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fishnapple · 8 months ago

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You in their eyes, how do they see you?

(Future spouse/partner/lover)

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

MAELSTROM

• Spirit animal: Turtle

You're a balanced combination of both soft, mysterious energy and firm, assertive energy. They can definitely see that you have mental compatibility with each other. Words flow between you effortlessly, conversations would take hours without anyone noticing time was flying by. They can talk about anything with you without fear of judgement and misunderstanding. You stimulate their mind, and when conflicts arise, you can discuss them logically with clarity without letting emotions take over you. This make problems solving between you and them easier, leaving less space for resentment and unresolved feelings.

You seem reserved and quiet in their eyes. Your display of emotions and affection is subtle and intuitive, a quiet devotion that embraces them every day without suffocating them. Though, sometimes, they would have difficulties in trying to decipher your deeper feelings, to understand you at your core, the part that you conceal from them.

But they admire your ability to embrace your inner child fully. They know that this didn't come naturally for you, there's a journey behind it, lessons and hardship you had to go through in order to protect and bring your inner child to the world, no matter how you're perceived. They love this courage, this fearless attitude when you have to face people's opinions, you don't let yourself be swayed by them. Sometimes, you can even be rebellious. But the funny thing is, the more you fight, the more rebellious you're, the more attractive you're in their eyes. And it's not like you go about it in an aggressive and confrontional method. You do you, unapologetically, like a child unaware of how seemingly "odd" their behaviour is in other's eyes. But they know you're not childish. Behind that oblivious attitude is a strong sense of self, a wise person, ruling their own inner kingdom with iron fists. Like a ballerina, their movements can be so graceful only because they've spent endless hours discipline themselves and practised.

Sometimes, they can think that you're being too engrossed in the pursuit of material achievements, like you're always in preparation mode for some disasters looming in the distant future. Greedy might be too strong of a word, but they can view you as materialistic or have a mindset of lack. They understand that material security is very important to you. You need to feel a strong foundation under your feet to feel safe. That can make you overwork yourself to the point of exhaustion, always looking for the next thing to do. But they can see you putting that same effort in making the relationship work, you care about them and are willing to take care of things to make their life easier. They will feel that you're always there when they need you, your presence is a constant that is very much needed in their life. They would feel empty, a part of them is missing when you're away.

SEA FOAM

• Spirit animal: Fish

They think you're their good karma (if you believe in the concept of karma) or a reward, a surprise given to them by some higher powers. I see the image of someone being ushered into someone's life. Both parties can be quite reluctant at first, but as fate has it, you and them need to be together. There's a heavy element of fatefulness in this connection, or so that's how they see it. You are destined to love each other, no matter how much both of you try to deny or run away from it.

I think you will be the one who does the running away in the beginning. You seem "hard to catch", like trying to catch a fish with their bare hands. You would fleet in and out of their life at first, they can't seem to figure you out. But your presence will be a pushing force in their life, pushing them into a different direction, to where they are afraid to tread but secretly wish to.

In their eyes, you can be a little immature or temperamental, acting on whims of the moment. This makes you exciting and unique but sometimes, also agitating and hard to pin down. It's like they're torn between the feeling of love and frustration for you. Their personality probably is more serious and intense than yours. They want to be in the deep water with their lover, but you seem to refuse to swim there with them. But they will always want to care for you, to protect you from the harsh world outside.

The way you talk and act just exudes a young and pure energy, as of someone who, just for the first time, allowed to go outside to explore. You might talk a lot (compare to them), you ask questions, sometimes funny one, sometimes philosophical one, sometimes silly one. They will like to indulge you, patiently answer each one of your questions, then sometimes they can get irritated and start to lecture you, to that, you will just ask more questions. You want to learn, to understand this world. Behind that seemingly busy bee mind is a yearning to explore, to be free and soaring. And even if they can't fly with you, they sure will gather all the winds to lift your wings, instead of trying to pull you down into their water (who's the fish here?).

Your habits might be a little more messy or undisciplined compared to this person. You seem confused lots of times and don't have a good grasp of how to navigate your daily life efficiently, yet miraculously, you still swim through life effortlessly, much to their amazement. You don't fret too much about the future, somehow always arrive at the desired destination on time, things just work out for you, as if you just need to focus on taking good care of yourself and be contented, the rest will be taken care of for you by some mysterious force. This contrasts sharply with their approach to life, always planning ahead, always wanting to control the outcome. This creates a complementary dynamic between you two. Where you need structure, they provide, where they need spontaneity, you provide. In the end, no matter how different you guys are, you just fit each other neatly, like puzzle pieces.

SANDSTORM

• Spirit animal: Swan

They just know that you're the perfect partner for them, the one they need to get married to or at least make a serious, long-term commitment. You just possess all the qualities they seek in a spouse, the thought of committing probably will appear in their mind early on. You have a natural ability to understand them, nurture and protect them, at the same time, be a reliable pillar of strength for them. You are serious in your commitment, never take feelings for granted, you date with marriage as end goal in mind. They also think you would make a good parent, someone with enough tenderness and discipline to raise children with good balance.

Your work might involve lots of travelling and communicating. They can see that these are prominent parts of your life, demanding a large chunk of your time. They think that you tend to overwork yourself, being too engrossed in working, you're always busy, I wonder if this also means that you don't spend enough time with them, they feel like they have to demand for your time, to take you away from whatever is bothering your mind. Security is very important to you, you need to feel abundant to feel safe, yet they think you hardly ever feel that way, hence the constant working. They will want to help you in this area, just like how you help them. You mirror each other, in energy, in intentions, both of you want to care for each other in the same way as the other person does.

They probably like to hear your voice, be it talking, singing, or making other sounds. It feels soothing and calming for them. What you say also brings a new perspective, widening their view about the world. They sometimes see you as a teacher, whom they should listen to and want to be guided by. You just move through life gracefully, always open to new adventure, but still leave space for contemplating deeper meanings about everything. Like a philosopher wandering through life, observing the world, and sharing wisdom with the people. You need to be constantly in motion, travelling, or just moving around, and they're happy to be your companion, though they might sometimes want to slow down and rest a little.

They think you have a lot to uncover. You hide a huge treasure of deep love inside, something too intense for you to confidently show to the world. They would be sad to see you lock your dreams away, and they are willing to help make your dreams come true, if you would just ask them to. Your inner child is also someone they want to get close to. You seem to be disconnected from your inner child. They can feel that you want to connect, but something in your psyche is scaring your inner child away, making them reluctant to join the "family". From the outside, this makes you look a little cold or unaffectionate, you're discreet with your love, only ever bring it out when you completely trust someone. They would want to reach out their hands and pull your inner child closer, to give your inner child a hug.

DUSK

• Spirit animal: Phoenix

They think that you being in a relationship with them is be a big step away from your past wounds. Not that they want the credit for themselves, but as an admiration for you, for your strength. They can see that you had a great fear concerning relationship and commitment in general. Maybe you have been burnt in the past, childhood baggage, and the bad examples you saw around you made you wary of love. So choosing to be in a relationship with someone, being committed to that person, trusting that person enough to share yourself with them, all of these are really brave actions in their eyes. It shows that you don't let your past hold you back and define you, you rise above it and are willing to change, to choose happiness for yourself. Sometimes, they would reminisce about the initial getting-to-know-each-other phase, how many obstacles they saw in your connection, and how hard it was for them to gain your trust and affection. They would even tease you for it.

Your life seems to be ridden with changes of direction. You're not meant to stay still in one place, both mentally and physically. Life will always present you some events to push you to move. You can't stay stagnant, if you think you're contented with the current situation, then sure enough, there would be an event, an opportunity appearing in front of you, making you reevaluate your current direction in life. So life with you definitely won't lack movements and changes. Another thing is, you also actively seek to restructure your life. From small hobbies to big life decisions, you can be pretty random and go with the flow. You would change the plan at the last minute, planning to turn left, then suddenly turn right because something caught your attention that made you change your mind. Or some mornings, you would suddenly announce that you will take up a new hobby, register for a dance class, learning new language etc. without prior warning.

Life with you would be busy, you always have something to do, a task to complete, a news to watch, a track to run, a book to read. It's like they can't never see you being still. Maybe that also made them feel like you were afraid of commitment when they first got to know you. They could feel that you're too busy for love. But of course, that's not true, being a busy bee is just who you are, and over time, they've gotten used to it and adapted to it well. That busy energy also shows itself in the way you talk. Maybe you talk a lot, very fast, always have something witty to say. They love your humour, your ability to look at yourself, and joke without being defensive. The way you express your ideas and emotions is clear and rational but not cold. You know when to offer the softest words of encouragement and when to debate with the sharpest points.

They think you like to beautify yourself, you like beautiful things but at the same time you seem to be reluctant to spend on yourself, almost like you're stingy with yourself. Even if you like something, you might rationalise and deny yourself that thing. You want to earn lots of money yet don't feel comfortable spending it, especially for yourself. They know this trait of yours, so they will try to guess your desire and get it for you. You're not stingy with them or everyone, though, you're likely to pour your resources into the people you love and the house you share with them. You might like to beautify the house instead. Which is where you would like to stay a lot. You can seem like a homebody to them (with all the busy work) but you will have to go out and make an appearance in the world and they know the world loves you.

SIERRA

• Spirit animal: Phoenix

If they were the wind, they would lift your wings up as much as they could. Your person sees so much potential in you, so many talents, yet you're limiting yourself with your fears. You have an enormous desire to learn and expand your mind. But you also fear going deeper. You might be the kind of person who learns various subjects simultaneously, has a good grasp of everything, but doesn't dig too deep into any particular subjects. Not because you're shallow or impatient, it's the opposite, you know that once you've engrossed yourself in something, you go all in, it would get to the core really fast, and this drains your time and energy so much, you're reluctant to dive in. You also know that there will be hidden things inside you that need to be uncovered if you were to go any deeper. But they think you have the strength to do this because they understand, deep down, you're much happier when you devote yourself to something.

And they know you devote yourself to them and the relationship. Once you're in a commitment, you take it seriously, you see your life as an entanglement with each other, not just one's own anymore. In a way, you're a team person, someone who has a talent for working with people. This makes being in a relationship with you so much easier. Because you're willing to cooperate and want to make a team effort to build the relationship strong, instead of demanding from a selfish stance.

But you're not a pushover or a people pleaser in their eyes. Your individuality shines intensely. You have no trouble being yourself, you can't help being yourself. Even if you wear normal clothing like everyone else, blending in quietly, you still somehow stand out to them. Like a visible halo around you is beckoning them. They admire your creative energy so much, if they're ever short of ideas, they can always turn to you to get some. If you want to pursue some creative endeavours, they would probably encourage and support you wholeheartedly. Because they believe in you.

They also love your playful side, which you only show to a few close ones, and only in a comfortable space. You appear much more serious in public than when you're with them in private. When you're home with them, you can be tender, childish but also very seductive, you show yourself fully to them. You can act silly, making jokes all the time with them, being competitive in games, or playing pranks on them. But all of those are saved for alone time together. Outside, to the world, you're more uptight, serious. People also respect you a lot, looking up to you like a teacher. What you say probably are well listened to by people. You appear as a wise, mature friend, whom people can come to for sound advice. Your person would sometimes chuckle quietly to themselves whenever they see you out in public or with acquaintances. Those people wouldn't imagine how you would act in private, imagine their reaction when they found out some of your silly jokes. They definitely think you have the world fooled.

RIVER

• Spirit animal: Lamb

You're a quiet presence that haunts their psyche in an inexplicable way. They sometimes can't understand why they're so drawn to you, they have that feeling in their heart, but they can't put it into word. If someone asks your person how they feel about you, they would stumble a bit and would take a long time to come up with a coherent answer. Don't mistake this for their lack of affection or commitment, they just haven't fully comprehended your effect on them. When they hear the question, in their mind, the image of you would be conjured up in so many different ways and different areas, it's like you're everywhere.

They admire your grace under pressure. Your quietness doesn't mean you're meek or naive. Your energy is pure and wise. The hardship you encountered in the past didn't turn you into a bitter and cold person. On the contrary, you developed compassion for other's suffering. Everyone has their own story and they deserve to tell them without shame. Each pain is traded with wisdom. They probably wish to learn a thing or two from your stoicism. You're here, in the present, you don't put your mind to needless worrying nor do you cling to the past.

You're the person they would always turn to when they need an advice, your words have a stabilising effect on them, you make them believe that everything will be okay in the end, that they're safe and sound. You might not talk a lot, superfluous information doesn't interest you, but each word holds values. You can talk about deep and taboo topics without judgement, fear or prejudice. Your person will also love your voice, it sounds tender and calming, though they may wish that you would talk more so that they can hear your voice more.

They do notice, when they've gotten closer to you, that you tend to hold in your anger, you don't want it to affect other people, but your person will worry that this can affect you negatively. You also hold your drive and ambitions close to your chest, refusing to disclose them to others. You work silently, diligently towards your goals. It's like you don't want to show anything too overt, your emotions, your struggle, your passion, they are kept simmering inside, while outwardly, you show a serene and placid disposition.

In love, you show a more relaxed energy to them, like a child finally out of the house after a heavy rain, enjoying the freshness and the earthy scent of everything. You can act a little more erratic with them than when you're with other people. Maybe they adore that side of you or more tolerate towards it. You can be unpredictable, not showing your cards fully. They sometimes have to guess how much you love them, how you feel about them. They can ask you for your opinion about other matters and receive practical and solid answers from you, but when the questions change to the topic of personal feelings and love, you can be elusive. This frustrates them greatly but also pull them to you greatly. You're like the muse and the poet at the same time. And they're your avid reader.

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theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

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HEAR ME (PURPLE LACED BRA) | LN4

an: i've been dying to post something to this so i'm glad i finally have something written - hope you guys enjoy it! go listen to so close to what!!

wc: 4.6k

THE MUSIC WAS DEAFENING, the bass shaking the floor beneath her heels, but she barely heard it. She stood at the edge of the VIP section, half-watching the celebration unfold in front of her. The club was packed—champagne bottles with sparklers, models draped over the backs of velvet sofas, cameras flashing every few seconds. And at the centre of it all was Lando.

He was grinning, drink in hand, surrounded by his team and a few celebrities she half-recognised. Another win. Another podium. Another reason for the world to love him. And they did—God, they did. Everyone wanted a piece of him.

She used to feel lucky just to stand beside him. Now, she wasn’t sure if she even existed in his world at all.

A hand brushed against the small of her back. She startled, turning to see Lando looking down at her with that easy, practised smirk—the one that melted screens and made headlines.

“Where’ve you disappeared to?” he asked, pulling her into his side. His hand rested low on her waist, fingers playing at the hem of her dress. He didn’t wait for an answer before leaning down, his lips grazing her ear. “Come on, don’t do that thing where you get all quiet on me.”

Her jaw clenched. He said it like it was a mood she put on, like she was being difficult. But what was the point of speaking when he never heard her?

So she did what she always did. She tilted her head, plastered on a smile, let him pull her closer. He liked her like this—silent, beautiful, easy.

A photographer stepped forward, camera ready. Lando straightened, his grip tightening just slightly, and just like that, she knew her role. She shifted towards him, leant into the picture, let them capture exactly what they wanted: The driver and his perfect girl.

But she was starting to wonder if that was all she would ever be.

The camera flash flickered, catching the sharp angles of Lando’s jaw, the gleam of his watch, the perfect way her body fit against his. The photographer gave him a nod of approval before turning away, already chasing after someone else worth capturing.

Lando exhaled through his nose, his grip on her easing now that the moment had passed. “See?” he murmured, pressing a kiss against her temple. “Was that so hard?”

Her smile didn’t waver. It never did. But something in her chest twisted so tightly she almost felt breathless.

He turned back to his conversation, already lost in some animated discussion about the race, his hands moving as he recounted the final laps. She knew the words before they left his mouth—the same adrenaline-fuelled debrief he gave after every win. The late braking, the perfect strategy call, the rivals he left in his dust.

He was electric when he spoke about racing. It was the only time she ever saw him truly alive.

She used to love watching him like this. Now, she just felt like a shadow beside him.

Her fingers skimmed the rim of her untouched drink as she scanned the room. Everywhere she looked, people were watching him. Not her. Never her. She could disappear right now and no one would notice.

Well—almost no one.

Lando’s teammates, Oscar, was watching her from across the table. He had that knowing look in his eye, the one that made her stomach twist. He always seemed to see things, things she wasn’t ready to admit.

She turned away before he could say anything.

“I’m going to the loo,” she said quietly, but Lando didn’t even glance at her. He just gave a distracted nod, still deep in conversation.

Of course.

She stepped away, weaving through the throng of people, their laughter and shouting merging into white noise. The ladies’ toilets were tucked behind a velvet curtain, far enough from the chaos that the music was just a dull thud in the walls. She pushed open the door and exhaled, gripping the edge of the sink as she stared at herself in the mirror.

She looked exactly how she was supposed to. The perfect dress, the flawless makeup, the effortless kind of beauty that people expected from the girlfriend of a star.

But looking perfect had never felt so exhausting.

The door swung open behind her, and she braced herself, half-expecting one of the other WAGs to stroll in. Instead, it was Oscar.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. “You alright?”

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “That’s a stupid question.”

“Maybe.” His gaze didn’t waver. “But I think you should hear yourself answer it.”

Her throat tightened.

Because the truth was, she wasn’t alright. And she was starting to think she never had been.

She turned back to the mirror, gripping the porcelain edge of the sink as if it could steady her. Behind her, Oscar hadn’t moved. He wasn’t pushing her to answer, but his silence said enough.

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing the words out smoothly. Too smoothly.

Oscar huffed a quiet breath, tilting his head slightly. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, and for a second, something flickered in her chest—something that made her want to fold, to speak, to say all the things she’d been swallowing down for too long.

But what was the point? She could scream at the top of her lungs, and Lando still wouldn’t hear her.

She turned away, brushing past Oscar as she pulled open the door. “I should get back.”

“Should you?” His voice was quiet but steady.

She paused.

Oscar sighed, shifting his weight. “Look, I know it’s not my business, but I see the way he looks at you. And I see the way you look when he’s not.”

Her breath hitched slightly. She hated that he noticed. She hated that someone had caught onto the thing she’d spent months trying to ignore.

Still, she forced a light laugh, giving him an amused glance over her shoulder. “You analysing me now?”

His lips twitched. “You could say that. You know, body positioning determines whether or not someone’s actually listening.”

The words sent a sharp pang through her chest.

Because Lando never did listen. She could whisper in his ear, touch him, scream until her throat was raw—but the only time he truly paid attention was when she was undressing, when she was playing the role he wanted her to. And maybe she’d accepted that for a while, maybe she’d let herself believe that was just part of loving someone like him.

But now… now it felt suffocating.

Her phone buzzed.

Lando: Where’d you go? Come back.

No “Are you okay?” No “Do you need me?” Just come back. Like she was a misplaced watch or a forgotten drink.

She swallowed the bitter lump in her throat, forcing another easy smile as she tucked her phone away. “I should go.”

Oscar didn’t stop her. He just nodded, but the look in his eyes stayed with her as she slipped back into the club, where Lando was waiting.

Waiting for her.

Not her thoughts, not her words, not the things that made her her. Just her body, her presence, her silence.

And she was starting to wonder if that was all she’d ever be to him.

The night dragged on. More drinks, more cameras, more mindless conversations she wasn’t part of. She stayed close to Lando, playing the role as she always did, but she felt herself slipping further and further away.

By the time he decided they were leaving, she felt like a ghost in her own body.

As Lando shook hands and exchanged goodbyes with the people that mattered, she glanced towards the bar, her eyes catching on Oscar.

He was already looking at her. His expression was unreadable, but there was something steady in his gaze—something that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

Before she could stop herself, she gave him a small, tired smile.

Oscar didn’t smile back, but the way his jaw clenched slightly told her enough.

Lando’s hand landed on her hip, pulling her back into focus. “Come on,” he murmured, already leading her towards the exit, towards his car, towards another night of being exactly what he wanted.

The drive back to the hotel was quiet, the hum of the McLaren filling the silence between them. Lando was relaxed, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lazily on her bare thigh.

She stared out the window, watching the city blur past, her thoughts tangled.

Would he hear me more if I whispered? If I touched him the way he wanted? If I played this part forever?

Would he ever hear me?

She barely realised they’d arrived until the car pulled smoothly into the hotel’s private entrance. The valet opened her door, and she stepped out into the warm night air, still feeling that lingering touch on her skin.

The lift ride was just as silent. Lando didn’t notice—he was scrolling through his phone, probably checking messages, reading about his win, soaking in the world’s praise.

She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself.

The moment they stepped into their suite, the tension shifted.

Before she could even take a breath, Lando’s hands were on her, spinning her towards him.

She barely had time to react before he had her pressed against the wall, his body firm against hers, his lips brushing against her neck. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” he murmured against her skin.

She swallowed, her hands coming up to his chest, pushing lightly. “I’m tired.”

Lando barely hesitated. “Come on,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her jaw, his hands sliding over her hips. “Don’t do that.”

That.

That meaning the exhaustion in her voice. That meaning the part of her that wanted something more than this.

“I’m not in the mood, Lando.” Her voice was firmer this time.

He let out a sharp exhale, pulling back just enough to look at her properly. His dark eyes scanned her face, and for a second, she thought—hoped—that maybe he’d see something. Maybe he’d hear something.

But then he just scoffed. “You’re always bloody tired these days.”

And just like that, she knew.

There was no concern in his voice. No question of what was wrong. No care for why she felt like this, for why she had been drifting further and further from him. Just frustration. Just disappointment that she wasn’t giving him what he wanted.

She forced herself to hold his gaze, even as something inside her cracked wide open. “I think I’m going to take a bath.”

Lando studied her for a moment longer, then ran a hand through his hair, clearly irritated. “Yeah, whatever.”

And then—just like that—he turned and walked out of the suite, the door clicking shut behind him.

She stood there, frozen.

Not surprised. Not angry.

Just… empty.

And that was the worst part.

She moved through the next couple of hours on autopilot.

She took off her makeup, wiped away the remnants of the night. She ran a bath but barely stayed in it long enough for the heat to sink into her skin. She changed into one of Lando’s oversized shirts, something she always did before bed—more out of habit than comfort now.

And then she sat.

Just sat on the edge of their bed, staring at nothing, the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind wouldn’t shut off. The weight in her chest pressed heavier and heavier until it finally cracked, and before she even realised it, tears spilled over her cheeks.

She sucked in a shaky breath, trying to blink them away. What the hell is wrong with me?

It wasn’t like this was new. Lando had always been like this. She had always been an accessory to him, something to be looked at, shown off, touched when it suited him.

But tonight felt different.

Tonight, she had said no. And he had walked away like she was nothing more than an inconvenience.

A quiet sob broke from her throat, and she buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

She didn’t even hear the door open at first.

It wasn’t until she caught the heavy thud of something hitting the sofa that she jolted upright, quickly wiping at her tear-streaked face. Her heart pounded as she turned towards the noise, her breath catching in her throat.

Lando was slumped on the suite’s sofa, looking barely conscious. And standing over him, an arm still half-draped around his shoulders, was Oscar.

Her stomach twisted. “What—?”

Oscar let out a breath, straightening up and shaking his head. “Your boyfriend’s had one too many.”

Her eyes flickered back to Lando. His head lolled against the cushion, his shirt slightly rumpled, his hair a mess. He was clearly out of it.

She swallowed, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Where did you find him?”

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, looking both exasperated and unimpressed. “Slumped in the back of the club, surrounded by people who were more interested in snapping pictures of him than making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit.” His gaze flicked to hers. “Figured you might want to know.”

Her chest tightened.

Of course. Of course this was how he handled things—getting wasted, drowning himself in attention that didn’t require him to actually feel anything. It was easier than facing his own reflection.

Or maybe… it was easier than facing her.

She let out a slow breath, rubbing at her temple. “Thanks for bringing him back.”

Oscar nodded but didn’t move. He was watching her carefully, like he could still see too much.

Like maybe, just maybe, he knew she had been sitting here crying before he walked in.

Her hands curled into fists in her lap. “You don’t have to stay.”

Oscar hesitated for half a second before his jaw tightened, and he gave a small, reluctant nod. “Alright.”

But as he moved towards the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “You know… if you ever get tired of this,” he gestured vaguely to Lando’s slumped form, “you don’t have to stay.”

Her throat closed up.

Oscar didn’t wait for an answer. He just slipped out the door, leaving her alone with the man who was supposed to love her.

But as she sat there, staring at Lando—passed out, blissfully unaware—she realised something.

She had never felt lonelier in her life.

She sat down on the floor beside the sofa, pulling her knees up to her chest. The carpet was soft beneath her, but everything else felt unbearably sharp.

Her gaze flickered over Lando’s face—the strong jawline, the perfect cheekbones, the dark lashes that cast faint shadows against his skin. He looked almost peaceful like this, lost in whatever drunken haze he had drowned himself in.

Her chest ached as she reached out, fingers threading gently through his hair. It was soft beneath her touch, familiar in a way that made her heart hurt even more.

A quiet sob broke from her lips as she whispered, “Why wasn’t I enough?”

She had loved him so fiercely. She had stood by him, supported him, adored him. She had been everything he wanted her to be—poised, beautiful, silent when it mattered.

And yet, as she sat there, her tears slipping onto the fabric of his shirt, she finally understood.

She had fallen in love with him. But he had only ever fallen in love with her body.

Her hands curled into fists in his shirt as a quiet, broken sound left her throat. She had spent so long trying to be heard, to be seen, but the truth was devastatingly simple. Lando had never wanted to know her. He had never cared about her thoughts, her fears, her soul.

Only how she looked standing beside him. Only how she felt beneath him.

A shaky breath shuddered through her as she slowly pulled back.

Her gaze landed on his phone, lying loosely in his hand.

For a long moment, she just stared at it.

Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she carefully pried it from his grip. He didn’t stir. She tilted it towards his face, and with a soft sound, the lock screen vanished.

Her heart pounded as she pulled up his messages, ready to text Oscar.

But she never got that far.

Because the moment she opened his messages, her stomach dropped.

Hundreds.

Hundreds of messages.

All from different girls.

Some were old, buried beneath months of conversations. Others were recent. Some from tonight.

Her breath caught in her throat as she scrolled. He hadn’t even bothered to be subtle. Flirty messages, suggestive photos, hotel room numbers exchanged without hesitation.

Like it was nothing.

Like she was nothing.

A sharp, painful lump formed in her throat, but no more tears came. Maybe because there was nothing left to grieve.

Because the man she thought she loved?

He had never existed.

Her hands shook slightly as she backed out of the messages and pulled up his texts. She typed quickly, her fingers moving without hesitation.

Lando: What’s your room number?

The reply came almost instantly.

Oscar: Why?

She swallowed hard, staring at the screen. Then, without another thought, she typed back.

Lando: Please. Just tell me.

There was a long pause. Then—

Oscar: 2209.

She exhaled slowly, then locked the phone and set it back beside Lando.

For the first time in a long, long time, she knew exactly what she needed to do.

And for the first time—she wasn’t going to ask for permission.

She didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t stop to second-guess herself.

For so long, she had been trapped in this cycle—ignoring the things she didn’t want to see, pretending everything was fine. But now? The truth had cracked open in front of her, and there was no going back.

She stood up, wiping at her face, even though no more tears had fallen. Her body felt strangely light, like the weight pressing down on her for months had finally started to lift.

But she wasn’t free yet.

She grabbed a bag from the wardrobe, moving quickly, shoving in the essentials—her passport, her wallet, a few clothes. Enough to get her away from here, away from him.

She hesitated when she reached for one of Lando’s oversized shirts—the one she was still wearing. Then, with a bitter exhale, she pulled it off, yanking on a cropped tank top and a pair of shorts instead.

This wasn’t his to keep anymore.

Without a second glance, she slung the bag over her shoulder and walked out of the suite, her pulse hammering as she stepped into the empty hallway.

She didn’t look back.

The corridor outside 2209 was quiet.

Her hands felt clammy as she knocked once. A part of her expected Oscar to ignore it, to assume it was Lando being drunk and annoying.

But after a moment, the door cracked open, and Oscar stood there, his brows pulling together the second he saw her.

“What the hell—?”

“I—” Her voice wavered, and suddenly, everything hit her all at once. The weight of the last few hours. The betrayal. The realisation that the man she had given her heart to had never truly wanted it in the first place.

She dropped her gaze, blinking hard. “I can’t—I can’t stay there.”

Oscar was silent for a beat. Then, without another word, he stepped aside, pulling the door open wider.

She hesitated, guilt twisting in her stomach. “I—I’ll book my own room. I just—needed to get out.”

Oscar’s jaw tensed, his eyes scanning her face. “You’re not booking a hotel at—” he glanced at the clock on the bedside table, “—two in the bloody morning.”

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet huff. “For fuck’s sake, just—get in.”

Her throat closed up, but she nodded, stepping inside as he shut the door behind her.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows. She stood there for a moment, unsure what to do with herself. The adrenaline that had carried her here was wearing off, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and heartbreak.

She felt Oscar watching her.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” His voice was steady. Not pushing, not demanding. Just there.

That was what undid her.

Because when was the last time anyone had asked her how she felt? When was the last time someone had wanted to hear what she had to say—without conditions, without expectations?

Her shoulders shook as she sucked in a breath, her hand coming up to cover her face.

And then she broke.

A strangled sob ripped from her throat as she sank onto the edge of the bed, the tears she had been holding back finally crashing over her.

Oscar didn’t say anything.

He just moved.

She barely registered it at first—the dip of the mattress beside her, the way his arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her against his chest.

For a moment, she stiffened. She wasn’t used to this—to comfort without expectation. But Oscar just held her, warm and solid, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back.

She sobbed harder.

“He never loved me,” she whispered through the tears, her fingers curling into his t-shirt. “I—I thought he did, but he just—he just loved the way I looked. The way I made him look.”

Oscar’s grip on her tightened. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice lower now, almost dangerous. “I know.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “I was so stupid.”

Oscar exhaled sharply. “You weren’t stupid.”

She let out a hollow laugh. “Then what was I?”

Oscar was quiet for a long time. Then—

“You were in love.”

Her chest tightened painfully.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because she still was.

Oscar didn’t pull away. He just kept holding her, letting her cry against him. His hands were steady on her back, his touch warm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel like she was carrying the weight of the world on her own shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, voice muffled in his shirt, her tears soaking into the fabric. “I thought… I thought I could fix it. But I don’t even know who he is anymore. Or who I am to him.”

Oscar’s hand smoothed through her hair, the motion gentle. “You don’t have to fix anything, alright?” he said softly, his voice low and comforting. “You don’t owe him anything. You only owe yourself the truth.”

She nodded weakly, though it felt like a hundred-pound weight was sitting on her chest.

He let her cry for as long as she needed, and when the sobs finally slowed, he shifted slightly, coaxing her to lie down.

“Let me get you into bed,” he murmured.

She wanted to protest, but she was too tired—physically and emotionally—so she allowed him to help her, shifting her legs as he gently guided her onto the mattress. Oscar tucked the blanket around her and, for a moment, just stood there, looking down at her.

Her eyelids were heavy, but she managed to lift her head slightly to meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft, barely a whisper.

Oscar gave her a small smile, but there was no mockery, no playfulness in it—just something real. “Get some sleep. I’m right here.”

She didn’t have the strength to say anything else. Her eyes fluttered shut, and before she knew it, the exhaustion of the day caught up with her.

When she woke up, the room was bathed in the soft morning light. She blinked a few times, groggy, trying to remember where she was, what had happened.

Then the events of the night came flooding back, and her chest squeezed with pain.

But as she stirred beneath the covers, she realised the weight on her was gone. There was no harshness, no cold emptiness pressing in on her. Instead, she smelled something familiar. Something warm.

She turned her head, and there, sitting at the desk, was Oscar.

He was holding a tray with a simple breakfast—croissants, fruit, and coffee. “Morning,” he said with a small smile, looking up from the screen of his phone.

Her stomach grumbled, and she smiled weakly, appreciating the gesture more than she could express. “I didn’t expect this,” she murmured, sitting up slowly.

Oscar grinned, though there was something soft in his eyes. “Well, you’ve had a rough night, haven’t you? Figured you could use something other than room service for a change.”

She nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel completely alone.

After a few moments of eating in silence, she reached for her phone. The screen lit up with a message notification—nothing from Lando.

Her heart skipped, but she told herself not to feel disappointed.

She unlocked her phone and opened Instagram, the app taking a moment to load. She tapped through her feed absentmindedly, but her thumb froze as her eyes landed on a photo—Lando, in his usual athletic wear, standing on a padel court, laughing with some other drivers.

He hadn’t noticed.

She stared at the photo for a long, long time.

He hadn’t even thought to message her.

There it was again. That crushing, suffocating truth.

She had spent the entire night worrying about him, about why he hadn’t cared, about why he had left her feeling like this.

And there he was, looking perfectly fine. Having fun. Living his life without a single care in the world about what she had gone through.

Her breath hitched, and she set her phone down, her hands trembling.

It hit her all over again—the truth that Lando had never cared about her in the way she had hoped. He never would.

The realisation was sharp and brutal. And this time, it didn’t feel like the first time she had felt heartbroken—it felt like the first time she had truly woken up.

She looked up at Oscar, her breath still shaky. He was watching her, waiting for something.

“Lando’s out there,” she whispered, her voice a little too quiet, too small. “He’s out there, laughing, living his life, like nothing happened.”

Oscar nodded, but his expression wasn’t pitying. It wasn’t anything like the way Lando would have looked at her in that moment. “Yeah. He is.”

She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Oscar’s gaze softened, and he set the breakfast tray down beside her. He sat next to her on the bed, his hand brushing hers. “You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

She met his eyes, and this time, there was a calmness inside her—a stillness, like she was beginning to see herself for the first time in forever.

“I’m not going to let you stay in that toxic shit,” Oscar said, his voice steady. “You’ve already put up with it for too long. But if you need time, I’m here.”

She didn’t have the words to express what she was feeling, but for once, she didn’t need to.

“Thank you,” she whispered again, the words feeling like the most sincere thing she’d said in a long time.

And in that moment, as she sat beside Oscar, she realised—maybe she could finally let go. Maybe it wasn’t about fixing things with Lando. Maybe it was about fixing herself.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @driverlando

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hannah-lou · 1 month ago

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🌙🔥Forbidden Desire🔥🌙

Mae had lived in the eagle clan village for a long time now, and whilst being there, she had developed a liking to Noa, maybe a bit too much. Most mornings, she waited impatiently for when he emerged from his nest just so she could spend even a small amount of time with him.

It seemed Noa had some unspoken feelings towards Mae, too. He liked to tuck her in when she went to sleep, making sure she was comfortable and felt safe, and sometimes he sat with her, insistent on protecting, he had no clue why and most times, he hated himself for it. His mother always wanted him and Soona to become mates and what made it even more sad was the fact Mae also adored Soona, they spent a lot of time together, but every time she saw Noa with her, jealousy took over, she had no idea how it all started.

The sun was beginning to disappear behind the trees, and Mae sat with Noa on the hill just outside of the village. The ape was perched on a log, reading a childish animal book that he had found inside the vault that day. He leaned forward with a grunt of concentration and wrinkled his nose with concentration, whispering his attempts at pronouncing the tougher words.

Mae sat cross-legged on the ground in front of Noa and practised some sign language sentences that he had taught her. To be honest, she was picking it up pretty quickly, but she knew she’d be progressing faster if it weren’t for her being far too distracted by him.

Mae never in her life thought she’d feel this way for him, the species her mother had warned her so much about. She had been told her whole life that they were dangerous, dirty creatures and that they’d tear her limb from limb as soon as they got the chance. But as she got older, her curiosity grew and after she met Noa, well, something took hold of her, she was attracted like a moth to flames. In fact, tonight she wore the yellow, tattered sundress specially for him. She scolded herself for a moment, thinking of how ridiculous it was dressing up for an ape.

Whilst Mae wasn’t looking, Noa kept glancing up from his book to look at her. He liked the look of the dress she was wearing, albeit torn in places and the colour had worn down, but he didn’t mind. He blinked hard and scrunched up his face, trying his best to think of Soona, but it was no use. This echo had done something to him that he couldn’t explain. He eventually let out a grunt and closed the book. His sudden movement caused Mae to flinch.

Noa tilted his head and signed with his words “I have never... seen you wear this before” he said, motioning to the dress.

Mae gulped and clasped her hands together in her lap “thank you... you’re not the only one who found useful things in the vault that day”

Noa let out a faint grunt and sat down next to her, his curiosity climbing. He leaned closer and began subtly touching the fabric around Mae’s waist, his calloused fingers scratching at the delicate strands of worn down cotton. He glanced at her, his green eyes glinting from the orange glow of the fire.

Mae looked at him with a giggle and signed, “Do you like it?”

The ape nodded and shuffled closer, curiosity filling his mind.

The fire in front of them crackled softly as Mae climbed onto Noa's lap, facing him whilst he rested his back against the log. How it even got to this point, she couldn’t remember, but she didn’t want to stop.

She subtly let her hips buck back and forth, Noa was curious as to what it meant, his brows lowered with confusion, but in the back of his mind, he knew. His body knew. His gaze trailed down her body before returning back to her face.

He stuttered her name and raised an eyebrow, feeling his control already threatening to break “we should... s- stop this”.

His eyes rolled back as Mae’s pheromones poured off of her and into his nostrils. Although his mind screamed at him to ravage her, he knew she wasn’t of his kind, he gritted his teeth. He needed to resist.

Mae pressed her lips to his cheek before asking “are you okay, Noa?”

He nodded slowly, fully aware that she was taunting him. His eyes glazed over with instinct, and his fists began to clench in denial. He knew that he was so much stronger than her and never wanted to hurt or spook her.

She looked at him with a somewhat encouraging smile “how do you sign for these?” She asked, motioning to her hips.

Noa scowled for a brief moment before moving his left hand in small circles and gesturing the meaning for hips before signing a question of his own “can I... feel you?”

Mae was taken aback but nodded. She lifted up her dress, revealing her upper thighs, Noa’s eyes widened for a brief moment before narrowing at an attempt at not making his growing desire for her too obvious. He shook his head quickly, scolding himself for allowing this to happen. If his clan found out about this, he was sure they’d disown him. After all, he was the master of birds’ son and needed to set a good example. This sure wasn’t it.

Up until this point, he had maintained pretty decent control whilst around her. When he sat around the fire with Raka that night and kept his composure, calling her a “stinky echo” but deep down, her scent intoxicated him, he felt ashamed of himself. What was he doing allowing her to get into his mind like this and sending his senses soaring into overdrive?

Noa looked down at his member beginning to peak through his fur. He inhaled quickly and shifted position, trying not to make it obvious “M- Mae” he grunted and lowered his tone, hissing with restraint “Mae... Mae, stop... we... cannot”

Mae continued to subtly circle her hips on top of him. She leaned against his ear and moaned softly. Noa panted and pushed her back. Glaring up at her, his teeth gritted. He needed to resist, needed to stop, but alas, he allowed his hand to wander further up her left thigh, stupidly fooling himself that it would only be to stop her but instead, his self control cracked and his grip tightened over her delicate skin. His other hand stayed in a tightly balled fist at his side, and a low guttural growl escaped his throat.

Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, humming softly and letting quiet grunts sound from his parted lips. Mae was amused at how long he was holding out for, considering she expected him to snap within the first few movements of her waist atop his. But he was more impressive than she initially thought. Seeing him like this caused something inside of her to awaken, a warm sensation between her thighs that she’d never felt before.

Noa frowned with concentration and began to mumble inaudibly. Mae’s curiosity climbed higher and higher, she had never seen or heard him like this but she enjoyed it. Seeing his eyes darken whilst he looked at her from beneath his lowered brows. The usually sweet, caring and innocent Noa was turning into a primal mess before her very eyes.

Noa looked down as he finally spoke, albeit mumbled through his instinctual daze “Feels... too good... but... we cannot-“ his sentence was cut short and interrupted with a moan of irritation.

Mae wanted him and he knew it. He could smell her arousal. He lifted his head to scowl at her. Mae began to beg, her body craved him, she hated herself for it but it was too much, almost like she was no longer conscious, she pleaded with him, wanting to feel what real touch felt like. Did he know how to do so with a human? We’re ape and humans not all that different after all? She wanted to find out.

Finally, after letting out a sigh of frustration. His hips began to rise up and down. His speech turned into more of a mumbled growl. “Just... a little bit”

He trembled as his hands began to wander around to her waist, holding her in place so that his sensitive spot could get some type of friction. He still tried to hold back, but it was no use. He was crumbling quickly. His breath hitched. He didn’t look away from Mae’s eyes, not for a second.

Trailing his calloused fingers along the tattered bottom of Mae’s dress, he paused and looked at her, grunting and biting his bottom lip. That part of his mind which was rational still tried to hold on, tried to snap away from the lust. The thought of losing his clan because of this. Was it worth it? He blinked hard and his fingers twitched with the urge to lift up the delicate fabric and take her.

Mae looked at his hand that was tugging softly at the fabric. She let out a soft moan “you want to?”

He fixated his gaze onto her breasts and lowered his voice to a growl “I... do”

#kingdomoftheplanetoftheapes #kingdom of the planet of the apes #planetoftheapes2024 #planet of the apes #noa planet of the apes #noa pota #mae planet of the apes #mae pota #mae x noa #noa x mae #noamae #nomae #short fanfic #oneshot #digitalart #digital art

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tainbocuailnge · 1 year ago

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I think there is a difference between the comic as a sequence of images with text and the comic as a comic. it's a subtle difference that an untrained eye might not see but the more one as artist draws comics the clearer this difference becomes, because one who first aspires to draw comics will soon find they are merely drawing sequences of images with text.

when people say an artist is clearly inspired by anime they often use "anime" to refer to japanese pop culture in general, but if you look more closely you can often tell it really is specifically anime rather than manga that inspired them, because the paneling and camera angles in their comics will read like a series of anime screenshots rather than a manga page. similarly, when I was a teenager really popular manga that had anime adaptions would sometimes get "animanga" reprints where they replaced the panels with the equivalent anime screenshots of the scene, and they often looked like dogshit because the very premise showed blatant disregard for why the original comic worked in the first place. these two examples are both about anime because i am a weeb but it applies outside that context too. a cartoon storyboard can be read as if it were a comic, but what it really is is a sequence of images with text that has yet to be refined into its actual intended format.

there are many artists who only employ the medium of comic because what they actually want to draw is a video, or a video game cutscene, but the only tool actually at their disposal is the ability to draw a series of images and add text to them so that is what they use. there is no shame or mistake in doing this, you have to make your art with the tools that you have available, and if the sequence of images with text is enough to convey the idea then it was the right tool for the job. but these are different mediums with different visual languages, languages which have a lot of overlap and can occasionally be used in each other's stead to achieve similar results (especially when drawing a fanart comic of a video game for example), but which are still ultimately different. the comic and the video and the cutscene are all different forms that a sequence of images with text can take but they are far from completely interchangeable.

there is a key difference in approach to the comic as a series of images roughly interchangeable with other forms of series of images like the video and the cutscene, and the comic as specifically the comic. this difference in approach is not always necessary to achieve results, an artist who wants to convey a scenario they came up with needs only the sequence of images with text to achieve this. but the difference between a comic with good writing and art, and a comic that is a good comic, is in whether it was treated as a comic rather than a sequence of images with text. I say this as an artist whose nearly every comic has been simply a sequence of images, because I just don't have the patience to refine it into a comic when I merely want to convey my idea rather than draw a comic. it takes a particular skill and insight that have to be developed and practised separately from the ability to draw well and the ability to write well in order to become good at making "the comic" as synthesis of the two.

it's hard to specifically point out the essence of this difference between the sequence of images and the comic because it's kind of a vibes thing honestly, and it depends on where and how the comic was meant to be published too. comics meant to have paper print editions have different constraints and requirements and frameworks to work with than webtoons meant to be read on slim mobile screens in a continuous scrolling format. a good traditional comic will consider not just how each individual panel looks but also the way each page as a whole looks, and how the pages look next to each other in a spread, and how it feels to turn the page towards the next spread. a good webtoon will consider the movement of scrolling down and how this affects the transition from one moment to another in its composition. time is time in videos and cutscenes but space is time in comics, and the space your have available determines how you can divide time across it. when you make a webcomic on your own website you have no constraints but the ones you set for yourself, and sometimes this leads to things like homestuck, which would not work in any other format than the one it created for itself.

the best comics are good because they tell their story and present their images specifically in the form of a comic, in a way that would not be possible if it were not specifically a comic. I think this is true for basically every medium, I'm just thinking about comics specifically lately, because even though I don't really consider myself a comic artist - because I usually draw sequences of images rather than comics - the thing my clients want to pay for is often still "a comic", and they don't know or care to tell the difference. it's a difference that, as established, is often fairly moot anyway, because as long as it successfully conveys your idea it's good enough. but it's precisely because the sequence of images is often good enough that the specific skill of the comic artist is often overlooked.

#anyway i love cuchulainn

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on-a-lucky-tide · 6 months ago

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Nik flies. Ghost pines. Price... considers.

cw: hints of a future polyamorous relationship.

“Whit's he daein'?” Soap asked, folding his arms and legs as he watched Nik in the near distance.

Price looked up from the report in his lap, roll up twitching between his lips. Nik was pacing back and forth, fists, hands and arms moving in rhythmic, practised motions in front of his chest, by his hips, occasionally twisting behind him. But there was no opponent, only the imaginary one in Nik's head in the shape of the jet he was about to fly. “Shadowboxin.”

“Aye, ah c’n see tha’, sir. How come?”

Simon shifted on Price's right. He had been watching Nik with a palpable hunger. Even with his mask, the intensity of his gaze was hard to miss. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost husky. Like he was wading out of deeper, warmer thoughts. “Trainin’ exercise to practice his spatial awareness, coordination, and muscle memory before gettin’ in the cockpit. That thing ain’t his Black Hawk. Whole different animal. Second fastest jet in service.”

“That thing? S’massive. Na wey it kin shift. He'd ‘ave more fun in an F-15.”

The Foxbat was the size of a World War II heavy bomber — nine feet longer than an Avro Lancaster, two and a half feet taller than a B-24 and with a gross weight almost twenty-seven thousand pounds heavier than a Boeing B-17. Price had seen old black and white photographs on Nik's phone of Soviet technicians servicing the damn thing; they’d looked like toy soldiers scurrying around in its shadow.

The ride in the MiG-25 was a gift from Laswell as a thank you for Nik's help on a black op. Not even Price knew much about it, but it had to have been gnarly for her to pull this many strings. The Foxbat was fully fuelled and Nik's flight plan had been filed. Nik was going to throw that tank of an aircraft around the skies like he was twenty-two again, and he'd been vibrating with excitement during the walk out.

“Big man, big plane,” Simon murmured, “and he's got’a special attachment to it, even though it's a bit shite.”

Price plucked his cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ash onto the concrete by his thigh, considering Simon closely. There had been a change in him recently, especially around Nik. He spent a lot of time watching Nik - all out staring, as Simon was prone to do - standing close to him during briefings, finding reasons to talk to him in down time. He was flirting without realising it. Price knew why. Nik had told him about the hair incident, and asked whether there was any possibility of enticing Simon into a little more.

Honestly? Price had laughed at the time. ‘Better chance of gettin’ a gobby off of Makarov’ had been his exact words. But now that he had watched Simon around Nik for a month, he wasn't so sure his initial assessment was accurate. Even now, his body was enticed towards Nik. His arms were folded but his posture was open, upper back against the wall but hips in Nik's direction, his feet spread, shifting and twitching like there was something bubbling beneath his skin.

“Oh aye? Why's he so keen on it then?” Soap asked, giving Simon the side eye. The sergeant wasn't thick; he'd seen it too.

“Foxbat scared the Americans shitless during the Cold War. They got these spy satellite photos showin’ that beast, engine intakes the size of small cars. Big wings, potential for more maneuverability ‘an the F-4 Phantom II. But a pilot called Viktor Belenko defected and showed her to be a dud. Wife divorcin’ him, disaffected with communist society. In 1976, he left his sortie and went to Japan. Landed at Hakodate, overran the runway, shut down with only thirty seconds of fuel remainin’. Handed ‘em a brand new Foxbat and a fockin’ trainin’ manual to dissect.”

Simon rattled it all off without pause, and Price had to fight his grin to keep his expression passive. Well, that bloody well confirmed it. Simon had hyperfixated on the plane that Nik treasured. There were probably several more encyclopedias worth of knowledge on the damn thing in his head, ready to use with Nik later. That was how Simon tried to connect with people; shitty jokes and learning about them through what they loved.

“‘Ow the fuck d’ye know all that?” Soap asked, smirking. He'd sussed it too.

“I read,” Simon said dryly. “Try it some time.”

“Och, baltic, sir.” Soap sniffed, head tilting the other way. “So, he feels some kinda kindred spirit with Belenko.”

Simon shrugged. “Maybe. Or he's a fockin’ plane nerd and flyin’ that thing would be like the old man wankin’ over those Nortons at Bletchley Park.”

“Yeah, wondered when it'd be my turn,” Price growled, rolling his eyes.

“At least it dunnae need a drip tray and a prayer to stay together, eh?”

“Ya tolkin’ about Price or the bikes?” Simon's head lolled to the side as he spoke, tone rife with wry amusement.

Soap cackled, and Price slapped the folder closed in his lap. “Olrigh’, can it, ya muppets.”

“Aye, sir. Ah, look, mus’ be his slot.”

They watched the Foxbat taxi down the runway under the direction of the flight crew, their exaggerated hand gestures and bouncing completely alien to the three soldiers sitting by the hanger but clearly recognisable to Nik, who made a hand gesture in return before he looked forward.

Price returned his cigarette to his mouth, leaning back to watch Nik climb the jet as the flight crew assembled. Time to take off. Nik bounced a little on his toes before he hauled himself up to the cockpit, shoving the headset and helmet on, aviators still in place because Nik was absolutely permitted his cornier foibles. This was a dream come true for him. Laswell had outdone herself.

Price grabbed the ear defenders nearby and chucked another set across to Soap; Simon was already prepared. The engines roared into life, making the air shimmer with heat and power, and the big jet accelerated down the runway, leaving the tarmac in one of the smoothest take offs Price had ever seen. Well, of course it was; it was Nik after all.

The Foxbat disappeared above the clouds quickly and Price glanced over at Simon. He didn't move until the grey smudge reappeared against the open skies further to the east. The jet rolled and banked, ascending almost vertical for a stall turn that made even Price's belly do a little flip. It shot back past the hanger, the sound of its engines lagging behind its visible position as Nik pushed it hard. Price wished he could hear Nik whooping and rambling in Russian; air traffic control were probably feeling a little uneasy.

Simon never dropped his chin. He remained stoic, his arms folded, but his mind was up in the clouds with Nik. They both were. The difference was that Price knew he would be unzipping that flight suit later and enjoying everything underneath, whereas Simon would deprive himself for fear of being hurt, no matter how much he wanted it. Price hummed, stubbing out his cigarette. Perhaps it was time to indulge Nik’s curiosity, and his own carefully managed and suppressed feelings. Simon wasn't the only one who had denied the obvious for self preservation.

Eventually, the flight had to come to an end. Nik brought the Foxbat down gently, the landing gear screeching against the tarmac briefly as Nik negotiated the short runway. He taxied back round to park her almost exactly where he had pulled away from, and Price smirked as the cockpit popped open and a jubilant Russian bounced up with a roar of triumph, big arms in the air.

Ghost stooped down to his bag and Price heard the tinkle of glass as he removed his ear defenders. Simon clutched four empty glasses in his big hands and jutted his chin at the Foxbat as he glanced down at Price. “Comin’?”

“Lead the way,” Price said, grunting as he rolled to his feet.

“Ey, where's the liquor?” Soap asked as he followed.

“Mechanics used t’ call this thing the Flyin’ Restaurant,” Price said. “The air-conditioning relies on evaporation of distilled water an’ about two hundred and forty litres of pure grain alcohol. She's still got some’uv the brew in her tank."

Soap’s nose wrinkled. “Ye hae tae be jokin’. Yer gonnae drink outta the feckin’ jet?”

“Abso-fockin’-lutely,” Simon said.

Nik greeted them with all the energy of an excited puppy, gesturing at the jet and spilling in and out of Russian and English like his brain was struggling to come down from the sky. His face lit up further when he spotted the glasses in Simon's hands, slapping the lieutenant on the shoulder with a surprised, booming laugh.

The air crew left them to it and Nik did the honours. It helped that the small bowsers used to refill the air-conditioning system had conveniently placed spigots to tap the Foxbat-shaped keg.

“Poyekhali!” Nik said before he knocked back his mouthful of Foxbat bloody moonshine. Soap choked and coughed on his, and Simon grunted in discomfort.

Price grinned, toasting his own. “Za zdorovye, comrade.” He took a deep breath before downing the lot. Oh it bloody burned.

#simon ghost riley #captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #nikghost #nikpriceghost #Poyekhali was said by Yuri Gagarin #considering nik feels like his head is in space it fits #also also sorry to be a nerd #belenko became an american citizen and had a kid btw #also the japanese sent his foxbat back in bits #the russians claimed there were bits missing and tried to bill the.#20mil for lost parts #in return the japanese sent a bill for the damage to their runway lmao

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eintausendschoen · 5 months ago

Text

Don't ask me how I did it – I just did it – it was hard.

Late, late entry for @mircsy's 'draw this in your style'-challenge #AthenaDTIYSmircsy

That is as far as I got. So far. Might do reworks later. Actually my first DTIYS - never did one before, but I see the fun in it now. No, really, it was a lot of fun, I learned a ton with this, even if I'm not fully convinced of the result.

Also, when I saw mircsy post it, that was an 'immediate HELL, YES'-moment, because I love her art and designs so so so much. Her Polyphemus is who ultimately sold EPIC to me after a total of 3 seconds screentime. I am seriously amazed at the quality all artists and animators produce for the musical accompanying it on its journey to release, but mircsy's art was special.

👀 more yapping, WIPs and progress notes below 👀

It made me want to draw characters again, brought the fun back to drawing and painting for me, and somehow invited me put them out there, again - I can't put a lot of time into it, but I missed this as a joyful hobby and just watching the animatics breathed life back into it for me. So, this lil dtiys entry is a big heartfelt thanks for a nudge I bloody well needed.

So - if you ever read this, mircsy: Rock it all as hard as you can, superstar, make your mark and just enjoy the ride - you're cut out for it! ✨🎆 Wish you the very best for all your endeavours. 💜✨

Progress notes: I tried to challenge myself with this and do stuff out of my comfort zone (*cough* cell shade *cough*). A few things went well, and I am proud of those (metal parts, hands, wings, lineart, i finished it under 5 hours total, stars were fun) and other things I'll need to practise more (soft light + cell shading wtf was I thinking 🙈, glowy stuff, ornaments, less perfectionism, line dynamics, took more time out of me than expected ... (we don't talk about facial expression ahahaha its a nightmare 🙊 i really need to learn how to shade and light these kinds of angles omg 😨)).

As you can see above - the glowy stuff gave me the hardest nightmares, I had no fucking clue how to do that - that was fun, but also took so much time to figure out. Once I had a concept, it went down fast, but up until then... bzzzzzt braindefunct - it's inspired by the Antikythera Mechanism in the end, so Athena can make complicated astronomical calculus while in quick thought to see where Ody ended up.

... her mouth changes in every single picture... 😭🙈

#epic athena #AthenaDTIYSmircsy #mircsy #epic the musical fanart #dtiys entry #eintausendschoenart #digital #etsart

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a-killer-obsession · 1 year ago

Note

G, P, U 12 or 14+15 or all three?👀👀

Two Silly Boys

Prompt: Degradation/Sex Pollen/Unbearable

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her pronouns, begging, oral (receiving), ass eating (receiving), petplay dog/master, double penetration (anal + vaginal), anal fingering, outdoor sex, semi-public sex

WC: 2.8k

Event Masterlist

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

Going out to sea to explore the world was something you'd dreamed of doing since you were a child, so when captain of the Heart Pirates, Trafalgar Law, offered you a place on his crew as their resident botanist you happily accepted. Much like you, Law was a healer, but while he practised modern medicine, you used more traditional methods. It was one of the reasons he was so keen on having you join, he'd come to learn the hard way several times in his journey that modern medicines and remedies weren't always available, and while he knew a little about the botany in North Blue and how to use it to heal, the flora of the Grandline was a whole different ordeal. He wanted to learn from you, as well as teach his crew how to stay safe when there were so many unfamiliar and dangerous plants in the New World. Born and raised on the Grandline, New World flora was your specialty, and you were happy to share your knowledge. In truth, it was nice to have someone who cared enough to listen.

Being botanist to the Heart Pirates did have its downsides though, namely two of them: Shachi and Penguin. You couldn't possibly fathom how no matter how many times you scolded them, they always ended up in the infirmary after touching or eating a plant that they shouldn't have. It drove you insane, you swore next time they needed a healing tincture that you'd just let them suffer. The two of them never learned, and somehow it always fell to you to fix their mistakes, because they didn't want the captain to literally rearrange their limbs for being such idiots.

A new uninhabited island loomed on the horizon, docking procedures already underway, and you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, having no doubt you'd be seeing them in the infirmary later. You gave the crew the usual talk; don't touch or eat anything without checking with you first, don't pick anything, don't stomp on mushrooms even if they look cool and squishable. You hoped the trouble makers were listening but you knew they weren't. Once docked, you spent the afternoon with the crew, exploring the island and collecting herbs and flowers that you knew had medical uses and gathering them carefully in a basket. You were especially delicate with a flower you recognised as having use for treating libido and erectile issues, you had no use for it but you thought Law might be interested in its properties for the way it increased blood flow, so you carefully picked several and placed them in an airtight jar.

You returned to the ship to store and organise your forage, setting some aside for drying and making notes and sketches in your journal about the variety of flora on the island. Forage sorted and put away, you left the ship again for a more causal, exploratory wander. The others had declared after a thorough search that there was no danger on this island, there were barely any large animals at all which meant the only predators were too small to truly endanger a human. Confident you were safe on your own, you wandered into the forest. You weren't worried about getting lost, you had an exceptional sense of direction and worst case the island was only about a three hour walk wide, you would appear on a beach eventually if you walked in a straight line, and from there you could just circle it to the ship.

An hour into your leisurely walk and the sound of moaning caught your attention. At first you thought you'd accidently stumbled on a few crewmates taking advantage of the dense forest, and turned to leave and give them privacy, till the moans mixed with pained curses and desperate cries. They sounded like they were injured so you hurried towards the sound, already pulling off your backpack to grab your emergency supplies. You skidded to a stop when the crewmates came into view though. The troublemakers, who else. What shocked you however was their current predicament. Naked as the day they were born, covered in a sheen of sweat, dicks in each other's hands, desperately pulling at each other. You weren't sure you'd even seen them without their signature hats before, Shachi's orange-brown hair falling over his face in sweat slickened strands, Penguin's short black hair dusted with dirt like he'd at some point been laying down.

“Yes, yes, yes, noooooooo,” Penguin cried out, so close to an edge but unable to topple over it. He shoved Shachi hard, instigating a round of aggressive fighting, uncaring of their nudity as they fought in the dirt. “You're not doing it right!”

“Neither are you!!” Shachi yelled back, kneeing him in the gut, “how hard could it possibly be to make another dude cum!”

“Ask your fucking self, useless prick!” Penguin decked him with a solid punch right to the jaw and Shachi quickly returned it with his own, the two best friends shocking you with the force they laid into each other and spat insults, covered in bruises, their erect cocks bouncing with every movement.

“CUT IT OUT! BOTH OF YOU!” you snapped at them, emerging from the treeline and grabbing them both by an ear, pulling them away from each other as they winced at your hard hold. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

You could barely understand a word they were saying as they both yelled over each other, not even bothering to cover themselves. You caught something about hiking, something about a dare maybe? And ah… a flower. Of fucking course.

“Stop, stop,” you sighed, releasing them to run hands down your tired face, “did you two idiots touch a flower? Yellow? Pink tips? Six pedals?”

“We uh..” Penguin started.

“...we ate it,” Shachi finished. You let out a pained groan, throwing your head back. God, these fucking two, you wanted to scream.

“HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TWO IDIOTS NOT TO TOUCH THINGS?!” you shouted, the two of them now cowering at your feet. You couldn't help but notice the way the subtly touched your legs, it was the effects of the flower no doubt. “Why the fuck did you eat it?”

“It smelt nice!” Shachi wined, “and it tasted sweet so Penguin ate one too”

“But then we… got… hard,” Penguin sighed.

“How long have you dumbasses been out here jerking each other off?” You sighed.

“... three hours,” Shachi whined, practically nuzzling against your leg. You couldn't help the electricity it sent to your core, you'd never seen just how muscular the two of them were under the boilersuits, not to mention their sizable cocks. Nothing quite like two muscled men on their knees to get a girl going.

“What do we doooooo [y/n]?” Penguin cried, nestling against your other leg, the two of them each claiming a leg and running their hands up them as they knelt in front of you.

“The flower you two idiots ate is a powerful aphrodisiac,” you explained, allowing them some small relief by scratching their scalps, making them let out little whines. God, they were like animals in heat. “The flower relies on the wildlife around it to eat the flowers so their nose spreads pollen from one plant to the next. It encourages the production of said wildlife by setting them into a breeding frenzy. More animals means more opportunity to spread pollen. You two knuckleheads are no smarter than a wild boar, its working exactly as intended”

“So what do we do?” Shachi whined, “we… we tried doing it ourselves, we tried helping each other, but we can't… we can't finish”

“That's because the flower wants you to breed,” you sighed, “for a mammal with a phallus, you need to finish inside another. If you were females, you'd need someone to finish inside you. Men have died from this you know? You'll keep going till you either do what the flower wants, or until you drop dead”

“So we just… have to fuck?” Penguin asked coyly.

“Yup, good luck fellas,” you shook them off your legs and turned to leave, “don't forget to warm each other up first!”

“Wait… no!” Shachi looked at Penguin and almost cried, “we're not into men! I'm not doing that!”

“Speak for yourself…” Penguin muttered.

“Shut up Peng!” Shachi shouted, shoving him and setting off another fist fight, “you're not fucking my ass! Or my mouth for that matter!”

You made an annoyed groan as you pulled them off each other again, the two of them quickly reclaiming your legs, more aggressive with their touches now, hands travelling past the hem of your skirt.

“Let us fuck you! Please!” Penguin begged.

“We'll make you feel so good, I promise!” Shachi added. You rolled your eyes at them but couldn't deny the arousal pooling between your legs as the two men begged for you and ran hands up your thighs. It was a tempting predicament. You weren't sure anyone had ever helped two pollen victims before either, it could be interesting research to observe how they interacted with each other. Would they work together? Would they fight for dominance? It was a fascinating proposition.

“Fine,” you relented, parting your legs slightly, “but you two pathetic boys better make me cum till I see stars or I'm telling the captain”

They didn't even bother to give you a verbal reply before they were all over you, running their tongues up your legs and tugging at your clothes. Shachi stood and pulled off your shirt as Penguin unzipped your skirt, letting it fall to the ground. They were like rabid dogs as they saw your underwear, and they made quick work of it, Shachi removing your bra, sucking on your breasts and groping them roughly as he stood beside you, while Penguin tugged down your panties and pulled you to rest your core on his face. You had to rely on Shachi to keep you upright as Penguin pulled your leg over his shoulder, and you cried out as he immediately drove his tongue between your folds, lapping at you like a parched dog, messily licking up any slick he could find and bullying his tongue inside you to find more.

“Fuck, Peng,” you moaned, hips rolling as you rode his tongue, “just like that, fuck. Who knew such a dumb, useless dog would have some use? Good dog, lap me up good,” Penguin moaned into you at your words, doubling his efforts, and you swore you heard him bark against your pussy.

“Am I a good dog too?” Shachi whined, letting your breast go with a pop to look at you with needy eyes.

“I don't see you eating your food like a good boy,” you huffed, “get on your knees and I'll see if you're worth my time”

Shachi dropped to his knees behind you, making a definite bark before pulling your cheeks apart and running his tongue against your asshole. If he had a tail, you had no doubt it’d be waggling. You shivered at the wet muscles lapping at you, feeling the way the two men's tongues occasionally met between your legs as they ate you out from both sides, Shachi's tongue bullying its way inside your tight hole. You reached one hand back to hold his head for support, a hand buried in each man's hair as they made growls and sloppy sounds against you, their cocks twitching untouched as they serviced you.

“Good dogs,” you purred, “fuck, gonna cum right on your faces, hnng~”

Penguin made a excited sounding yelp as you gushed on his face, and you cried out as Shachi took the opportunity to slip a finger in your ass, spitting on it and adding a second, your whole body tingling as he finger fucked you through your already intense orgasm. The two of them didn’t let up, Shachi’s tongue running over your ass and thighs before adding a third finger, stretching you open so you could take him.

“Good dogs,” you panted, barely able to keep yourself upright with the way your legs were quickly turning to jelly, “the two of you have worked hard, now show me how feral you are and come fuck me”

They moved faster than you could comprehend, working in tandem to get you in position so they could both fuck you. You expected them to lay you down, but instead Shachi lifted you so Penguin could slide inside your pussy, making you gasp at how fast he went to the hilt, before Penguin grabbed you himself and you wrapped your limbs around him. Shachi held your hips steady as he lined himself up with your ass, then he spat on his cock pumped it a few times to spread it. You held your breath, wincing a little from the stretch as he slid inside you slowly. They both held you still for a moment to adjust, the three of you panting heavily, both boys working hard to hold back and not just immediately slam into you. You gave them a small nod to let them know you were ready, mentally bracing yourself for what you knew would be a rough fuck given the effects of the flower. Shachi held your hips bruisingly tight, Penguin supporting your thighs, and the two of them began working in sync to lift and drop you, using you like a toy to get themselves off as they made deep thrusts in time. Between the strength of the two of them you were practically weightless, thrown around like a ragdoll as they grunted like rabid animals and fucked you mercilessly hard. Every hard thrust knocked the wind out of you till all you could do was whine as they used your body, quickly bringing you to orgasm again. Liquid dripped down their thighs from your release, wetting the dirt below you, the sound of them fucking your holes making sloppy sounds that echoed in the trees mingled with your collective moans.

“So good, good dogs,” you moaned, your tits squeezed against Penguin’s hard pecs, sweat making the three of you sticky as it collected between your bodies, your back pressed against Shachi’s front.

“Cum for us again, please,” Penguin whined.

“Need it. Need to feel you cum again,” Shachi added, his teeth grazing your shoulder.Penguin leaned back a little so he could rub your clit hard with his thumb, and you felt yourself spiralling.

“Fuck, fuck,” you cried, “cumming”

The two of them made deep groans that vibrated through you as they felt you squeeze around them, unable to let out your own moan from how hard you were cumming, the air entirely knocked out of you. All you could do was shake and see white dots in your vision as the two of them unloaded inside you, finally finding relief from the flower as they gave it what it wanted. The amount of cum they put in you was immense, another side effect of the flower, your two holes immediately dripping with white as they pulled out and held you steady while you found your footing and you practically collapsed against Penguin’s chest. Shachi grabbed the tank top he usually wore under his boiler suit and shook the dirt off, then he used it to do what he could to clean the impressive amount of collective fluids from you, your legs shaking and threatening to give out as he dragged it carefully through your oversensitive core. Penguin continued to wordlessly keep you upright while Shachi dressed himself, then they switched. Once the two of them were dressed they helped you, laying soft kisses and gentle, thankful caresses over your body as they pulled your clothes back on, before Shachi lifted you into a bridal hold.

“So what did we learn?” you yawned as they started to carry you back to the ship.

“Eat strange flowers,” Shachi gave you a shit eating grin. You smacked him hard on the chest and he pouted.

“I’m telling Law,” you threatened.

“Please don’t!” Penguin begged, “I promise not to dare Shachi to eat weird plants, and I pinky promise to not eat any myself!”

“Shachi?” you raised a brow. He rolled his eyes and readjusted his hold on you, making you squeak as you were jostled.

“Fineeeee,” he groaned, “I promise not to eat any more random flowers, even if they get me laid”

“I could have just let you die you know,” you huffed.

“I won’t do it again!” Shachi yelped as you pulled hard on his ear.

“Good dog,” you smiled.

“Woof!” they both replied.

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #AKO 250 event #heart pirates #shachi one piece #penguin one piece #shachi and penguin #shachi x reader #penguin x reader #shachi x penguin x reader

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gremlinmodetweeker · 9 months ago

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König of the Icks (the rage post)

This is the post where I actually got mad at König. I can't stand people like this, but I also love them. If nothing else, life's always interesting when they're around, right?

Art from This Post

König rarely laughs. When he does laugh, it's usually quiet, subtle. If you didn't know he was laughing, you'd probably think he was crying because he just shakes his shoulders and makes soft chuffing noises

It's a bit eerie

However, when König loses control of his laughter, he sounds like a whole damn pigsty

He's snorting, squealing and honking as he tilts his head back with laughter. He laughs so hard he cries

This would be cute if it weren't almost always at the expense of somebody else.

Horangi had the misfortune of hearing it when König tipped all his belongings upside down and then taped and/or glued them to the ceiling. This included Horangi's bed and sheets.

Hutch nearly threw out a computer mouse until he found a piece of tape covering the bottom.

Roze swears she heard König laughing when she found her entire locker filled to the brim with tiny rubber ducks

The rubber ducks became a huge problem with soldiers trading them like contraband and hiding them in weird places around the base

This concluded with snipers using them for firing practise and laughing when they squealed when they were shot, making it too easy to find their hiding spots

Unfortunately for Stilleto, she heard König's laugh when she walked through a line of tape over a door and got it tangled in her hair. She figured out which recruits did it and had them running laps. When they were done, one of them admitted it was Cnl. Henker who set them up and she was furious

See, König loves to set other people up to do his dirty work

He'll gladly set up soldiers to piss other people off so he can watch the fireworks fly

He'll purposefully hold off on doling out a punishment if he thinks it'll be funny to watch shit go south first

He's well known on base as a through and through sadist who relishes in schadenfreude

Hell, he's the one to teach everyone what that word meant

He's the literal dictionary definition of the word

Now, the problem is that König isn't just a kinky sadist (he is, but that's a different post)

König loves to torment anyone, but especially the people he loves. And of course, that includes you

König won't put things on the top shelf, he'll put them on top of the cabinet so you'll have to ask for his help because not even the stool will help you reach that high

He'll doodle over any picture you have of him to 'hide his identity'

He just likes messing with you

He torments his children with wicked pranks and gaslights them terribly

When his toddler offers him a bite of their animal cracker he eats the whole thing and laughs at them

He will absolutely label three objects 1, 2, and 4 so you'll go searching for #3

He will sit on you when he gets mad at you, or when you get mad at him because, well, this is the two of you (oh which, btw, he will do this to you and laugh):

His worst sin was childproofing the house without your knowledge. Ever had a fully childproofed house? If you're not the one installing it, it's an ugly thing to find

He will shift furniture just a little bit to the right or left to screw with you if you finish off his breakfast meals and don't replace them immediately

König takes delight in leaving you cryptid notes (you've learned to ignore the ominous threats because they always turn out to be something completely innocuous)

König is a nightmare of a man to live with. Is it fun? Sure! Is he a menace? Absolutely. He's got a penchant for mischief, and he's used to getting away with it because he's either got the reputation of a battle-hardened colonel that demands respect when he steps into a room, or the soft-spoken gentleman that would never raise his voice against a civilian (but would probably creep them out a fair bit). This just means he has the perfect fallback for whenever somebody accuses him of being a miscreant. In truth, he's most likely behind it, but the true extent of how many thing's he's behind is terrifying. This man fucks with people as a hobby.

Konig Dump

Konig Headcanons

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skopostheorie · 2 months ago

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Some bilingual/polyglot thingies you can use for your characters which I rarely see used in fic. because I have WAY too much experience being a dirty laowai

Stumbling over syllables and saying them with the wrong consonants etc. I don't know the exact cause of this but I'd assume it's a muscle memory thing. Every now and again you'll have a word that you know how to say but your mouth just keeps saying wrong

Especially if the word is similar, but not identical, to how it is in your native language. E.g. I used to struggle not to add a "t" in absolument, because the English word is absolutely, and thus the muscle memory wants to add one

Speaking of similar; if the word you want to say is in a language that is related to your native language, and you don't actually know the word, you might just guess. For example, once I wanted to say "animal" in Chinese but did not know it. I knew the word 動物 in Japanese (doubutsu), though, so I just guessed that it was 动物 (dòngwù), which is just a literal transposition of the words 動 and 物 as in Chinese, and hey presto! It was right. This can also backfire, however; for instance, a Chinese speaker might give saying 東西 (touzai) in Japanese to mean "something" a try, as from 东西 (dōngxi) but in Japanese it just literally means "east-west". (A bit of a bad example but you get my point)

^ in the same vein, false friends. A famous one is soportar, which means "take it"/"cope"/"bear" (alongside support), but "support" does not mean the inverse; a Spanish speaker may accidentally say "ugh, I just can't support this anymore!" instead of "I just can't take this anymore!" and imply they're taking some sort of moral stance haha

Switching languages during sex or other extreme emotional moments where another person is there is relatively rare (certainly never happened to me). Especially true if it's a one-night-stand or in the early stages of a sexual relationship; you generally want to avoid saying something your partner might not understand, to as to keep communication clear. I think the trope is that the sex is just, like, so good that they shut down, and that this has never happened to me might just prove I'm not getting it good LOL. (If you're in some sort of established relationship, FWB etc, and/or you both speak that language, I can envision it happening, maybe; again, the point is just that you don't want to confuse the person who might worry that you've said "stop" or something in your native language out of panic)

> But in general, an emotional overload or whatever isn't necessarily going to result in a "regression" to your native language, especially if the thing happening is "happening in" another one. It might happen if speaking that language is considerable work, so to speak (maye they're still learning or just out of practise) but if the person speaking does not have to work too hard mentally in that language, it likely won't trigger a "swap".

(speaking of "considerable work"; if a person is speaking a foreign language all day, but does not know it particularly well, they will be exhausted at the end of each day and might not even realise that's why)

>> This is because, generally, you might distinguish between "thing" (language 1) and "thing" (language 2) if they're separate contexts. For example, when chatting with intl students in, say, Chinese, we will usually use the words "assessment", "Week [wkno.]", "five minute break" etc when discussing uni, NOT because Chinese lacks words for these things but rather because those words in English imply "that thing when happening here as opposed to elsewhere". e.g. 当然我想跟你一起出去，但是没有时间了，因为week 6来了��以我的assessment太多了。"

If you and somebody you're speaking with both speak the same multiple languages, you'll likely just pick the one you're both best at, and/or whichever makes the most sense for the context (what country you're currently in, the subject matter (may be specific to a certain language or more commonly associated with it), etc). In the case of partners who speak both or multiple languages on a similar level, it's honestly a bit of a 50/50 in my experience

It's really common and a humbling experience to say a sentence that makes zero sense to everyone listening. Not "oh it's a bit strange" or "your accent's a bit thick", I mean the words literally make no sense. Often this will be random and you will have no idea why people can't understand you, because in your head, the sentence is perfectly fine. Sometimes it's a matter of a rule you simply have yet to encounter which native speakers have never realised is not intuitive.

{for languages where it is applicable} gender and number disaccord in adjectives is a big one. Especially if you're speaking rather quickly, you might forget to stop and "pick" the right grammatical gender.

Inappropriate register, but both ways; often in language pedagogy, it's impressed that higher level language = better, more "native", and students will forget to consider context and accentuate their foreignness by using a word that's way too out there for a casual conversation. For example, saying "I am truly perplexed by your expression" rather than "I don't understand what you mean", because you just read that sentence somewhere and gathered it was a Smart Thing to say. Vice versa is a more commonly recognised trope

{for ESL} avoidance of phrasal verbs if early learner. Will say "leave" instead of "get out", "I have an idea" instead of "I've come up with an idea", "she's become sick" rather than "she's come down with something" etc.

Saying words with the syllables in the wrong order, e.g. "petrenate" instead of "penetrate". Remember, for learners these sounds all have to be remembered individually rather than as a "block" (one singular word), creating more room for error.

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whipped-for-kpop-fics · 1 year ago

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There's a snake in my pants - K.MG

🤠Who; Kim Mingyu (Seventeen) x gender-neutral reader 🤠What; Crack/humour. Some fluff. Established relationship. Himbo Mingyu! [I love himbo Gyu] 🤠Word count; 2.3k 🤠Warnings; Profanity. Critter mentions (literally the word critter plus snake but uhhh not the animal). Misuse of a lasso, bad Mingyu, but it's funny dw. And no one gets hurt. Mentions of pervert/voyeur Wonwoo but it's not plot relevant. Very suggestive in general but no smut or actual sexual actions. Reader wears lingerie.

Although there isn't any smut, this is definitely an 18+ fic so Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in the bio.

Summary; Your boyfriend wants to try a new sexy roleplay idea, it doesn't go well.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- This goes out to @ourdawnishotterthanourday , I hope you enjoy reading this as if you don't already know exactly what's going to happen anyway from my screaming about the himbo cowboy collective (omg series idea???) Thank you for encouraging me to live my best crack life, sweetheart 💖 And big thank you to @wonuvs for helping me so much with the header, I know it must've been hard to look at shirtless Mingyu so much 💖

Approximately twenty minutes ago, your lovable idiot of a boyfriend told you to go and wait on your bed for him, gave you a wink then skipped off with an excited giggle. Which, cute, yes, but also very very worrying.

As much as you adore Mingyu, you are very aware that he has some rather questionable ideas in general, what with him being what you would call a Class A Himbo; and unfortunately, he has brought those questionable ideas into the bedroom on more than one occasion. There is now a strict rule about no balloons in the bedroom and likely not for the reason you think.

So although you do go to your shared room and get dressed down in a lingerie set you know that he likes, you truly can't say that you exactly have high hopes for whatever your boyfriend has planned.

When the door creaks open, you're confused because all you see is Mingyu's hand appearing from one side to nudge the door open as wide as it can go. It takes a few pushes of his fingers before the door does actually swing open and then his arm darts back. A second later, Mingyu gallops into view and you don't know if you want to laugh or mentally log out more.

Because gallop isn't even an inaccurate description of the way he enters. Like a child pretending to play cowboys with one of those long wooden poles with the plush horse's heads set on one end with attached reigns. You can't tell if the fact he has one of those children's toy horses makes it worse or not. You can't even admire the way his thick thighs, showcased by just the tiny pair of boxer briefs he's wearing, are pressed tight around either side of the thick wooden pole to keep it upright with both of his hands barely fitting on the tiny little loop of faux-leather that makes up the reigns.

All Mingyu is wearing are those tiny little dark boxers that don't even fully cover his asscheeks, a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. Oh, and there's some thin dark rope looped diagonally over his bare chest. That can't be good.

"Howdy partner." Mingyu starts, entirely serious in his roleplay and doing his best to put on the 'cowboy voice' you know that he and his friends have been practising together to be 'real cowboys'.

Even though you're still trying to figure out exactly how you feel about this particular roleplay choice of your boyfriend, you can't help but at least humour him. He's far too cute and sweet in general to not try, at the very least, to play along. "Howdy, cowboy," You reply, a little dumbstruck yet Mingyu lights up brightly all the same.

He wiggles slightly in excitement, forgetting himself a little in his joy, then remembers he's supposed to be a 'sexy, serious cowboy-man' and schools his expression. He doesn't even notice the amused twitch of your lips at his slip. "I'm new to town and I hear you're the person to come to when there's trouble."

"Oh, there's trouble, is there?" You hum and shuffle to sit up against the headboard. You're internally very relieved when he removes the horse and props it against the wall. It's much easier to take him seriously when he's standing there in all his ridiculously handsome glory.

"Yes, ma'am." Oh, you could get used to him saying those words in that voice, pitched slightly lower than normal and a little rough. Maybe their 'cowboy meetings' have been more successful than you've realised. Because Mingyu, nor his friends, have improved very much in the actual horse riding aspect of being a modern-day cowboy. But at least the voice is getting good.

"Sounds serious."

"It is." He steps a little closer, hands on his hips and you can't tell if it's intentional or not but it draws your eyes to his crotch in those tiny boxers leaving nothing to the imagination. Not that you need to imagine what he's packing underneath when he's always so willing to let you see, and feel, and taste. "Do you think you can help a cowboy out, ma'am?"

"Keep calling me ma'am and it sounds pretty likely." You mutter and lift your gaze back up to his face. He's smirking at you now, well aware of how much you love his body. "Tell me, what's the issue, cowboy?"

"Well, you see, it involves a certain critter," You try not to giggle at him using the term critter, you can't help it when all you can think of is the endearing way he and his friends will call any living animal or insect critter; often in a loud screech when a bug flies too close to them.

"Ooh, I see. You have a critter problem."

"That I do, ma'am."

"And a big strong cowboy like you can't handle a single critter?"

"I'm more skilled with the bigger critters."

"So this critter is small?" You wonder how many times the two of you will use the term critter, it really does not help set the mood, just amuses you honestly. This situation has already devolved in your mind and Mingyu hasn't even noticed, he's still very serious about his big-boy cowboy role-play.

"Yes," His face drops. "Wait, no! It's not." He pouts a little, barely a little protrusion of his bottom lip.

"So it's not big enough for you to handle yourself, but it's not small?" He nods and slips back into character. "How big is it exactly?"

"Big enough." You think you understand what he's trying to do here. But you're willing to let it play out at least.

"Okay, give it to me."

"Give it to you?" His eyes round out a little with the excitement those words bring him.

"I mean, tell me what it is." You correct and try not to giggle at the disappointed little oh he lets out, understanding the miscommunication there.

Though, once again, he gets right back into character and locks his serious, sultry gaze on you as the tips of his thumbs hook into the waistband of his boxers without removing his hands from his hips. "There's a snake in my pants." Yup, that's about exactly where you thought he was going with this.

"I can't believe you've defiled my childhood like that, Mingyu." You deadpan, unimpressed. His arms drop along with his expression.

"What? What did I do wrong? It's just a line!" He whines. "Wonwoo taught it to me!"

"Wonwoo?" You sigh. "Baby, what have I told you about listening to Wonwoo where sex is involved?"

"That he's wrong that sitting in the tree outside our window with binoculars isn't a natural biology lesson no matter if he takes notes." He replies in very much the tone of a man who has had those very words drilled into him many times.

"I…well yes, that is a very good one, thank you for remembering." Mingyu perks up a little at your approving response. "But that's not what I meant."

"Uhm," He thinks hard. "That he's wrong that you have to bark during doggy style." That particular memory sends shivers down your spine, you had hoped to forget it.

"Also very correct and please don't bring that up again."

"I'm sorry, I really thought he knew what he was talking about!" Mingyu defends quickly. "He's so smart, baby!"

"Uh," You don't know how to respond. Wonwoo is not smart, he may look scholarly with his glasses and cardigans when he's lounging around, but he is, like your boyfriend, just another pretty himbo. All four of the group are and you still can't tell who's the worst of them. Still, you adore the four and would never change a thing about any of them, even if their dumbassery has caused a lot of trouble since they moved to town. So you move on. "The point is, Gyu, you shouldn't listen to Wonwoo's sex advice, ever. Remember that?"

"Oh, right, yeah, you've said that before." He nods slowly in understanding, looking kind of dejectedly down at the bedframe. He looks like a scolded puppy, it pulls your heartstrings enough to want to try and salvage the situation.

"Was this whole roleplay Wonwoo's idea?" You wonder. Mingyu looks up at you and shakes his head, lips pouted cutely at you and eyes big. "Yours?"

"Yeah. And Seungcheol's. You've never told me not to take sex advice from him!"

Okay, you have to admit, Seungcheol is probably the only one from Mingyu's three besties that you think would give pretty decent sex advice, you know he at least has active ongoing experience with a friend of your own and they've always sung his praises. Wonwoo is…well nobody knows for sure if Wonwoo has ever actually had sex. He kind of gives off horny virgin energy, honestly whenever sexual conversations come up but he's always been pretty smooth when flirting so it could go either way. And the fourth of their group is precious, naive Seokmin; you know he has experience himself but he's a very sweet guy and always seems scandalised when anything out of vanilla is mentioned.

"Okay, then I'm willing to pick this back up if you really want to try it, sweetheart."

"I do!" Mingyu beams and suddenly looks as if you've offered him the world on a silver platter, drizzled in sweet syrup ready for him to slurp up. Oh, does that remind you of another one of his slightly less questionable bedroom surprises. But that's an entirely different story. "Okay, okay," Mingyu takes a few breaths to calm his visible joy, it's so cute watching him bring his hands up as he inhales deeply then turn and push them palms downwards to the floor as he exhales.

He may have some very odd ideas, but man, did you score an adorable sweetheart of a boyfriend who you hope will never change and always remain this way. You've not even been together that long, just a handful of months really, but you're pretty sure he's it for you. Your forever. The one you want to spend the rest of your life with.

When he's collected himself, he turns back to you and decides to entirely bypass the whole snake in his pants section, wisely so you think, and starts to remove the ropes from around his torso. He only knocks his hat off twice, though you barely notice because now all you can think about is the fact that it seems like you won't be the one to have to bring up bondage.

While you're wondering if your big beefy boyfriend is about to hogtie you and have his way with you, Mingyu gathers the long rope in his right hand and then takes one end into his left. It's then that you notice the very distinct large loop in one end.

Horror spreads through your body as you realise that Kim Mingyu has brought a fucking lasso into the bedroom. "Gyu-" You start in warning yet he's already pulling his arm back and launching the rope in your general direction. You yelp automatically, expecting to get hit in the face, yet it doesn't touch you. There's a loud crash on your right so you look over only to find that the only remaining one of the pair of bedside lamps is now in pieces on the hardwood flooring, the loop of Mingyu's lasso caught around the shade. It's like the balloon incident all over again. And now you have no bedside lamps, thanks to Kim Mingyu.

There's pure silence for a tense few seconds as you both stare dumbly at the mess on the floor.

Mingyu's whisper breaks the silence "Fuck." And then you burst into howling laughter. "Babe!" He whines but you can't stop, toppling over onto your side on the bed with the power of your laughs.

The whole situation has been a mess from start to finish. It's a miracle you lasted this long without some kind of breakdown. You're just glad it's the laughing kind and not the mental kind.

It takes a minute of poutily grumbling about working him hard on the scenario, learning how to tie a lasso knot and modelling endless hats and boots for his friends so they can help him pick the right ones before the humour of it all actually hits Mingyu.

It starts with a little giggle and then he looks between you and the broken lamp a few times and has to flop across the bed as he laughs along with you, uncaring that his hat falls off.

Slowly, both of you stop laughing and calm enough to look at each other. You're still grinning like fools and there are tear tracks down your cheeks from it, but you're happy. He's happy. That's all that matters.

Mingyu shuffles over to you in a manner that makes giggles bubble out of your throat until he's on his side close enough to lean in and press a soft kiss to your lips. "I love you," He informs gently when he pulls back to look adoringly into your eyes. Your expression softens and quickly melts into the mirror of his own as you brush your fingertips over his cheek.

"I love you too." You reply, smiling as he lays his hand over the back of yours to hold it in place as he turns his head to kiss your palm, planting his love right there where you can keep it safe for as long as you want to. And then he looks back at you and holds your palm to his cheek. "Just no more lassos in the bedroom,"

Mingyu laughs and nods in agreement. "No more lassos in the bedroom."

"House in general. Indoors. No lassos indoors."

"Okay, baby," He giggles and kisses you once more sweetly before getting up and picking his hat up off the mattress to plop on your head when you sit up. You adjust it so that you can watch as he crouches down beside the broken lamp to begin cleaning up the mess you made. And as you watch him, there's only one thought on your mind.

Yeah, he really is it for you.

A/N- Believe it or not, the original idea that caused this one has a much higher crack content and I may have to write that too. This story can be considered a spin-off of that, or one in the collection of the same universe focused on the 4 himbos and their adventures.

#wkcnet #svthub #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #svt x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen crack #svt fluff #svt crack #svt fic #seventeen mingyu x reader #seventeen mingyu fluff #seventeen mingyu crack #seventeen mingyu fic #svt mingyu x reader

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satoruhour · 2 years ago

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Helllooo!!!! I hope you're doing well<33 I'm not sure if you're taking requests so this can be taken as a random rant as well. (I'm in my exam week-depressed-stressed era lol) but is it just me Or the animated version of choso and the mans voice actor just doubled his hotness!?? Hence why me is here to ask if you could do a choso street racer au, could be anything from him meeting at a race or him taking them drifting? Idk but I just need more racer choso au's😭😭😭

LUCKY DIME

a/n: oh no my love i hope your exams went well and that you’re resting comfortably now ❤️ OFCCCC i planned to write a racer!choso for so long i just didnt have any motivation / tagging @screampied

wc: 3k

warnings: racer!choso, reader is ‘dating’ a weirdo, fem!reader, threat of sexual assault (from weirdo guy), threatening harm, flashback, unsafe driving tendencies (dont follow them in this fic lol pls drive safely), semi-public sex (parking lot), car sex, slight nipple play, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, finger sucking, implied multiple rounds and p -> v sex later on, n*sfw under the cut

choso hasn’t always been open about his origins — moving from the shimotsuma district to shibuya just two years ago in need of quick cash to send back to his struggling mother. it was a hard decision on both ends, with his mother advocating more for him to leave for a better life than the one she could offer. he acquiesced with a promise to earn enough to send back to her every month in return for the secret stash she provided for him and that promise meant everything. he was going to get money no matter what.

even if it meant meddling with the local yakuza, doing petty little tasks of collecting money, escorting the people important to the oyabun to their meeting places, being on lookouts while gambling and prostitution happens indoors. choso would never write back to his mother on what he’s been doing to get so much money, but if he’s able to send a hefty amount back to her on every 29th, he’s satisfied.

that is until he’s met with a couple arguing as they walk along the alleyway, creating such a ruckus that choso’s sure they could power the whole of shibuya — well, more of the man, anyways, saying something about racing and cars that he’s not even sure he catches on.

“well, if you just listened to her and opted for a flat-plane rather than use a cross-plane, maybe you wouldn’t have lost the race!” you’re throwing your hands up, struggling to walk behind in these new heels you bought while you navigate the dark alleyway. for a boy who’s expressed interest in you, he wasn’t doing well in trying to keep you one bit. you’d say he’s rather annoyed that you know so much about cars, trying to genuinely help him while he just sees it as attacks.

“yeah, well, if you kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have embarrassed me about losing to noritoshi.” you roll your eyes, unaware you’re passing a dangerous area with dangerous activities behind the door choso was guarding, nor do you notice the way the bodyguard perks up at the name of noritoshi, who sounds awfully familiar.

you scoff, “trust me, you embarrassed yourself the moment you tried to challenge the dude,” it was meant to be a harmless comment; noritoshi could never measure up to the famous four, but he practised his drifting hard enough and put in the hard work, stayed humble. he was everything that your “man” wasn’t, and it was only deserved that he didn’t win. ultimately, you didn’t expect much from a man in the illegal racing scene who only cared about who had the nicest engines and paint finishes.

“what’d you say?”

choso keeps a close eye on the both of you.

“it was nothing—” you sigh, reaching out to grab at his arm to get him to stop shouting so loud when you notice the person standing in front of a shady door — twin pigtails hairstyle with a dead look in his eyes and a tattoo across his nose, dressed up in a suit. it was scary enough walking through a dimly-lit alleyway, but your fear heightens when your eyes fall upon the surroundings of ashes of late night campfires, dried blood along the walls, and used condoms on the floor.

“no, no, tell me what you said, just so i know that i heard you right,” your “man” insisted, stepping up so close to you that your nerves were on high alert from the proximity and the possibility of that someone just a few feet away inflicting harm on the both of you.

“it was nothing! i just meant that you didn’t have a chance against noritoshi from the st—” it’s like you hit a sensitive nerve, because the next thing he’s doing is grabbing your wrist and dragging you along, not aware of how choso perks up even more, ready to leave his post. it borderline hurts with the way he grasps at your skin, paired with the discomfort of your heels and outfit, you can’t just wait to get home and rest up.

“ohh, so that’s what you said!” the man continues to tug you, not heeding your pleas for him to stop, “might as well just leave you here with the yakuza to see whether you stand a chance.”

that’s what the man was guarding . . wait.

a shout wretches out of you when you notice there’s no shadows at the door that’s lit simply with fluorescence at the same time the mysterious man has one hand each on your arms.

“who are you—” your “man” has the gall to speak first, shocked at the stronger grip of the other when he tears the fingers away from your wrist before stumbling back. the mysterious guy simply tugs you into his hold, levelling the other with just a stare from his eyes that’s got him babbling and stuttering in fear. you hate to admit that once the man beside you speaks, your body curls into his side — it’s like a smooth cup of coffee that you gravitate towards.

“do you want to repeat what you just said?” choso puts you behind him as he approaches the other, one step taken while the cowering one takes one step back. “because i can always open the door i’m guarding and let them take care of you, instead.”

“t-that wouldn’t be necessary—” he’s adamant on his threatening, taking out a flip phone and dialling numbers one by one, no doubt the number of his boss. he doesn’t even look at you, eyes trained on the pigtailed man as he continues to dial the number and pressing call. if choso’s being honest, he’s about to shit himself just as much, never having called his saiko-komon personally before so he only fakes the number, thanking the heavens that someone somewhere decided to call his boss’ phone just at the same time.

they all hear it, the familiar nokia ringtone from behind the door, but in choso’s ear, all it says is that it’s an invalid number that garners no answer. he talks over the operator’s voice anyway.

“yeah, i need you to take care of this guy. just outside here—” that’s enough for him to go running away, puddles splashing and his voice crying out for civilisation, although you’re not too happy yourself, afraid for your own fate. kept like a pet for the yakuza? made to work for them to pay off this small helping hand? commit—

you sit up from the hood, “you called a fake number?!” it’s hard to say when that fateful meeting turned into this over the past few months, asking choso to recount the night the two of you met out of curiosity when you realise that your yakuza-accountant boyfriend had dialled a fake number the whole time.

“i had just joined! i wasn’t going to phone my boss . .” he sheepishly says with head turned to you, and while you’re giving him brutal smacks on the shoulder (“what! if! he! hadn’t! run! away! were you going to let a phone operator beat him up?”), you’re still thankful he decided to step in at the right time even if his heroic act had been brought down a notch by this revelation.

it’s then that he asks about the whole racing thing you were involved in but you’re taken aback by the fact that he wasn’t going to make you do anything in return. even if the alley had boasted its dubiousness, you realise than the man standing in front of you was not much older than you, a childish sparkle in his eyes when you entertained the question. with a random number in your phone, it was up to you if you wanted to text him, but after a few races, you think that he was just too handsome to pass up.

choso picked up racing and drifting fast, joining your small group of friends of yuji, megumi and nobara who were all rising up the ranks. it was difficult, knowing the famous four, but it didn’t hurt trying to build a reputation in the underground scene. he practised around the docks, crashing into crates, sending the seagulls flying, and almost sending your scrap car over the edge.

“tokyo is pretty at this time of night,” choso mumbles as he sits up, too, liking the way you scooch closer to him on the hood of his 1967 Ford Mustang.

“tokyo is cold, i’m lucky i’m not freezing to death.” you tease him even when you’re wearing his warm jacket, squealing when his cold hands make it under the jacket and your shirt.

“how are you cold, that jacket’s wool!” he nestles his face into your neck, freezing nose touching the skin there and you giggle, trying your best to push him away. choso says that, but he’s happy to see you in his jacket while his arms tingle with both frost and lovesickness. “you’re just extra sensitive to the cold.”

before you can retaliate, though, he’s pulling away from your body heat to look you in the eye; it was a wonder he even got you, a girl who’s just so passionate about cars and who taught him everything he needed to know about it. six months down the road, he’s writing about something other than living paycheck to paycheck again, getting in some extra money from racing as well.

“wanna drive?”

you grin, hopping off his hood before jumping into the car beside him and he only laughs at your enthusiasm, hopping in after you and starting the ignition. you wish it was like this before every race: you beside him in the passenger seat as he gets ready to race against his opponent. the rev of the engine always excites you, knowing you contributed to the many modifications of his Mustang. but choso always says it’s dangerous for you — so you’re left to watch from the sidelines.

but now, as choso drifts down the mountain, you can’t help but stare at him as he changes gears every few seconds, hair blowing everywhere from the wind outside before he reaches the base and races off into the main road. you’re shouting in excitement, music blasting loudly from the cassette player while you dominate the streets at night.

“d’you think i can break 190, sweetheart?”

your jaw drops, “while drifting?” he nods, “you’re insane . . yeah, do it.”

choso’s laughter feels infinitely heavenly, stepping on the accelerator on a fairly empty road. he’s familiar with the traffic of the roads too, so at 4am, it’s basically deserted when he speeds down the gravel while he tries to break the speed limit. you feel on top of the world, a pretty road full of green lights on every turn; there’s a couple of sharp screeches from his tires as he navigates shibuya.

“hear that increased throttle response . .” you whistle when he presses his foot into the accelerator again, Mustang speeding off into the streets while you look over to him: hand holding the stick shift and one hand on the wheel. he’s as pretty as you remember him six months ago and his beauty truly hits you in the moment that you unconsciously rub your thighs together.

“all thanks to you, baby,” feels like the final blow, not knowing the effect he has on you until you’re waiting until he slows down to place your hand atop his on the steering wheel. there he lets you steer where you want to go, face melting into recognition at the place you’re taking him to.

“you’re nasty.” in the abandoned car park, he giggles when you’re shushing him as you make your way to the backseats, levelling him with a stare that begged him to hurry.

“yeah . . whatever, you like it.”

choso grins, switching off the ignition and climbing in after you, making you forget all about the cold season of japan in mere minutes. his lips collide with yours and his body naturally pushes yours to the leather seats, driving you crazy just with his mouth. his hands make quick work of your skimpy outfit, inching past your tight halter top and to your tits. you gasp softly into the kiss.

“may i?” even after all this time, choso still asks for permission, pulling down your top and bra when you nod.

his mouth is both warm and gentle when it meets with your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud and eyes looking up at you just to relish in the hooded lids and soft moans you give him. his free hand fondles your other, squeezing and playing, rolling the bud between his thumb and forefinger.

“just s’soft . . always,” he hums into your chest, kissing you down bit by bit and making you wait for it with each teasing journey he makes. there, he manoeuvres himself onto the floor, kneeling on the carpeted finishing as your knees hook onto each shoulder. the car is filled with your laboured breathing, watching him slowly undo the straps to your uncomfortable heels. it’s excruciatingly slow, pulling at the strings and removing each shoe before his lips leave fire along your shin, up to your thighs and to your pulsing core.

“choso . .” you whine, hips bucking off the leather.

all he does is laugh, hands spreading your legs before he’s licking his lips at the mess you made in your skirt, panties and back of the fabric soaked right through. your boyfriend pulls you forward with a certain fervour that makes you yelp and you match him with a nervous grin as he tugs away the underwear and marvels at the arousal that just sticks to your pussy, pretty and dripping right in front of him.

you have no warning before choso indulges himself in your cunt and you cry out in surprise, hand tangled up in the mess of his hair that falls from his pigtails. his warm tongue laps at your clit like a man starved, slurping up all of your arousal into his tongue. the cold weather is just the cherry on top, cold wind wafting through the walls and the windows, making you extra sensitive.

“c-cho—” you hum, one hand lost in his black locks while the other clutches tightly onto the seats for any sort of anchor while choso only pushes his face further in between your legs. he can feel your pussy clench around nothing, switching between sucking and flicking his tongue with a relentless pace that threatens your sanity. “t-too much . .”

all he does is laugh into your centre, eyes flitting to meet yours while he continues his ministrations, arms wrapping around your thighs. choso moans at how good and sweet you taste, a curious hand moving from your legs right to your hole where he plays with your folds. gently, he pushes past your walls and you whimper from the intrusion, clamping down around his finger.

“relax, darling, i got you,” he softly says, relaxing his pace just a bit as he starts to thrust his finger. while slow, his tongue doesn’t stop, however, still continuing to make the lewdest noises.

“pussy so damn sweet,” he groans, nuzzling his face right into your sloppy core before teasing a second finger; it’s easy to slip in but he still warns you wordlessly, inching them right in until they reach the knuckles, “and so tight, too—”

the car is filled with the smell of sex, the sounds of your pussy and your endless moans as choso starts to pump his fingers in and out, reaching so much deeper than any of your toys can and stretching you out just right. your hips buck uncontrollably as you feel that coil in your stomach, knowing that you were only going to get even more of this before choso properly fucks you — but it’s all he promises, that to make sure you’d cum on his fingers and tongue thrice before he even thinks of railing you like you deserve.

“c-choso, your fingers—!”

“yeah?” it’s breathless, bottom half of his face all soaked and wet, but he goes right back in.

“mmfuck— cho, cho, p-please . .” your words are jumbled up, babbling through your teeth while his fingers gathers all of your juices, “i’m g’nna—”

choso thinks you’re just perfect like this, moaning as much as you want in his Mustang and spread out just for him to eat. he cannot keep his eyes off you, curling his fingers just a bit to find your sweet spot as he flicks your bundle of nerves as his eyes stay on the way your lips part for little pants to escape. your eyes have fluttered close by now but he doesn’t mind as you continue to push his head towards your cunt.

“cum on my fingers, my love,” the other groans, words muffled a little, “cum on my tongue like a good girl.”

“cho— f-fuuck . .” you writhe around on the leather seats as you reach your peak, voice descending into a silent scream while your jaw hangs open. at his peripheral he can see and feel your thighs tremble while you chant his name like a prayer, over and over until you think your voice is hoarse. his seats are wet, no doubt, and you wince seeing your cum decorate the leather, but choso quietens your worries as he leans up to give you a kiss. you can taste yourself.

“taste good?” you’re ruined despite it being your first orgasm, answering half-heartedly before slumping, a soft moan leaving you when he removes his fingers and strings of your arousal stick to each digit. his hand naturally gravitates towards your mouth, fumbling with your lips before he pushes in — distracted, he takes the opportunity to latch his mouth onto your cunt again and you mewl loudly.

“that’s just the start,” choso grins, laying a long stripe up your pussy and groaning softly at the way your tongue swirls over his fingers, “i’m sorry in advance . . hope you’re able to get out of bed tomorrow, baby.”

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swiftiethatlovesf1 · 10 months ago

Text

Cowboy hat rule p.2

Hii guys I hope you enjoy part 2 of this story, here's part 1 if you've missed it :)

The next morning, you wake up feeling restless, your mind filled with thoughts of Daniel. His deep brown eyes, the way his lips felt on yours, the sound of his voice still lingering in your ears. You roll over in bed, hugging the pillow to your chest, wondering if last night had been a dream. It felt too perfect, too unexpected, but the hat sitting on the chair by the window is a reminder that it was all real.

You sigh, shaking your head as you stretch and sit up. Today’s your last day in Texas, and even though the memory of Daniel is burning in your mind, you know you can’t let it distract you. Your friend has planned for all of you to go to a rodeo today, the final adventure before you head back home.

After a quick shower, you rummage through your suitcase, settling on a cute denim skirt and a red top that ties at the shoulders. As you twirl in front of the mirror, you feel a little spark of excitement. You reach for Daniel’s hat, gently placing it on your head, your heart doing a small flip at the thought of him. It still smells like him, that mix of leather and warmth that made you feel safe. You run your fingers along the brim and smile softly, feeling a flutter of something deep inside you.

Once you’re ready, you meet your friends in the lobby, all of them excited for the rodeo. They tease you a little about Daniel, but you laugh it off, pretending the thought of him doesn’t have your heart racing all over again. As you pile into the car and head to the rodeo grounds, you try to focus on the day ahead, but his face keeps slipping into your thoughts.

The rodeo is bustling when you arrive. The smell of popcorn and barbecue fills the air, and the sound of country music floats through the crowd. You and your friends find seats in the stands, and you settle in, your eyes scanning the arena. You can’t help but wonder if Daniel might be here—Texas isn’t that big, right? You laugh at yourself, shaking your head. He’s probably back at the bar or out on the ranch, far from the chaos of a rodeo crowd.

But just as you're about to turn your attention to the show, you spot a figure in the distance. Your heart skips a beat. From where you're sitting, he looks just like Daniel—same tall frame, same casual confidence in the way he moves. You blink and lean forward in your seat, squinting. Could it really be him?

No. It couldn’t be. There’s no way he’d be here. It’s just a coincidence.

The show starts, pulling your attention back to the arena. The cowboys are skilled, roping and riding, the crowd cheering and gasping at all the right moments.

Finally, the announcer’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker, announcing the last event of the day—bull riding. The crowd goes wild, clapping and whistling in anticipation. You watch, trying to enjoy the moment, but the feeling of unease is still there, gnawing at the back of your mind.

The announcer calls out the name of the final rider. You don't hear it at first, but then you see him step out into the arena.

It’s Daniel.

Your breath catches in your throat. The world around you seems to freeze as you watch him walk out, his cowboy hat tilted low, the same confident smile you remember from last night. The crowd roars, but all you can hear is the pounding of your own heart.

It is him.

Daniel mounts the bull with ease, his movements smooth and practised. The bull bucks wildly, and Daniel holds on, his body moving in perfect sync with the animal. Time seems to stretch out, each second feeling like an eternity as you watch him ride.

When the buzzer sounds, Daniel dismounts, landing gracefully on his feet. The crowd erupts in cheers, but your heart is pounding too hard for you to join in. He tips his hat to the audience, that familiar, charming smile lighting up his face. And then, as if sensing your gaze, he looks up—straight at you.

For a moment, everything else disappears. It’s just you and Daniel, locked in each other’s gaze from across the arena. His smile softens, and his eyes twinkle with recognition. He tips his hat again, but this time, it’s for you.

Your cheeks flush as your friends nudge you, teasing you again. But you don’t care. You’re too lost in the way Daniel’s smile makes you feel—like you’re the only person in the world who matters to him in that moment.

As the rodeo wraps up and the crowd begins to disperse, your heart is still racing. The excitement of seeing Daniel, of that shared glance across the arena, leaves your thoughts spinning. You can’t just leave it at that—something is pulling you toward him, something more than just curiosity.

Before you know it, you’re standing, mumbling something about needing a breath of fresh air. They nod, distracted, and you take your chance to slip away unnoticed.

As you weave through the crowds, your mind races. What are you going to say when you see him? What if he doesn’t remember you? The thought makes your stomach flip, but you can’t help the little spark of hope igniting in your chest.

Finally, you spot him near the back of the arena, leaning against the wall with his hat pulled low, talking with a few other cowboys. You freeze for a moment, nerves tangling in your chest.

He sees you before you even get a chance to speak. His eyes light up the moment they land on you, and that familiar, slow smile spreads across his face.

"Well, look who it is," Daniel drawls, pushing away from the wall and sauntering toward you. “Didn’t expect to see you here, darlin’.”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you try to keep your voice steady. “I, uh… I just wanted to congratulate you. You were amazing out there.”

Daniel’s smile deepens, and he steps closer, his warm, brown eyes locking onto yours. “Thanks, but I was only half-focused on the bull.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Half-focused?”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Hard to concentrate when I’ve got a pretty little thing like you in the crowd, wearin’ my hat.”

Your cheeks flush, and you lower your eyes, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. You didn’t expect him to say that, and now your heart is doing flips inside your chest. “I… I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Daniel chuckles softly, his finger tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his again. “I notice everything about you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his thumb brushes lightly across your jaw. The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach flutter, and you suddenly feel very small under his attention, like he’s the only thing grounding you in this moment.

“And since you’ve been kind enough to congratulate me,” Daniel continues, his voice husky and thick with something that sends a thrill down your spine, “I think it’s time I collect my prize.”

Before you can respond, his hand slips to the small of your back, pulling you closer in one swift movement. Your breath hitches as you’re pressed against him, his chest firm against yours, his warmth surrounding you. There’s a fire in his eyes, one that makes your knees weak, and all you can do is stare up at him, your lips parted in surprise.

“Prize?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Daniel grins, a slow, dangerous smile that makes your heart race. “Yeah, sweetheart. A prize for putting on a good show.”

And then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.

The kiss is hot and insistent, nothing like the soft, tentative one you shared last night. His hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back as his lips move hungrily against yours. It’s overwhelming, the way he kisses you—like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have, like he’s claiming you as his in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shirt as if to anchor yourself. You’ve never felt anything like this before—the heat of him, the way his body presses you back against the wall behind you, the sheer intensity of it all. You’re dizzy, lost in the sensation, completely at his mercy.

Daniel’s hands explore your waist, his touch sending shivers through you. He’s rough and confident, the complete opposite of the innocent, hesitant way you respond to him. You moan softly into his mouth, and that’s when you feel it—his smile against your lips. He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your skin. “You look so damn good in my hat,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with desire. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Daniel presses you further into the wall, his body firm and strong against yours, and the heat between you flares to life. His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your hip, tracing the line of your back as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. Your own hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he responds with a low growl that sends a thrill down your spine.

When he pulls back just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged, his eyes are dark with desire. “You’re somethin’ else,” he murmurs, his voice rough as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw. “So sweet and innocent, but you’re driving me crazy.”

As Daniel’s lips trail down your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake, you let out a soft sigh, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Daniel,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze intense, filled with something deeper than just lust. “You’re somethin’ special,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t get enough.”

Your heart swells at his words, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe it’s the hat,” you tease, your fingers playing with the brim of his hat on your head.

Daniel laughs, the sound low and rough, and he leans in to kiss you again, his lips soft but full of promise. “Maybe,” he whispers against your lips. “But I think it’s you.”

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo

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adkawariatka · 4 months ago

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Back of or I will bite

Cold rain drips from Danny’s jacked, water slushes in his shoes when he walks through dirty streets of Gotham. He is cold. It should be rare experience for him nowdays, since his death actually. However, recently he discovered that if he mistreats his human half, this is what happens. He hadn’t eaten anything for too long and now cold can affect him. He is starting to get used to that feeling, when hunger twists his stomach and chill runs on his skin like snake. Normal humans would be already dead. Unfortunetly he isn’t normal human. It is why he is in this streets anyway. When goverment with your own parents hunt you like an animal you try to be invisible.

There is no better place to dissapear than city as dangerous as Gotham. Here no one will pay attention to some homeless kid when every other week some psycho tries to murder bunch of civilians while a furry in bat costiume fights them off. That is why he and his friends chose this place. He blends in, dissapears. They decided he needs to lay low. He can do that he can be invisible goddamit. Well could be invisible like a week Ago. Right now his physical state isnt really cooperating. Where is super-healing when he needs it.

Right now he turned to his other special abilities. Ones he buried deep, into The back of his head, as deep as sands of The cursed desert he was born on. Right next to The memory of a twin that he loathes with his whole existence. He moves with practise even if his stealth skills are a little rusty. They were trained in him since he was a baby.

He needs to find Food, Danny lived in gotham for three weeks he knows some spots for leftovers, not fresh ones, but enough to sustain him. Sometimes he steals something fresh but lately he has no energy to do so. His gun-wound is still healing even if it should be gone by now. It is not deadly obviously but painful enough to remind him of its existence from time to time.

Danny checked trashcans behind two restaurants before he found one that wasn’t already occupied. He learned hard way to stay away from others who will do everything to eat, even long expired goods. He is not proud of it. However, Danny survived far worse. He died for fucks sake! Some trash Food isnt going to do him.

Danny was just peaking into The containers before he Heard loud bang and angry shouts. It was a little early for big fishes to get out on street. Sun heven’t even set yet. He needs to hurry. As he was to pull out that half eaten sandwich, footsteps Sounded behind him. Before he turned around there was also a heavy thud and loud groan. Immedately, he turned around and came race to face with Nightwing. He was doing so good up until now. He just had to came across one of Batman’s sidekicks.

- Hey there, you alright?

He sounded genuine but was also part of justice league that worked for goverment. So he was a big no no for Danny. That’s why he nodded and sweeped his eyes around to find possible exits. They were in backalley with only one exit which was a source of fight noises.

- Okey kid we need to get out of here. I can see that you prefer to keep your distance but Right now we don’t have time for comforts

Then he catches Danny by his waist and hoists them both on The nearest root. His left side with a wound is on fire, vision goes white for a moment and he stumbles when Nightwing lets him go. Danny doesn’t know what happend after but when he can normally breathe he is alone. On a roof. How The hell is he supposed to get down without his powers or any gear in the matter!? He goes to The edge and observes The fight. It looks like one of The gangs had some sort of a deal and The Bats had a tip that it will take place here. Just Danny’s luck to end up in The middle of a mess. At this point it can’t really get worse. There is no sense in trying to get down now. He will wait until fight is over. There is too much gangsters and people in spandex for Danny’s liking down There. So he sits and waits. Eventually fight dies down. He might have dozed off there a little bit. Light footsteps alerts him of new presence on his roof. Danny stands up when short figure in black yellow and green costiume stops before him. He assumes that it is his lift to the ground but the hero stops suddenly. He watches long enough to make Danny uncomfortable. Then Danny hears words he hoped never to came across again:

-Danyal?

He sharply backs away. No! he thinks. Not him! Not now! He knows that voice. God Dammit! And he thought that his situation couldn’t get worse. He was already starving, wounded, without roof above his head, hunted by goverment and his parents! Why not add an assassin cult to the mix?! Whoever fucks with his fate has twisted kind of humour. Danny heels hit the end of the roof. But the hero is still getting closer.

-Danyal its you. I know it is you. You need to stop…

- Stay away from me! - Danny thinks that he might be screaming. He is not sure. He is terrified, last time they saw each other didnt end well for him. His vision starts to swirl again, his wound stings, he might throw up. Does he even has something to throw up with? Danny is pretty sure he is going to die. Maybe that’s why just in spite for monster of a brother he bends backwards just a little too much. Last Think he hears are Damian’s screams he does not know why he seems so panicked. He probably came here to finish the job so why bother? Or worse he came back to bring Danny back. Doesn’t matter not Right now. He is falling, it reminds him a little bit about flying. God he loved it. He wonders if second death will hurt as much as the first. Will he get to go away? Will he be able to fully die? Or will he gets stuck as a full ghost? It is his last thought before his vision goes black.

I know I wasn’t here for some time. But I had this idea and wanted to share. I will probably continue it. I want to include interaction of Danny with Damian. There is a lot of fics with them loving each other and they are amazing, However, the concept of Danny hating Damian peaked my interest. How would that work? Besides, Danny’s angst is of course a must😆

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #damian wayne #batman #gotham #twins #demon twins au #nightwing #dick grayson

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goblinontour · 7 months ago

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Murder Of Crows

part 4 | series masterlist

are you part of his project?

warnings: you know it by now, mentions of death, suicide, dead animals, implied age gap, piv, eating, blood, restraints

word count: 7.3k

“And you have to spread them like this.” he murmured, his voice low and precise, like a teacher’s, like a sculptor’s. Methodical. Every word was deliberate, measured, and paired with a subtle gesture. His fingers moved with a kind of artistry that made you forget, just for a moment, that what he was working on had once been alive.

It felt eerily normal, the rhythm of his movements, the almost reverent care he took, how easily he handled the bird, how steady and unshaken he seemed. Yet, the scene was anything but. There was no smell, no pungency you might have expected, no mess. Nothing visceral. You had imagined something grittier, bloodier, but the scene before you was unnervingly sterile.

The absence of it somehow made it worse.

He had gloved his hands in thin pale latex, the type that clung to his fingers and made the softest, almost imperceptible squeak as he adjusted his grip. You weren’t allowed to touch — only to watch — but the texture of the gloves felt like it imprinted itself onto your senses. Somehow, you could feel them anyway. That powdery, almost waxy texture haunted your mind, slipping over your skin like a phantom sensation.

He worked quickly, pinning the left wing into place before you even realized what he was doing and the speed of it made you wonder how many times he’d done this before. His movements were so smooth, so practised, that it was impossible to believe he hadn’t done this dozens, maybe hundreds of times before. You wondered how long it had taken him to get this good. How much practice did this take? How many creatures had fallen into his hands for the sake of this obsession? You didn’t ask. But the questions turned sour on your tongue. Some truths were better left buried.

He looked like he was carving something holy. His brows furrowed, but not in frustration — this was focus, pure and undistracted. His lips parted slightly as he leaned closer, his breath shallow and even. You could hear it if you listened closely enough, steady and rhythmic, like the ticking of a clock. You hated how much you were listening, how much you were watching.

It wasn’t just his hands. It was the line of his jaw, the slight curve of his neck as he tilted his head to examine his work. It was the way his shoulders shifted beneath his shirt, how they seemed so broad but so fragile at the same time. It was the faint shadow of stubble catching the light, the way his lashes fanned over his cheeks when he blinked.

You drifted. Your eyes found the bird’s face, its hollow stare fixed on you, unblinking. It was so perfect it almost looked alive. Like a cruel trick of the light, or some last remnant of its former life lingering to watch this strange act of preservation.

“Listening?” His voice cut through the haze, sharp and steady. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder, but somehow, he knew. He always knew.

You flinched at the suddenness of it, blinking hard. “Yeah- yes.”

“Good.” He returned to his work, unbothered, unconcerned by your distraction. You wished you could say the same.

His attention went back to the bird. The long, delicate needle in his hand moved like an extension of himself, and he began to fix the other wing in place. His focus was unnerving, his hands an artist’s, but his subject felt like a sacrifice. You couldn’t stop staring at him. The way his fingers moved with such certainty, the subtle curl of his lips as he concentrated. He was beautiful in the most terrifying way. Beautiful like the sharp edge of a blade or the first spark of a fire. You wanted to keep looking at him even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“You wanted to see this.” he said, not looking away. There was no malice in his tone, but the words carried weight, as if he were reminding you of something you had asked for but now regretted.

“I did.” Your voice was quieter than you intended, but it felt wrong to be loud here. To interrupt him.

“Good.” he repeated, as if that settled everything, pinning the final feather into position. He leaned back slightly, head tilting as he surveyed his work, examining the bird’s wings, now spread wide. The firelight caught the edges of his face, casting shadows that made him look almost otherworldly. He had always seemed a little unreal to you, like a figure pulled from a half-forgotten dream. “Most people don’t understand. But you…” He turned, just enough to catch your eye. “You could. If you wanted to.”

You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or a warning or a threat. The words sat heavy in your chest, coiling tightly around your ribs like something alive.

“Why do you do it?” you asked, and immediately regretted it.

He paused, his hands stilling for the first time since he’d begun. The air shifted. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. He removed the gloves with a snap, peeling them off one finger at a time. “To keep them.” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “To make them last.”

You swallowed hard, throat dry. “Is it just birds?”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a shadow of a smile. “For now.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Something about him kept you there, rooted to the spot, like a moth caught in a web. You thought about the way his hands had felt on you, how they had pressed and pulled and claimed, with the same intensity he gave to this lifeless thing. And you hated yourself for wanting it again.

Maybe you were becoming obsessed. Maybe you already were.

“Deconstructing and putting them back together, recollaging them…just — death and renewal…” he said, like he was peeling back layers of meaning as much as flesh. He stepped closer as he spoke, his presence filling the space between you. “It’s a sensuous subject.”

He paused then, just long enough for the weight of his statement to settle between you. Long enough for you to feel its boldness, its audacity. The room felt smaller somehow, the shadows from the lamp growing heavier as the firelight from the next room flickered faintly on the walls.

“But in our presence,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, intimate, “it also becomes a sensing, sensual, sense-making object.”

He was close now. Too close. Close enough that the sharp, sterile scent of latex mingled with the natural warmth of him. His eyes locked onto yours, and you were struck by how unblinking they were, how intent. As though he were dissecting you now, seeing through your skin to the raw tissue underneath.

“It also gets sticky.” he added, his voice dipping into a near-growl, pulling you back to the moment with a jolt. He snapped the gloves off, letting them crumple in his hands before tossing them carelessly to the side.

The sound was stark, breaking the quiet. You flinched at it, more from the way it cut the air than anything else.

His bare hands flexed at his sides now, the faint indentations from the gloves still visible on his skin. He didn’t move back. If anything, he seemed to draw closer, his eyes scanning your face as though he was looking for something — recognition, understanding, permission.

“Sticky?” you echoed, the word slipping out before you could stop yourself.

His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. “Life is sticky.” he said simply, his tone almost amused, like he found it funny that you didn’t already know this. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, leaving a phantom trace where his fingers had been.

“Messy. Unclean. But that’s what makes it real, isn’t it?” His thumb hovered near the corner of your mouth before falling away. “The stickiness makes it human.”

You didn’t answer, but your silence didn’t seem to bother him. Instead, he let it linger, thick and charged, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Or perhaps, with his.

“Where do I fit into all of this?” you asked, the words soft but weighted, as if the answer might shatter you. You weren’t even sure what you meant. The words spilled out unformed, driven by something deeper than reason — an instinct, a need.

He didn’t move at first, his focus still fixed on the fine balance of delicacy and control he wielded with such ease, almost as though the question hadn’t even reached him. Or perhaps it had, and he was simply measuring his response. “You’re…our bodies are conduits, reflecting each other.” he said at last. “Something like…elemental fusion.”

Your heart kicked in your chest. The words unsettled you, as much for their strangeness as their intimacy. “So did you come to me to see your fantasies performed before your very eyes?” you asked, the accusation trembling on your lips.

That was when he turned to you. Slowly. Deliberately. The room felt darker. It made your skin prickle His gaze found yours, heavy and unyielding. “You came to me, remember?” he said, his voice sharp enough to carve you apart, cutting through you like the edge of a blade dulled just enough to bruise without breaking. Small. He made you feel small again.

Small in the way he had a talent for. It wasn’t a diminishment that came from malice but rather an awareness, a stark and cutting reminder of your fragility in the face of his intensity.

“We’re both…looking.” he said, his voice softening just enough to unsettle you further.

The air seemed to shift with him, thickening, growing weighty. You couldn’t move — not because he forced you but because his presence locked you in place. He left the bird alone, its wings spread and vulnerable under the lamplight. It was then you realised he wasn’t just speaking about the bird. He’d found something else to pin, something else to dissect. He came to his bird instead.

His hand found your neck — not rough, not even threatening — fingers curling around the column of your throat, not squeezing, but holding. Light but firm. His touch felt surgical in its precision, and though it didn’t hurt, the tips of his fingers pressing just enough to remind you they were there, you couldn’t ignore the power that simmered just beneath his skin.

It wasn’t a choke. It was a claim.

His thoughts moved through him like dark water — slow, deep currents filled with things he could never say aloud. You were fragile, too fragile, and yet you were something that refused to break no matter how much he pressed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted you to. There was a part of him that feared your strength and a part that craved it. You were a contradiction to him. Soft and delicate in all the places that called to his most base urges, yet unyielding in ways that left him restless and raw.

And yet, as his hand rested on your throat, as his thumb brushed against the hollow there, he thought about how easy it would be to ruin you, to take the raw materials of you and shape them into something more his. Something beautiful, not unlike the bird on the table. But he didn’t want to ruin you — not fully. Not yet. He wanted to see you unmade, but he also wanted you to keep standing.

His lips met yours, and everything sharpened.

They crushed against yours, hard, swallowing your gasp like he was consuming something he thought already belonged to him. His thumb brushed the hollow of your throat as his mouth moved against yours, hungry, urgent, leaving no room for doubt. The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming, devouring. He kissed you as though it wasn’t an act of affection but of necessity, as though your lips had something he needed to survive. His mouth moved against yours with a kind of hunger that felt old, like it had lived in him far longer than you’d known him. His tongue slid against yours, tasting, coaxing, demanding.

The warmth of him pressed into you, and your body registered every detail — the roughness of his unshaven jaw, the faint scent of latex and soap that lingered on his hands, the tension in his body that vibrated just beneath his skin. He was solid against you, overwhelming, and yet his grip on your neck remained careful, precise. He didn’t tighten his fingers, though you felt them twitch, as though he was constantly holding himself back. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this was just part of the game.

For a moment, you thought you could taste his contradiction, the way his mind warred with itself. He wanted to keep you safe, and he wanted to tear you apart. He wanted you untouched, and he wanted you completely ruined.

You clung to him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself against the storm he brought with him. He kissed you deeper, harder, his breaths rough and uneven against your cheek.

In his head, his thoughts twisted. You weren’t just a distraction. You were the thing — the thing that made him feel too much, that made him want to forget himself and remember you instead. You were raw material, yes, but raw material he didn’t need to mold. You were already beautiful in ways he couldn’t replicate, and it infuriated him.

“You’re mine.” he whispered against your lips, his voice ragged and heavy, breath hot and heady. He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t even confirming. He was stating. A fact he expected you to accept without protest. A truth as simple and unyielding as gravity.

Your chest tightened. His words shouldn’t have felt comforting, but they did. “Yours.” you whispered back, the word catching in your throat like a secret too dangerous to release.

But the question still lingered in your mind, even as his other hand slid up your spine, pulling you closer, making it harder to think. Where did you fit into all this? Were you his reflection, his experiment? Or just another bird, pinned neatly into place, caught in his grasp?

“Good girl.” he murmured, and the warmth in his tone contrasted sharply with the cool weight of his hand still on your throat. It made your head spin, made everything blur and sharpen all at once.

His lips left yours, trailing down to your jaw, your neck, pressing marks into your skin like he wanted to leave proof of this moment. You tilted your head, offering yourself to him, and his breath came heavier against your pulse.

Then, something in his gaze shifted — like a shadow passing over a light. He pulled back, his hand lingering on your neck for a moment longer before he let you go. He stepped back, the space between you suddenly unbearable.

You couldn’t stand it. The emptiness where his hand had been, the hollow absence of his warmth against you — it was suffocating in its own way, and you acted before you could think better of it.

Your hand shot out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt with a force that surprised even you. His eyes widened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of shock crossing his face before you surged forward. You dived into him, reckless and unrelenting.

You kissed him hard, desperate, pouring everything into it. Your hands roamed, gripping the fabric of his shirt, sliding to his jaw, threading into his hair. You pulled at him, as though dragging him closer might make him a part of you, something you couldn’t lose. Your tongue swept against his lips, and when they parted for you, you licked into his mouth with a hunger that bordered on feral.

He groaned, low and guttural, the sound reverberating through your chest. His hands were on you again, pulling you to him, holding you steady as your knees began to falter. You felt his fingers sink into your waist, even as you threatened to collapse under the weight of your own desire. But then your knees did give out, the strength leaving you in a rush. He went down with you, and the next thing you knew, your back hit the wooden floor.

The impact jolted you, the cold of the wood a sharp contrast to the heat coursing through your body, but none of it mattered. He braced himself over you, his knees digging into the floor on either side of your hips, his weight held by his palms planted firmly on either side of your head.

You stared at each other, breathless. His face was close, so close you could see the way his pupils had swallowed the color of his eyes, could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His lips were swollen from your kiss, and there was a slight flush to his cheeks that made your chest ache.

“Take me.” you whispered, your voice trembling but firm.

His expression flickered — hesitation, hunger. His chest heaved, and for a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, as though he was trying to decide whether to obey you or devour you whole.

Then he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Careful what you wish for.” he murmured.

His mouth found yours again, slower this time, but no less consuming. Clothes were pulled off. Yours, to be precise. Piece by piece, each layer peeled back to leave you bare beneath his gaze, vulnerable in a way that somehow didn’t feel humiliating. Exposed. And yet, even in this exposure, there was a power that lingered, palpable and undeniable.

Even from below, you could see the way his body betrayed him. He was at the mercy of his own desire, as much as you were at his. His jaw was tight, his breathing labored, and his trousers, straining with every sharp inhale, were proof that this wasn’t just you unraveling. It was both of you, caught in the pull of something you couldn’t fully explain.

His gaze burned into you, devouring every inch of your skin as though memorizing it, committing the sight of you to something deeper than memory. You could almost feel the weight of his eyes, the way they lingered on the rise and fall of your chest, on the subtle curve of your stomach. His hunger was unmistakable, and yet, restrained — painfully so, you thought.

He reached for your hands and you didn’t resist as he grabbed your wrists and brought them together. His grip was firm but not cruel, his palms warm against your skin as he maneuvered your arms. The motion brought your own body into sharp focus — your arms squeezed your sides, pressing your breasts together, and your hands found a place just above your womb, a posture that felt ceremonial, like you’d been molded into an offering.

He was the one holding it all together, the tie that kept you bound in place. His fingers lingered on your wrists for a moment longer than they needed to, and when his eyes met yours, they were dark and smoldering, barely contained.

“Stay like that…” he said, his voice rough, almost trembling. “Don’t- don’t move.”

There was a note of desperation in his command, but you didn’t dare disobey. You nodded, too breathless to speak, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

He was up before you could get a word in, his body moving with a deliberateness that left you both anxious and aching. You heard him rummaging, something shifting, though your gaze stayed forward, locked onto the space where he had been. It wasn’t until he returned, crouching above you again, that you looked down and saw what he held.

Rough, coarse rope.

The first loop circled your wrists before you fully registered what was happening, the fibers scratching against your skin. It was precise — tight enough to feel, but not so tight as to hurt. Yet.

You flexed your hands instinctively, testing the bond, and felt the burn of friction as the rope resisted. Terrifying in its finality.

“Tighter?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

You opened your mouth to answer, unsure if you’d even dare to admit you…liked it, but he didn’t wait for your reply.

“Tighter.” he concluded for himself, his voice low and definitive as he pulled the rope taut.

Your breath hitched as the pressure increased, your wrists pinned together, immobile. Your fingers twitched against each other, your palms brushing the faint warmth of your own skin. There was no escape.

The tension in the air was unbearable. You watched his face as he worked — focused, obsessive, his lips slightly parted as though the act of binding you was something sacred to him. His fingers moved with precision, tugging and adjusting, and you realised this wasn’t just about control. This was art to him. He was shaping you, sculpting you into something that could only exist beneath his hands.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice softer now, a strange juxtaposition to the roughness biting into your skin.

You shook your head, though the raw sensation prickled your nerves. “Not yet.” you whispered.

His lips quirked, the faintest shadow of a smile.

His hands lingered on the knot, testing it. And as you lay there, bound and bare, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the moment he saw you as something beyond flesh — beyond what you thought you were. You wondered if he saw something transcendent.

But his thoughts weren’t as lofty.

He looked at you, laid out and helpless, and the only thing he could think about was how much he wanted to ruin you. How the sight of your wrists bound together stirred something he couldn’t ignore. How your skin, so soft and pliable, made his restraint feel more like a curse than a choice.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “Stay still.”

And you did, because what else could you do?

His hands left you for only a moment, and you shivered at the loss of his touch. He stood over you and began peeling off his shirt. The fabric clung to him, damp with heat and tension, and the way he tugged it over his head revealed more of him in agonizing increments.

Muscle stretched taut under pale skin, his chest rising and falling with every breath. There was something mesmerizing in the act — how casual it seemed, yet how intimate it felt. Like he was stripping away more than just his clothes.

The scrape of his belt buckle was louder than your breathing, and the sound of the zipper being undone made your pulse quicken.

He didn’t hesitate after that.

He was on you in an instant, his weight pressing you into the floor as he kissed you with teeth and need. His mouth latched onto your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, his tongue soothing the sting only to bite again.

His cock brushed against your bound hands each time he moved, a heated, silken pressure that made you burn with anticipation. You could feel the pulse of him, the way he twitched against your skin, and it was maddening.

“Can’t hold back.” he growled, his voice ragged as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

“Don’t.” you whispered, and the word barely had time to settle between you before he surged forward, filling you in one swift, unrelenting thrust.

You cried out, your body arching beneath him, your wrists straining against the rope as your fingers sought something — anything — to hold onto. But there was nothing to grasp except him.

He was everywhere.

His hips pressed flush against yours, leaving no space between your bodies. He was so close, so deeply buried inside you, it felt like he’d erased the boundaries of where he ended and you began.

“Fuck.” he hissed through gritted teeth, his forehead pressing against yours. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh.

Your breath hitched as he moved, his pace slow but merciless, each stroke dragging him against every sensitive part of you. Your tied hands were pinned between your bodies, brushing against the base of his cock with every thrust, and the friction only added to the delirium.

“You take me so fucking well.” he said, his voice low and reverent, though his movements were anything but gentle. “Like you were made for this. For me.”

Your thoughts were a haze of heat and sensation, your body pliant and open beneath his relentless pace.

“Say it.” he demanded, his teeth nipping at your jawline.

“Made for you.” you managed to gasp, and the sound of your voice seemed to break something in him.

He cursed under his breath and surged forward, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate. His hands left your thighs to grip your hips, pulling you against him with bruising force. The rope around your wrists burned against your skin as you writhed, but the pain only tethered you to him.

You felt his breath against your ear, hot and uneven. “You’ll remember this.” he murmured, his voice raw. “You’ll feel me tomorrow, and you’ll know who you belong to.”

“I already do.” you whispered, your voice breaking as his pace pushed you closer to the edge.

He groaned, low and guttural, and you knew he was losing himself in you, just as much as you were losing yourself in him.

It hit you then, like the floor beneath your back and his weight pressing you into it — this wasn’t simple desire. It was the raw, consuming need to dismantle you, to strip you bare in every way, and yet you weren’t afraid. If he wanted to destroy you, you’d let him. You’d beg for it, even, and when he was done, you’d still be there, pressing your lips to the hand that delivered the final blow.

Your wrists strained against the rope as his movements became rougher, more insistent. Suddenly, you felt them being tugged upward. He was holding himself up on one elbow, his other hand grabbing the bindings and pulling them closer to his face.

You bit your lip as he drove into you harder, your cry muffled behind your teeth. He didn’t let you stay quiet, though. He bit into the fleshy part of your palm, his teeth sinking deep enough to make you gasp, the pain sharp and startling.

“Al-” you whimpered.

“Shh, shh…” he murmured. His lips were soft against your hand as he kissed over the fresh indentations, soothing where his teeth had been just moments before.

“I’m sore.” you said, barely able to find the words as he rocked into you again.

He shifted, rubbing his thumbs along the rope marks on your wrists, but it wasn’t a gesture of comfort. He was studying the way they bloomed red against your skin, admiring the effect. “What?” he asked, feigning concern. “Your pussy’s sore?”

You nodded, unable to voice it properly, but your answer didn’t soften him. It spurred him on.

“Good.” he said, his voice dropping an octave as his thrusts grew deeper, more deliberate. His cock filled you so completely it felt like there was nothing left for you to give, and yet he kept pushing, kept taking.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “I’m gonna fill you up all nice.” he rasped, his breath hot against your skin. “You’ll forget all about it.”

The promise was as cruel as it was intoxicating. His pace never faltered, his hips driving into yours with bruising precision. Each thrust sent another shockwave through your body, your mind blanking with the intensity of it.

“I-” you whimpered again, your voice breaking as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

He kissed your temple this time, a fleeting gesture of tenderness that contrasted the unrelenting force of his body against yours. “I know.” he whispered. “I know, baby. Just take it for me. That’s all I need from you.”

And you did. You took every bit of him, every thrust, every bite, every rough squeeze of his hand on your flesh, until you weren’t sure where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

It happened all at once — the unraveling of him. His pace grew uneven, frantic, each thrust harder than the last as if he were chasing something just out of reach. His face twisted, caught between tension and release, his jaw tightening, lips parting as a guttural sound escaped his throat.

He was beautiful in that moment, devastatingly so. His head tilted back slightly, the muscles in his neck straining, veins prominent as he gave in to the wave overtaking him. His eyes, half-lidded and glazed, were almost unseeing, lost in the intensity.

Then came the sharp cry, almost animalistic, torn from his chest as he spilled into you. The heat of it was overwhelming, searing, the evidence of him claiming you in the most visceral way. His cock twitched inside you, over and over, each pulse sending more of him deeper, marking you in a way that felt irreversible.

But he didn’t let the sound echo far. His teeth found your shoulder first, sinking in hard enough to draw a startled gasp from your lips. Then your collarbone, then the curve of your neck — he bit wherever he could reach, muffling his cries against your skin. Each bite was sharp, leaving tender marks in their wake, a series of his claiming scattered across your body.

“Fuck.” he groaned, his voice muffled as he pressed his lips against your neck again, softer this time, lingering. He stayed buried deep inside you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks.

You felt his cock twitch one last time before it started to soften, still filling you but no longer with the same urgency. He didn’t pull away, though. He stayed close.

His hands moved to cradle your face, rough and tender all at once. When his lips brushed against your forehead, you realised his breaths had quieted, but his body hadn’t moved. He was inside you, still holding you as though he couldn’t bear to let go. You couldn’t tell where his need ended and this tenderness began, and maybe neither could he.

“So good to me.” he whispered.

He stood, pulling his pants up as if regaining a semblance of control, leaving you still tied, exposed, and utterly vulnerable on the floor. You watched him move, calm and precise, and for a moment, you thought he might leave you like this — abandoned in your own wreckage. But then he returned, holding a small knife in his hand, the blade gleaming faintly.

Your breath caught. It wasn’t unlike the one he’d used earlier on the bird, but this one was slightly larger, heavier in his hand. He crouched in front of you, his gaze flickering between your bound wrists and the rope that kept you there.

“Hold still.” he murmured. He aimed the blade at the rope, but as he pressed it against the fibers, you flinched — just barely, but enough for the knife to slip.

It kissed your skin, sharp and unforgiving, and a sting followed as blood welled up along the shallow cut on your belly. You gasped, the sound involuntary, and his hand froze. His gaze snapped to yours, unreadable at first, before it dropped to the crimson bead that now trickled down your skin.

He stared at it, entranced. “Look what you made me do.” he said, his voice low and almost accusatory, though the words were tinged with a dark sort of fascination.

You stretched your wrists, testing the bonds, but his hand on your stomach stopped you. Before you could say anything, his head dipped, and his tongue dragged along the cut, collecting the blood before you even had the chance to process what was happening.

“Al- what are you doing?” you asked.

“Tasting.” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing the wound as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

His head dipped lower. At first, you thought he might simply kiss the curve of your hip, but he kept going, his lips trailing a path down, and lower, and lower still.

When his mouth closed over your clit, you flinched again, a sharp, startled cry escaping you. “Fuck-”

A hand flew to his head, your fingers threading through his hair. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. His tongue was relentless, flicking and swirling with a precision that left you gasping. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Alexander-” You couldn’t get the words out, your thoughts fragmented as the pressure built and built until it became unbearable.

He hummed against you. “Don’t hold back.” he muttered between licks, his voice muffled but clear enough to command. “Let me hear you.”

Sharp and sudden, your thighs trembled as you cried out, clutching at him like he was the only thing. His tongue didn’t stop until you were twitching, overstimulated and breathless, and even then, he gave you one last, deliberate suck that made you whimper.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were slick, his expression smug. “See?” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good for both of us.”

You could only stare at him, chest heaving, your wrists still bound and raw. He reached for the knife again, cutting the rope this time without hesitation.

“You’re bleeding.” you managed to say, noticing the faint red streak smeared along his jaw.

He didn’t even glance at it. “No…you are.” His hand brushed over the cut on your stomach, now smeared with a mixture of blood and his spit.

He didn’t move far, didn’t seem able to. After freeing your wrists, he set the knife aside and crawled back over you, his presence looming but his touch…different now. Gentler.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck, faint and fleeting kisses that barely grazed the surface of your skin. They trailed down to your shoulder, each one a whisper of warmth that left your body tingling in their wake. It felt so unlike him, so far removed from the roughness and force of moments ago. The contrast made your breath hitch, made your heart ache in a way you didn’t understand.

It was odd, almost unsettling, but also…lovely.

You let your hands wander, brushing over his shoulders, sliding down his back. His skin was warm, but beneath it, he felt unyielding. The curve of his spine was firm, the ridges of his muscles hard, like something long locked in tension. There was a toughness to him, not just physical but something deeper, like an atrophied muscle that had grown stiff with time and disuse.

Your fingers traced one vertebra after the next as if you could soothe whatever it was that kept him like this. He shivered under your touch, almost imperceptibly, but you felt it. Felt the way his breath hitched against your shoulder, how his body stilled as if caught in a moment too vulnerable to escape.

“Alexander.” you whispered, barely audible.

He paused, his lips resting against your collarbone. “What?”

“I don’t know.” you admitted. It was the truth — you didn’t have the words for what you felt, for what he was doing to you, for what you were doing to him.

“Then don’t say anything.”

And he dipped back down, his kisses resuming their path along your shoulder and collarbone. Your hand slid to his nape, fingers threading into his hair. He leaned into it, just barely, and the subtle way he responded made something twist inside you. You wanted to ask what he was thinking, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because you were afraid of what he’d say. Or maybe because you were afraid he wouldn’t answer at all.

Instead, you stayed silent, your hand stroking down his spine again. He let out a soft, shaky breath against your skin, one that you might have missed if you weren’t so attuned to him. For a moment, it felt like he might say something, but he didn’t.

He just kissed you again.

When all the clothes came back on, it felt like something had shifted. Alexander was distant again, leaning into the couch as though it would swallow him whole, his hands hanging loosely between his knees. The fire painted restless shadows across his face, but his expression was unreadable. His ruminations had started — you could see it in the way his eyes darkened, his mind somewhere else entirely.

You didn’t sit. Couldn’t. The raw marks on your wrists burned under your touch, and your pacing felt inevitable, as though standing still might crush you under the weight of everything unsaid. The air felt thick between you, but not impenetrable.

Your voice broke the silence, louder than you intended, startling even yourself. “Did I ever tell you about my father?”

Alexander’s eyes flicked to you sharply, his brow furrowing just slightly. “No.” he said. It was quiet, almost, like he already knew he wouldn’t like what you were going to say.

You stopped, rubbing your wrist absently as you stared at the window. The darkness outside seemed endless, like a mirror of your thoughts. “He killed himself.” you said flatly, the words falling between you like a stone. “In my bedroom.”

The fire popped, but Alexander didn’t move. His stillness made it worse somehow, like he was absorbing your words in a way you hadn’t expected. You paced again, feeling like a caged animal, your arms crossed tight over your chest.

“I wasn’t there when it happened.” you continued. “I didn’t find him. Thank God for that, I guess. But sometimes I wish I had. Isn’t that fucked up?” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “I feel too much without anything actually having happened. Like there’s no room to let it out, no picture to hold onto except the ones my brain paints for me.”

Alexander’s gaze tracked your movements, his hands tightening slightly, a twitch of the fingers. “Why your bedroom?” he asked quietly.

You stopped in your tracks. “I don’t know. Maybe he thought it was the easiest way to say something without having to say it. Maybe he thought I’d know what it meant.” You glanced at him, searching his face for something — understanding, maybe, or condemnation.

“Did you see him?” you asked suddenly, your voice sharp, almost accusing. “I mean…you must have. Afterward.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened, and he looked away for the first time. His hands rubbed together, the faintest sound of skin on skin breaking the silence. “No.” he said, and it felt too fast, too automatic. “I didn’t see him.”

You took a hesitant step closer. “Then what-”

“I just…” He paused, the words caught somewhere in his throat. His hand dragged across his jaw, his fingers rough. “I just dug the…” strained, and he trailed off as though even saying it aloud was a step too far.

Something in his tone made your stomach twist, but you didn’t press. Not yet. Instead, you crossed the room and sat beside him on the couch. The cushions shifted under your weight, but he didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the way you leaned into his space.

Lulu’s soft meow broke the silence, and she leapt onto the piano down the hall. Her paws struck a few discordant notes, the sound grating against the fragile atmosphere.

“Lulu.” Alexander said, his voice low but sharp. She meowed again, unfazed, stepping over more keys.

“Lulu.” he snapped, louder now. He started to rise, but you put a hand on his knee. “She’s fine.” you murmured, though your voice shook slightly.

He stayed seated, but the tension in his frame didn’t ease. His jaw was tight, his shoulders hunched forward like he was ready to spring up at any moment. Lulu pawed at a few more keys, and his hand balled into a fist.

You hesitated, your hand still on his knee. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” you said softly, pulling his focus back to you. “About him. About what he felt in that moment. If he was scared or if he just…let go.”

Alexander’s gaze was heavy on you now, his fists unclenching as he leaned back slightly. You stared at your hands, your fingers brushing over the marks on your wrists. “I think about what he saw before he…did it. My things, my bed…did he look at them and think of me? Or was it all just…a blur to him?”

Alexander’s hand shifted, moving closer to yours but not quite touching. “You’ll drive yourself mad thinking like that.” he said quietly.

You gave him a small, humorless smile. “I think I already have.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t respond. Instead, his hand finally moved to cover yours, his touch light, almost hesitant.

“Do you think he was selfish?” you asked suddenly, your voice cracking. “Or brave? Or- God, I don’t even know. I can’t figure it out. I just…I can’t stop wondering if it’ll ever make sense.”

“It won’t.” Alexander said, his voice steady now, certain. “Not the way you want it to.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his face for answers you knew he couldn’t give. But the way he held your hand, firm, made something inside you shift.

The silence didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

Alexander pulled you closer, circling your shoulders with a quiet decisiveness that left no room for protest — not that you would have protested. He didn’t hold you too tightly, didn’t speak or push. He just folded you into his chest, his chin brushing the top of your head, and let it take over.

Usually it was suffocating, a vacuum that forced you to fill it with restless thoughts. But for him, silence seemed easy. Natural. At least on the surface.

Inside, his mind roiled. He told himself to focus on your breathing, the rise and fall of your chest against his, the faint tremor in your hands as they clung to him. But even in this moment, he felt the itch — like static beneath his skin, his compulsions sparking at the edges of his restraint. You were soft against him, vulnerable in your grief, and part of him wanted to stay here, to hold you and absorb every jagged piece of pain until there was nothing left. But another part of him wanted to strip you bare — not just your body, but your soul, your defenses, your very essence.

He knew how to take things apart. Knew it so well that sometimes he wondered if he could do anything else.

“You should stay.” he said finally, his voice low but resolute.

He thought you might argue, might retreat back into yourself like you sometimes did when the weight of the world pressed too hard.

“I will.” you said softly.

The relief that coursed through him was almost painful. He hadn’t realised how badly he needed you to stay until you agreed.

You shifted closer, settling into him. He held you tighter, his hand trailing down to rest on the small of your back, his fingers spreading wide as though anchoring you there.

Outside, the wind howled faintly, rattling the windows. But inside, the world narrowed.

You didn’t fight him on staying because, deep down, you wanted it too. You wanted the quiet, the pull of his presence that made you feel seen in ways that were as thrilling as they were terrifying.

And so you stayed.

a/n: Not really the biggest fan of this one. Don’t wanna talk about it. (insert sticker of my tbhc alex memoji giving you the hand to talk to)

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x fem!reader #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour #you’re so dark

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