be glad I did, the oven timer was going off when I walked in. I saved your ass.” You plopped into the barstool next to him, unable to hide your smile. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here. Hyunsuk’s eyes drifted to your chest—more specifically, to the writing printed across it. “Is that my sweatshirt?”

“Your observation skills are incredible. If you hadn’t noticed, I just got out of the shower. Would you prefer I be naked?”

Color flooded Hyunsuk’s cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. He avoided your eyes, instead watching the cupcake in his hands as he picked it apart. “I guess that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?”

You paused, dumbfounded. Surely you misheard. “Sukie… is that why you’re in my apartment? To fuck me?”

“Would you stop saying it like that?” Hyunsuk huffed, his face impossibly redder. “And… no. Not necessarily. I just don’t like how we left things earlier.”

“Me either. I’m sorry I sprung it on you like that.”

“I’m not sure there’s a better way to ask your best friend to fuck you. Taking me out to lunch was certainly a good start.”

You giggled softly. “I guess that’s true. Want to tell me why you ran off?”

The cupcake in Hyunsuk’s hands was little more than crumbs now. He didn’t answer immediately, much to your dismay, but you allowed him time to gather his thoughts as best he could. Eventually, he asked without meeting your eyes, “In all the time we’ve known each other, have I ever had a girlfriend?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Um, I think there was one. Sophomore year of high school, right?”

Hyunsuk threw you an insulted look. “Are you talking about my partner in chemistry lab? No, dude, I don’t even remember her name.”

“Oh. Then… no, no girlfriends.” Hyunsuk said nothing, he just stared at you expectantly. You looked back, hopelessly confused. “What are you… oh. Oh.” You leaned forward and he looked back at his hands again. “Hyunsuk, you’re a virgin too?”

“Don’t act so surprised.”

“It’s not that, it’s just—I don’t know, I’m confused. How can you still be a virgin? You’re, well, you look like that.” You motioned vaguely at his face, hoping that was all the explaining you needed to do.

“The same could be said about you, you know.”

Your cheeks heated. There he went again, finding a way to call you attractive without explicitly saying it.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” You asked.

“I was flustered. You caught me off guard and you were looking at me with so much hope on your face. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

You laughed, earning yourself another dirty look. “Sukie, how could I be disappointed? I can’t exactly throw stones, you know.”

“Still.” Hyunsuk turned to look at you again, this time swiveling in his stool so you were head-on. The look in his eyes was earnest now. “Look, of course I want to have sex with you. The way you asked me earlier gave me the worst fucking boner in the history of boners. You’re just so fucking innocent. Don’t look at me like that, I don’t mean literally. I mean, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

Your heart felt like it would leap from your chest. “What do you mean?”

Hyunsuk stood fast enough that looking up at his face nearly gave you whiplash. You copied him in an attempt to even the field but he still towered over your head. “I get a raging hard-on because of you every other day. You’re so unfairly gorgeous that I can’t concentrate when I’m with you. Half the time I’m pretty sure you think I’m an idiot because I can’t even string two sentences together without messing up.” Hyunsuk pushed his hair away from his face, obviously agitated, but he didn’t seem to notice when the strands immediately fell over his eyes again. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. Not just that, I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you that exact same second—”

Hyunsuk cut himself off, his chest heaving. The black shirt he was wearing was tight, emphasizing the hard lines of his pecs and defined abdomen. You fought to keep your eyes on his face, though his admission had nearly knocked you flat on your ass.

“You’re…” You swallowed roughly, your eyes burning. “You’re in love with me?”

Hyunsuk gave you a tiny nod, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re in love with me, too, you know.”

He was right, you realized. You hadn’t thought much about it before—you’d purposely tried not to—but now that he said it aloud, there was no way you could deny it.

You loved Hyunsuk.

Hyunsuk loved you back.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted. “I guess I could crack a joke to ease the tension but that doesn’t feel appropriate—”

Hyunsuk moved before you could register it. One moment he was frozen, staring at you with wide eyes. The next, his mouth crushed against yours with enough force that you stumbled back a step. His broad arm snaked around your waist to steady you, simultaneously hauling you closer to his chest while his other hand gripped the roots of your hair at the base of your scalp.

You were kissing him back before you’d finished processing the feeling of his mouth on yours. His lips were unbearably soft, warm as they slid against your own. You whimpered quietly at the sensation, at the fact you were finally kissing him—something you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting your whole life for until this very moment.

Hyunsuk’s fingers gripped your ribcage, his hand large enough that his fingertips brushed the underside of your breast. His other hand, still tangled in your hair, forced your head back further, allowing him better access to your mouth.

You remembered your own hands and immediately shoved them between you so you could touch his chest. His heartbeat thundered against your palm, its rhythm mirroring your own. Further south, you were painfully aware of the hard length now straining through his jeans.

You couldn’t get enough. Your hands roved over him constantly, unable to stay in one place for longer than a second. His chest, his arms, his shoulders, his hair—you needed to touch all of him, all at once. Hyunsuk’s muscles tensed everywhere you touched and, when your fingers lightly tugged at his hair, he rewarded you with a small moan into your mouth.

His hips pressed insistently against yours, though you were certain he wasn’t aware of it. His body sought friction the same way yours did, the hot pounding between your thighs making your head spin. Hyunsuk’s hand around your waist moved to join the other one in your hair.

Gently but firmly he tugged your head back so he could look at you. You gazed at him through hooded eyes, your vision hazy with lust. Hyunsuk had an expression on his face you’d never seen before, one that would come back to visit you in wet dreams for years to come.

“Tell me you’re still sure.” He pulled the roots of your hair for emphasis, earning a surprised moan from you. Hyunsuk groaned. “Please.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure. Please, Hyunsuk.” You barely recognized your own voice. Rough and low, it belonged to someone else entirely.

He needed no more encouragement than that. Without warning Hyunsuk stooped so his shoulder pressed into your abdomen, forcing your whole body over it. You shrieked as he stood, both because of the fact you were being carried over his shoulder without warning and because of the sharp smack he gave your ass.

He didn’t need directions to your bedroom. Hyunsuk spent nights with you more often than not, though this would be the first time you’d done something in your bed with him other than sleeping.

Hyunsuk, despite the ferocity with which he’d kissed you, was gentle as he set you down on the bed. You sprawled on your back and propped yourself up on your elbows, allowing your eyes to rove over his body. He stared down at you with the expression of a man starved, but with every second that passed it turned more into insecurity. He didn’t know what to do now. Shit, neither did you.

You smiled up at him reassuringly. With as much sexiness as you could muster, you beckoned him closer with a finger. “Kiss me, Hyunsuk.”

As if under a spell, he obeyed. Hyunsuk placed one knee on the edge of the mattress and covered your body with his. He held most of his weight on his elbows, caging you in on either side. When he kissed you this time, it was softer. Sweet, like he was trying to savor you.

Your fingers hooked into his belt loops, pulling his hips flush against yours. You both released small groans at the resulting pressure. You allowed your hands to drift up his sides beneath his shirt, dragging it up his torso as you went. His skin was fever-hot and soft over hard muscle.

He sat up only long enough to yank his shirt over his head, immediately dropping down over you again. You touched as much of him as you could reach, the same fervor from earlier rising fast inside you. Everywhere your hands moved made goosebumps erupt on his skin. Hyunsuk broke the kiss, his breathing heavy. You watched him as he looked down at your chest, obviously unsure if he was allowed to touch you.

Wordlessly you sat up, forcing him to do the same. He stared at you in tense silence as you pulled his sweatshirt over your head, leaving you only in your lace underwear and bare skin. Your nipples tightened painfully under his gaze. The only word you could find to describe his expression now was hunger.

When he remained silent for nearly a full minute, you decided he needed encouragement. “Hyunsuk?”

It took him a moment to find words. “Yes?” He breathed, his voice hoarse. His eyes flicked between your face and your breasts, unable to stay on either one for longer than a second.

“If you don’t touch me in the next five seconds I think I might explode.”

He laughed lowly and palmed the impressive erection straining through his jeans. Curiosity nipped at the back of your mind, followed immediately by nerves. With painstaking slowness, he gently pushed you back down on the bed so you were on your back beneath him. He kissed you again, only once, before he began to move down your body. You squirmed as he left small love bites along the column of your throat, your shoulders, your chest. His touch was gentle, too gentle, but each time his teeth grazed your skin earned a breathy moan you couldn’t seem to control.

At last his full lips closed around your right nipple. Your entire body jerked at the unfamiliar sensation, followed immediately by a shaky groan of relief. Your fingers tangled in the roots of his hair as he sucked, his mouth unbearably hot and wet as it worked you. Your heart felt very near to thundering out of your chest.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, almost to himself. His teeth tugged at your nipple for emphasis.

Just when your pleasure began to mingle with pain, he shifted his focus to your other breast. He dragged his tongue across your chest, leaving a hot trail of saliva across your skin, and brought one hand up to knead the breast he had just finished doting on.

Each moan that left your mouth seemed to encourage him further. With every passing second Hyunsuk’s confidence increased, his ministrations turning from gentle exploration to eager sucking. The bright purple marks that bloomed across your skin made you see stars.

“Hyunsuk, please,” you whimpered, both your hands now pulling lightly at his scalp. Hyunsuk wordlessly continued his leisurely journey down your body. He created constellations of kisses across your ribcage, your stomach—his tongue dipped briefly into your navel and ghosted across the hem of your panties.

You genuinely wondered if you would go insane when he looked up at you through his eyelashes, a small smile tugging at his swollen lips. “Where should I touch you, baby?”

You tried not to let your surprise at the pet name show. An unfamiliar sort of pleasure clenched in your core, drawing your attention to the wetness between your thighs. You couldn’t manage to form coherent words—instead, you allowed your legs to fall further open around him, baring your center to his face.

His eyes fell to your core and he released another shuddering breath. His long fingers hooked beneath your panties and pulled them to the side. For the first time, you felt truly exposed. Hyunsuk said nothing, the heartbeat in your clit reaching astronomical levels under his gaze.

He blew gently on your overheated core and your entire body convulsed. “Now seems like a good time to remind you,” he said roughly, “that I don’t know what I’m doing. You’ll have to tell me.”

“You’re doing great, Sukie. Just… do it, please, before I die.” Your hands in his hair tried in vain to push his face where you wanted it, but Hyunsuk was far stronger than you were. He didn’t move an inch, much to your despair. Instead, he helped you pull your panties down your legs until they were completely off, lying forgotten somewhere on the floor.

Without warning, his lips closed around your clit. You let out a sharp gasp, inadvertently yanking on his hair as you did so. Hyunsuk, to your surprise, moaned loudly at the sensation, his hips thrusting against the mattress as he sought to relieve the pressure between his legs. His forearms snaked beneath your ass, his hands large enough that they rested on top of your hipbones and locked you against the bed.

You didn’t know what feeling to focus on. His tongue circled your clit slowly, exerting just enough pressure to make you squirm. Your core spasmed with every movement, but you already knew it wouldn’t be enough.

“More, Hyunsuk, please—” your voice broke off into a moan as he obeyed. Hyunsuk’s teeth grazed your clit at the same moment his lips closed hard around it, sucking forcefully now. You sighed heavily, the breath whooshing from your chest at some of the pressure between your legs finally easing. Your back arched off the mattress and you tugged harder at his hair—you weren’t sure whether you were trying to trap him between your legs or push him away.

“You taste—” he said, his voice muffled against your core “—absolutely incredible.” Hyunsuk released your hipbone so he could position two fingers at your entrance, gathering some of your arousal onto his fingertips before timidly pushing into you. You muttered incoherent praises as his fingers curled, his middle and ring fingers finding your g-spot with ease.

You weren’t going to last. Hyunsuk rammed his fingers into you at an angle at the same time his mouth suckled your clit. You looked down at him, struggling to keep your eyes open, to find him already watching you. He growled against your center—actually growled—as he felt your walls tightening around his fingers.

“Please, harder,” you begged.

“I have to prep you, baby,” Hyunsuk scissored his fingers against your walls for emphasis, eliciting another gasp from you. “I’m big.” He didn’t say it as a brag but rather like it was a known fact, something which inclined you to believe him.

You threw your head back, lost in your pleasure. Hyunsuk’s pace didn’t falter. He continued to moan into your clit, the vibrations ricocheting up your spine and forcing you closer to your orgasm. The lewd sounds of him fingering you were broken only by his muttered praises about tasting so good or being so good for him.

“Hyunsuk, I—I’m gonna—”

“Yes, please, please cum on my tongue—”

Your hips rocked against his face, any sense of shame lost in your desperation to cum. Hyunsuk groaned against you again and it was the final push you needed to catapult off the edge. Lightning streaked through your veins, your orgasm barreling into you with such force that your thighs snapped closed around his head. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, instead feverishly moaning as he tried to prolong your high as long as he could.

“Oh my god.” You pressed your head and shoulders into the mattress, trying and failing to catch your breath. The echoes of your orgasm still zinged through your body long after Hyunsuk removed his fingers from you. When you finally managed to open your eyes, you nearly came again at the sight of Hyunsuk smiling up at you, his lips shining with your arousal.

He examined his glistening fingers and, like he was curious, he placed his fingers between his lips. He blinked innocently at you, smiling either at your taste or the expression on your face. Perhaps both. You groaned shakily and gently massaged his muscular shoulders. Somehow, your orgasm hadn’t calmed you down. You were more turned on than ever, actually, and you had never needed anything the way you needed his cock.

You pulled Hyunsuk up your body by the back of his neck, appreciating the startled noise he made. When his face hovered above yours you pressed an enthusiastic kiss to his lips. He tasted of chocolate cake and you, a flavor which instantly became your new favorite.

“I swear I’m going to return the favor,” you whispered into his mouth, “but if you aren’t fucking me senseless in the next thirty seconds I’m going to scream.”

Hyunsuk nodded fervently, all too excited to oblige you. You helped him out of his pants and underwear, almost too afraid to look down. As he’d warned you earlier, he was big—you could tell that much just by his height—but when his naked length brushed your thigh you seriously worried it wouldn’t fit.

“Raise your legs, baby.” Hyunsuk looped his arms under your knees and hauled them up, holding them there with his hands braced on either side of his ribcage. He kissed the tip of your nose and moved his face so you couldn’t look anywhere other than him. “Please stop me if I hurt you. We’ll go as slow as you need.”

Something in your heart fractured. Hyunsuk, your best friend. Your friend turned lover, and probably the sweetest person you’d ever met.

“I’m okay, Hyunsuk. Promise.”

He nodded, his eyes sharing lust and anxiety in equal measure. You finally allowed yourself to look down as he took his cock in a hand and pumped slowly. Any coherent thought left your head at the sight. Hyunsuk wasn’t just big, he was huge. Long and thick, his cock was flushed an angry red and looking very much like it would hurt.

He dragged the tip between your dripping folds, his precum only adding to the slickness there. Hyunsuk fitted the head into your entrance and pressed a chaste kiss to your brow. He thrusted experimentally, his cock entering you just enough that you both gasped in unison. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, unable to look away from your joined hips.

He captured your mouth in his again, probably to distract you from the pain. Even with the lubrication from both your cum and his, the stretch was enough to steal your breath. Hyunsuk kissed you like he was trying to stay grounded to earth. Low, frenzied moans rumbled in his throat on each pass.

The muscles in his shoulders bunched and flexed beneath your fingers. You gently bit down on the flesh above his collarbone to muffle the sounds coming from you, somewhere between moans and cries.

Your walls wouldn’t seem to give way. He took his time, never trying to force his cock all the way into you or increase his pace to one you couldn’t handle. Just looking at the size of his dick was intimidating enough, but having it inside you was something else entirely. He managed to get halfway in before the pain subsided enough that you began rolling your hips against his, silently begging for more.

He pulled out and, at long last, your walls relaxed as he pushed in. All at once, his cock plunged into you to the hilt, both of you gasping in surprise and pleasure.

“That’s it…” Hyunsuk sighed into your hair, his entire body shaking. “Atta girl.”

You whimpered, tears stinging the backs of your eyes. God, it hurt. He was massive and you were too tight, and holy shit you needed more, more, more.

“Move now, Hyunsuk,” you choked out. Your heels dug into his ass, feeling it flex as he timidly pulled out and thrusted back in. It still hurt, certainly enough to make you grit your teeth, but there was pleasure there now. Something in your lower stomach was already tightening like it had when he used his tongue. The urge to chase that feeling was enormous.

You bit down on his shoulder, harder this time. His hands found both of yours, lacing your fingers together and forcing them to either side of your head. His pace was still unbearably slow, his fear of hurting you blocking him from truly fucking you.

“Hyunsuk—”

You couldn’t finish your plea. His name cut off into a sharp whine as he snapped his hips into yours. He did it again, and again, and you were gone. Your moans were sometimes words, sometimes not, but they were completely wild and all for him.

The hard pace he set had your walls clamping down hard around him with every brush to your g-spot. Hyunsuk’s teeth were fastened onto his bottom lip, his eyes locked on the place your bodies collided, over and over again.

“Oh god, Hyunsuk, please, please—”

Your legs violently shook around his hips, the pain from before replaced only by pleasure now. Your walls spasmed and clenched around him, drawing deep whimpers from his throat.

“You’re so tight, baby.” His voice was unrecognizable. “You like this, hmm? You like your best friend fucking you stupid?”

You nodded, barely registering the words coming from his mouth. You were overcome by pleasure, by the feeling of his cock stretching you out and filling you so full you wouldn’t ever be able to forget it.

With skill you couldn’t understand, Hyunsuk pulled out completely and flipped you roughly onto your stomach. He hauled your ass up and closer to him, his cock easily filling you again before you could mourn the initial loss of it. You gasped, partly from shock and partly from pleasure.

Your forehead fell against your arm as he fucked you from behind, his pace fast enough now that it forced you further up onto the mattress. His body leaned over yours and he kissed any part of you his mouth could reach—your hair, your throat, your shoulders, it didn’t matter to him.

Hyunsuk was getting close now. His moans had turned breathy, his thrusts becoming more erratic as your pussy clenched hard around him. He gripped your waist hard enough to bruise, fucking you on his cock at a ruthless pace.

The hot ball in your stomach grew unbearably tight. You begged him to make you cum, to fill you with him, and his only response was to pound into you harder. When his fingers dove between your legs and found your clit again, your orgasm exploded out of you with the force of a falling star.

Your walls clamped down on his cock hard enough that he couldn’t fully thrust anymore. “Yes, baby, that’s it…” Hyunsuk sighed heavily, allowing his forehead to rest between your shoulder blades. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”

Your lips parted and your entire body locked, unable to produce any sort of sound under the weight of your orgasm. Hyunsuk’s cock twitched inside you, filling you with hot cum in thick bursts. For the first time, you remembered that you weren’t using protection and were extraordinarily grateful for the birth control pills you took regularly.

Your sweat-slick bodies trembled in the wake of your orgasms, his cock still nestled deep inside you as you came down. You weren’t sure how long you stayed that way, just holding each other and panting heavily. At some point Hyunsuk shifted so the two of you were spooning, but he didn’t try to remove himself from you once you were both laying comfortably.

There were tears in your eyes again. You tried to control it but a small sniffle escaped you despite your valiant effort. Hyunsuk was immediately on alert. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced you to look at him, the look on his face a perfect combination of adoration and worry.

“Why are you crying?” He whispered, panicked. “Are you hurt? Did I… Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” You hastily wiped away the tear that had escaped one of your eyes. “Sukie, no. I’m amazing, actually. Better than amazing.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m just… really happy.” You sniffled again, the truth of your words making another tear slide down your cheek.

Hyunsuk didn’t look convinced. He placed a delicate kiss between your eyes and at last removed his cock from you, both of you grunting at the sudden loss. Your pussy throbbed, a deep ache that you were certain would last for the next few days.

You admired your view of his nakedness as he padded into your connected bathroom, coming back a minute later with a washcloth in hand. You watched him through your eyelashes and let your legs fall open again. Gratification echoed through you at the way his cock twitched in response.

He knelt between your thighs and cleaned you gently. “We, um. We made a mess,” he admitted sheepishly. His throat and face flushed a deep, pretty scarlet, all the way to the tips of his ears. You grinned down at him lazily.

“Care to do it again sometime?”

He blushed further, eliciting a giggle from you. Wordlessly he stood and pulled on his underwear—something you protested to no avail—and he gave you a timid kiss before leaving the room. He returned before you could ask where he was going, holding two butter-slathered cupcakes and a bottle of water in his hand.

“I didn’t even get a chance to frost these, you heathen,” you laughed. Still, you accepted the cupcake he offered you and smiled at him warmly in thanks.

“So,” he began, his mouth stuffed, "is the internet right?”

“What do you mean?”

He motioned between you, both still naked except for his underwear and the sheet tucked around you. “Is our friendship ruined because we had sex?”

You pretended to think for a moment. You didn’t really have to ponder this question at all, but you did enjoy the frazzled look that appeared on Hyunsuk’s face. You took a bite of your cupcake and socked him playfully on the shoulder. “I definitely think it’s ruined, yeah.”

“For real?”

You leaned forward and kissed him too quickly for him to react. “I’m gonna be thinking about that tight ass all the time now.” You squealed when he pounced, caging you between his arms and nearly squishing your cupcake between your chests. You gave him a radiant smile, exhilarated.

Hyunsuk returned it, looking joyous and thoroughly spent. “I think I could get used to this.” He adjusted so that he rested casually between your legs beneath the sheet you’d covered yourself with. He took your cupcake and set it safely on your nightstand, now able to let his head rest on your chest as you held each other.

You petted his hair, just savoring the feeling of his heartbeat and his breaths that evened into sleep quicker than you’d thought possible. This boy, you thought, smiling sleepily at nothing.

Yeah. You could get used to this.

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please leave a like and reblog to show your support!

masterlist here :)

© minghaoyoudoin 2022 - all rights reserved. reposts/translations not allowed. I do not assume to know the personal lives of the idol(s) depicted in this fic, this is for entertainment purposes only!

[ashenious]

One day I will binge clean out my likes so I'm not a dead blog

Today, however, is not that day, but is instead a "get lowkey day drunk and do all the weird chores I've been putting off for far too long" kind of day

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

im playing 3h and yuri walked up w two other folks. balthus, yeah, that makes sense, and *ashe*

now im just imagining yuri has absorbed this kid into the ashen wolves. name fits, youre traumatized enough, our friend now

which is very funny bc while im not using ashe as a unit i am making sure he gets a good ending via marrying ingrid. i want him to have a good life :) their supports are so cute too theyre such nerds

i mean tbh ashe fits very well w the wolves too generally. like hes absolutely a kid theyd exile into Abyss bcuz of Lonato if he hadnt already been in the proper school for a while.

balthus and yuri build him a bunk in Abyss if he wants it and within 4 days hes already moved in and started cleaning up the place. couldnt stand how monastery staff were looking at him post lonato, and hey the assassins down here sure know a lot about how to use a bow. neat

hapi and ashe spending time together being kind of nerdy about things that they feel embarrassed to be weird ant in public. yuri knows and supports their nerdiness by dropping off books and shit but neither has figured it out

candance hyping ashe up being like "no my friend!!! you are just as noble as the rest, your father was a shining example, i believe in you and your ties to him!!!!" like she isnt a therapist but she is w hypeman. and when she gets sad in sunlight hes always there w her umbrella, murmuring similar things but quieter so she doesnt fall into a pit of depression.

balthus bringing ashe out on excursions to do stupid shit, talking to him about girl troubles ("I dunno Balthus, Ingrid's so.. regal and knightly, and I'm just Ashe!" "No no no way, little bro, you're just as knightly! Strong as hell, too!" Cue Balthus grabbing Ashe and nuggie-ing the hell out of him), helping him train his 1v1 skills as well as his bowmanship.

yuri and ashe have a much quieter relationship i think. a lot of quiet support, both ways--yuri complains about some matter he doesnt have time to attend to and he notices randomly that it's been done. ashe shies away from someones ire and they change their mind soon enough. i think it slowly dawns on the both that theyre supporting one another, and they get dinner together to joke about it. but at the end of the day this REALLY feels like one of those friendships where just reading books together quietly is more than enough.

ingrid is, however, not allowed in abyss with ashe. he does have to leave her outside.

okay but who's candance...

[badlydrawndavepeta]

solkat AND erisol

B33 < the three trolls that efurryone is going wild for lately huh

B33 < those thr33 are like a volleyball they go back and forth and back and forth

B33 < you never know where that meowtherfucker is gonna land after gettin tossed around all willy nilly like last w33ks mewspaper and the small delivery child on a two wh33led device is only getting less and less cautious about where theyre throwing that thing

B33 < theres a lot of pawtential fur both red and black leanings if they can get past their t33nage moodiness and talk things out and if they go fur one quadrant collectively my money is on ashen

B33 < litterally everyone and their lusus has had an ashen crush on eridan and sollux and you know what sure maybe im included in that but it takes thr33 links to make a chain and they didnt s33m interested back so ive pulled my horse out of THAT race

B33 < the only quadrant i definitely CANNOT s33 their relationship taking is a purrly pale relationship betw33n all three of them, theres just a tad too much animosity to make that work cohesively but theyre in a good state fur flush or blackrom

B33 < or hell i could s33 them mixing quadrants

B33 < im a modern purrson i k33p up with the times and quadrant smearing is getting more common

B33 < i f33l like they could make it work so long as they sort shit out vis a vis previously established t33nage moodiness

B33 < any way i n33d a break from this game of cheaters volleyball betw33n four people who dont know how to play so im gonna go grab a drink s33 yall in a bit

[anincompletelist]

[read free on patreon here!]

written for the word prompt: thunder

“Can I sleep on your floor?” 

Half-awake, Henry blinks the sleep from his eyes and squints at his new roommate, clad in a checkered pajama set and clutching a blanket tight to his chest outside of his bedroom door. 

“What?” he rasps. 

“Fuck. Sorry. I should’ve explained first,” Alex curses, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “Look, I’m really sorry to wake you up in the middle of the night but there’s this storm that came through after we went to sleep and it’s just— I don’t— I don’t do thunder.” 

“You don’t… do thunder,” Henry repeats. Part of him is still convinced he’s dreaming. It’s the only way he’d imagined Alex would ever show up at his bedroom door in the dead of night. But during his move-in interview, Henry had admittedly pictured him less ashen and visibly trembling when it happened. 

“Like, loud noises,” Alex elaborates with a jerky shrug, talking so quickly that Henry struggles to understand him. “Usually I make arrangements but I didn’t know the rain was coming and—”

Before he can finish, another round of the storm bears down outside, a flash of lightning and then an angry, rumbling line of thunder. Alex’s eyes squeeze shut and he drops the blanket to the floor to clutch his hands over his ears instead, a stark contrast from the confident, bubbly person he’d been at dinner hours before, eager to get to know Henry over beers and his homemade Tex-Mex. 

Henry wakes up a little more at the sight of it, dropping down to scoop up the soft blanket and toss it back around Alex’s shoulders, putting a hand on his hip and pulling him through the open bedroom door. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he’s saying, over and over again as Henry leads him to the bed. “Can I sleep on your floor? I’m sorry, I—” 

“Alex,” Henry stops him. “It’s alright. You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, no. You can’t sleep on the floor. This is your room.” 

The sky rumbles outside and he quickly goes back on his decision, diving sideways to burrow himself beneath Henry’s duvet. David grumbles a bit at being woken up, then promptly rearranges himself right up by Alex’s snuffling nose on the pillows with a curious sniff. 

With a delirious, lopsided smile, Henry grabs the extra one and a clean blanket and heads for the rug. 

“Wait,” he hears from the pile of his sheets. He glances up at Alex’s eyes, the only thing visible from under the blanket, and raises a brow. “You can— it’s a big bed. Just— you can sleep on the other side.” 

Henry hesitates for a moment. “I— are you certain?” 

“I mean, it’s fine with me.” Alex slides both hands over his face. “Fuck. This is not how our first night as roommates was supposed to go. I’m so sorry, Henry. You probably think I’m, like, insane.” 

His smile grows a lot less lopsided and a lot more fond as he crosses back over to the bed, slipping quietly into his own side. He lays facing Alex, David nestled between them, and thinks about how nice it is to have someone around again. 

“I don’t think you’re insane.” 

“Right,” Alex huffs a shaky laugh, his eyes still wide as he blinks, but shivering lessening. “Just don’t kick me out, okay? M’not usually like this. I promise. I’m really cool.” 

Henry presses a grin into his pillow just as Alex’s fingers start lightly tracing over David’s ears in a steady back and forth, tugging him closer to his chest. 

“Either’s fine with me, I think,” he murmurs. 

“You’re always welcome in my bed too, y’know.” Henry’s eyebrows fly into his hairline as Alex rushes to correct himself, a flush spreading on his cheeks. “I mean— fuck. Holy shit I am so not playing this cool right now,” he breathes. “I just meant, like, if you ever have any weird shit that you’re scared of, I— I’m here for you too, I mean. For— for a long time, I hope.” 

Beneath the covers, Henry’s heart does an odd little flip-flop in his chest, almost like something thawing and chipping away, a new layer presenting itself underneath. He raises a hand to pet David as well, and he doesn’t move away when their fingers brush. Alex smiles softly, even as the thunder rolls quietly outside the window. 

“I’d like that very much, Alex.” 

Pez had been right, not that Henry would ever admit it to him. Finding a roommate was a very, very good idea.

[muffinrecord]

Ashen Revolution Thoughts

Okay watch me butcher this concept badly, but this is where "the will of the universe" thing that folks talk about in Magia Record comes from. The idea is that there is some sort of "will" that makes it so that magical girls are never discovered by the public, that they keep existing as they are-- unknown and without support-- becuase this is what will keep the universe running. Magical girls turn into witches, Kyubey harvests that energy and then returns it to the universe which prevents entropy from the long dark.

This talk is reminding me of quantum suicide / immortality.

Maybe it's not that there is a "will of the universe" but that only the universe where magical girls continue to exist as they currently are is the universe that will remain? Every other one where they don't will eventually end/fail, so you're left with the one that doesn't.

(Although, given that this is madoka magica and we've got alternate timelines and universes and shit, so maybe this theory doesn't hold much water)

But the og idea, not to butcher it-- let's focus on a person. Let's take you, the reader. Let's say you walked outside today and almost got hit by a car, but survived. In Quantum Immortality, there is a universe where you DID die, but your consciousness was shuffled to the one where you didn't. So you died, but you would have no idea, because your consciousness went to the place where you survived. To you it's all one timeline of survival because you don't know/remember the places where you died. You live on the one timeline where you lived for as long as possible.

Maybe the "will of the universe" is more like that? Every time something happens that could shorten/end the universe's life/meguca meals, it's overwritten by the universe where that DOESN'T happen.

So "the will of the universe" might actually exist, but not as an actual will or a person. It's more that they exist in the one timeline where things will always work out that the universe continues to exist the longest it can.

[a-luran]

please talk about scoteng toño my crops are dying and my tea grows cold

Astro noo ;A; yer tea!!! your crops... I am sorry it has been so long. Please take some historical thoughts with my contrition:

---

After the Battle of Otterburn, 1388 AD

-

It is worth less than its waning weight in gold; a waxing sun held in the palm of Alasdair's hand.

"Here," he says and means go. Go south, go home.

Arthur does not move to take it, hands lying limp between his thighs, shoulders splintered under the weight of his coat. He is ash-stained and ashen, the beds of his nails torn and packed with dirt. His knuckles are bruised and split, the wheat-gold of his hair lying limp and muddy, weighed down with sweat and another man's blood. Alasdair is not bearing up much better but at least he is on his feet.

The stench of shit and fear is so thick in the air he'll smell it with every step he takes from here to Stirling.

Arthur stands slowly, like it costs him. For a moment Alasdair thinks his left knee might give, bring him low again, but it holds. He forgets, sometimes, how young Arthur is in the eyes of men. He wonders what they might see in him; if it is anything like the child Alasdair knew before the compulsion to the wills of others made them cruel.

Arthur takes a step, finds his footing, and spits blood on the ground between his feet. Alasdair thinks he might have been aiming for his hand but he can't be sure. Arthur's eyes are dim and slow and it might figure that some of the blood dripping down from his temple is his.

He tries to knock past Alasdair and trips over his own feet when their shoulders meet. Alasdair grabs him by the arm to right him and shoves him forward before Arthur can shake him off. Arthur catches himself against a the ruins of a wall and Alasdair does not know what is worse, the tang of iron in the air or the pit in his chest.

Arthur is sick against the stones, shoulders heaving with the effort, and Alasdair fights the surge of pity in his gut. Arthur pants, coughs, spits again. Alasdair waits it out before reaching for him again, fisting Arthur's cloak with one hand thumping the other against his chest.

Arthur's chin drops to his sternum, an unreadable look on his face. Alasdair hates him, and loves him, and wants to see him gone from this place.

"Arthur." His voice is ragged, hoarse, and barely above a whisper. Speaking Arthur's name is the closest he will ever come to pleading.

He will never know what chit he bargains against Arthur's pride that day but finally, awkwardly, Arthur reaches up to brush his fingers against the back of the fist on his sternum.

Alasdair palms him he coin with halting fingers, hands brushing skin-warm and coarse, and only lets go of Arthur's shoulder when he is sure that he's tucked it away safely. Then he steps away.

Arthur goes without a word, heading south and away. Alasdair lingers, looks west, chasing after the sun and away from the embers that still burn to the east.

It is only long after Arthur has gone and he turns north that he thinks he would have liked to hear the sound of his voice.

[f4y3w00d5]

Intro Post

Hey all!

So I'm Faye (Well thats what you can call me), and these are the basics you should know. So my pronouns are she/them, but I'm thinking that I'm gonna try him too, so I dont really mind. I'm pansexual (this part is redacted because apparently exploring your identity/sexuality is wrong too!). I'm happy with being flirted with, nicknames, etc. I'm also bad at taking social cues and reading between the lines!

Ive removed the part that was here because apparently people dont think 5 months of in depth research of official resources isnt enough to say you might have something :)

Also, this is a safespace for everyone! LGBTQ+, intersex, anyone of any race, all that. Unless youre a bigot and in that case dont.

I have got a bluesky but that place is a shit hole and i hate it so thats a worst case scenario

My writing account is @faye-writes-stories

I post a lot of wizard related stuff, my chemical romance too. My family is jewish, and I will not tolerate any rudeness (fatphobia, homophobia, transphobia, anti semitic, TERFs etc etc) Anyone can talk to me, my asks are always open for whatever (I love getting asks, except hate ones!). Also I'm currently a hellenic paganist and beginning to practice witchcraft, specifically related to Hestia.

I'm also an artist, and currently writing a story. I love getting asks about my characters too!

Some things I like:

-Roleplay -Magic -Mythology -Faeries and incubus/succubus, demons in general tbh -Creepypasta -My Chemical Romance -The Medoran Chronicles -Baby Bugs

Dating @gobodegoblin @sonofshu @a-secret-rpblog @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @monsterfucker-research-wizard

@akronus-the-redeemed @be-gentle-with-littluns-2 @space-rocc !!! (ooc that is)

If you're going to psychoanalyze my every mistake that I make when I'm so tired I can barely function, leave.

Unless theres something else I think of, thats all!

Wizard Stuff

So I'm a warlock, vampire, shapeshifter, succubus and faerie. Specifically the second generation of dark tricksters. Friends: @terrencetheshark14 @ashen-the-tiefling @verylegalwizard @lixorloveslicorice @drew-bard-for-hire @the-moth-wizard-of-mayhem AND MORE THAT I FORGOT Siblings: the ringmaster of @the-darkest-carnival Also I'm dating and @monsterfucker-research-wizard and @mossy--wizard and @combustion-witch and @tomas-the-slime and @gobodegoblin and @slymewitch and @a-secret-rpblog and like a billion others, also in a QPR with @be-gentle-with-littluns-2

Fayes Origin story: