#only to get there and for him to beat you again and again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lily-bisque · 1 day ago

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ＷＡＹＯＵＴＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume four — eternal life

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: listened to a ton of jeff buckley and novo amor writing this. hope you guys enjoy <3. again, check out the playlist for the curated mood and for a forehead kiss.

✦ ── word count: 4.6k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous volume - volume five

art by outdmilk on twt

“Didn’t ask for a maid, still don’t need one. Not gonna get on my knees and thank you neither.”

In the bathroom, your knee bobbed up and down, a fiery rage still swirling a tempest storm within you. You had to bite your lip to cease your incessant huffs that began to bubble over like a whistling kettle, nearly tasting copper from the pressure, eyes watering at your embarrassment.

You flexed your fingers open and closed, trying desperately to slow your breathing, but to no avail.

Besides your snarky personality, you’d been nothing but kind to Sukuna—save for the incident in the woods, but that was when you were in intense pain. He couldn’t blame you for that.

You’d made him breakfast and cleaned up his place, and though you weren’t expecting a ‘thanks,’ you would appreciate him at least treating you like a person. You even groomed his dog for God’s sake.

You didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted you here—so he could cut the act of you being some pesky girl hovering around him like a mosquito and sucking him of his livelihood.

How much longer would you have to endure such an easily riled man no matter what you did?

The cruel familiarity of his words were no comfort either—only cracking open a wound you’d scabbed over long ago.

But what managed to piss you off the most was that the sole reason you’d come to the woods was now somehow tainted with everything you’d been trying to escape.

The bathroom door creaked, a shadow shuffling below the crack. You could hear the huffs of Sukuna’s breath, quiet and steady, though you could tell he was deep in thought. Or at least you hoped he was after whatever the hell that was outside.

He settled to the ground, back against the bathroom door, eyes dialed in on his bedroom before him. His eyes studied the medullary rays across the wooden frame, small pathways branching out and clawing the across to the end.

You didn’t jaw a peep. If anything, you were steadily holding your breath, Sukuna having you cooling your heels.

He called your name out, gruff and irritated.

You kept your mouth shut.

He sighed, knocking his head back against the wood and squinting his eyes, trying to decipher the emotions coursing through him. “You gonna live in there forever?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “If it means I don’t have to deal with you.”

He doesn’t understand why hearing your voice felt like the smallest bit of consolation. “I’m afraid that’s not gonna work.”

“You’re an asshole,” you blurted, worrying your lip between your teeth, peeling the skin and feeling your skin flare in heat.

“I know.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, the hum of the bathroom fan coming to a quiet drone in the back of your mind. “You know?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitated this time. “You’re a dick, too.”

He grunted, tossing his arms over his knees. “Shut up and come out. I, uh. I wanna show you something.”

You scowled, cracking your knuckles as you heard the wooden planks shift below Sukuna’s weight as he came to a stand.

His shadow remained still in that little sliver, and you could feel your mood sharply sour when you’d realized he’d stomped inside with his boots still on.

You came to a stand, flinging the door open and already releasing a slew of curses. “You’re fucking unbelievable, I just mopped the—.”

Your voice was immediately muffled as he stuffed… fabric (?) into your face.

Pawing him off of you, you pulled whatever he’d shoved at you into your hands just to see he’d handed you those ugly jorts from earlier and a graphic t-shirt.

He just stood there, eyeing you casually, though you couldn’t ignore the way his eyes searched yours charily.

Clenching your teeth, you dropped your hands to your sides. “This is what you wanted to show me?”

He pushed air from his nose before walking away. “Nah. Get changed and c’mere.”

𖠰 ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

You’d put the outfit on—not without huffing and cursing under your breath in his bathroom—after peeling Sukuna’s massive attire off, forgetting how it felt to wear clothes that actually decently fit you.

The top he’d handed you was clearly from some grunge store, thick lettering across the front with flames and guns and skulls, and the words METALLICA in bold.

Hopping your way out of the bathroom, you peered around the kitchen and living room to find it empty, but just past the open drapes you could see Sukuna tossing a bone, Uraume wagging their tail and chasing after it.

“What do you want?” You shot with venom on your tongue, waddling down the steps you’d come to know, spots where your weight would cause squeaks and to avoid protruding nails.

Sukuna folded his arms over his chest, watching you nearly snag your bandaged foot just to see the wrap come loose. He grunted, brushing past you and into his house in a mere few strides.

Your eyes dialed in on the ground before you, eyes narrowed in a focused reverie to avoid tripping and embarrassing yourself further.

Within seconds, Sukuna came back out with the first aid box and his hat, and wrapped a beefy arm around your midsection.

Your eyes flew wide, the world flipped upside down as your maw hung agape. Your vision met his back, effectively tossed over his shoulder in one fell swoop to have your stomach heaving.

You brought a hand down to smack his back, legs flailing as you desperately tried to pry yourself free. “Put me down, you oaf!” You shrieked, writhing in his grasp.

“Pipe down,” he growled, one bulging arm wrapped around the backs of your knees and the other carrying the first aid kit, effectively dwarfed in his meaty hand.

“No! I said put me—” You felt yourself begin to fall backwards, Sukuna’s hand cradling the back of your head as he laid you down on a patch of grass.

Blood drained from your face as you actualized the proximity.

One large arm was still cradled along your waist, his face mere inches from yours as his hand pressed into your scalp, draining any sense of rationality from your short-circuiting brain through his finger tips.

He then slid his hand from your head and allowed himself to steady upright by placing it beside your face in the greenery.

He smelled like Marlboro Reds.

Time felt still for a moment, eyes following the flow of the sooty work permanently decorating his face. You foolishly wondered if it hurt for him to get them—if he’d huff and grunt and blink back the tears while the artist endured whatever curses he spewed at them.

And in a rash and senseless motion, your finger reached up and skimmed the edge of his cheek, following the inky trail in nothing but mesmerization and keenness. His skin was unexpectedly soft.

You could feel Sukuna stiffen, his muscles tensing as an annoyed growl left his lips.

And then you couldn’t feel him anymore.

He sat up, mumbling something about how you needed to be placed into an insane asylum while he shuffled through the box in his grasp to pull out bandaids.

All you could do was stare up at the sky, wondering why your finger tip was cold.

His hands were cradling your calf, eyeing your wound suspiciously after he’d stripped it of the dressing. “You said you changed it.”

“I did.”

“So not only are you irritating, but you’re a liar, too,” he scoffed.

You couldn’t help the giggle you let out at that, not able to defend yourself as you’d kept forgetting to check the bandage.

His hands worked to clean your wound, not without you wincing and twitching in his hold, but he held firmly. The ointment was cool and sharp like ice, your hands digging into the dirt behind you as you watched him work.

Venerated, your eyes followed the trails of the wide ink markings across his arm that matched his face, curiously tilting your head as your mind worked. Reasons unbeknownst to you, wonder was stitched into every seam of your making.

Every here and there, he’d find your stare and cast you with a look that sent piercing daggers, to which you’d bite your cheek and peer away.

Still, you weren’t sure if you had much of a place to ask.

You’d fix your wide orbs on spots around you—watching as summer slipped into solstice arms, the world cast in a golden charm, a sweet and gentle surrender.

“It should only take a few more days before you can properly walk on it,” he stated, placing your leg on the grass once he’d finished. He averted his gaze from you, mindlessly staring at his front door, voice now lower. “You’re welcome to stay until then.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in return, eyes dancing across his stern side profile before your lip tugged upwards curiously. “Is this your way of apologizing to me?”

He scoffed, casting his cheek to you before laying on the ground beside you, a hand over his midsection as he pulled his hat over his face. “You talk too much.”

Wiggling your foot, you squinted your eyes as you eyed his careful patchwork. “You don’t talk enough.”

The next few minutes were silent, not stifling but easy. Like midsummer air.

You leaned back on your elbows, mere feet from Sukuna who’s breaths were slow and heavy. He must’ve fallen asleep.

It’d make sense. He’d had quite the day—you could only assume as a guy who chopped wood in his free time.

The skyline past the pine trees was spun orange hues melting into an auburn red, and you think that right between them could’ve matched Sukuna’s stark hair. It seemed well-kept, which was surprising for a man living on his own in the forest.

The brush tickled your arm, and most people would’ve found it uncomfortable to be splayed out on itchy grass but you found an odd warmth in it. It smelled of honeysuckle and damp moss.

You couldn’t see the sun past his house, but you assumed it was falling and kissing the skies farewell for now. Praying to see another day as the stars would soon glitter the horizon.

You dropped your head, a few twigs prodding your scalp, but you didn’t move.

You didn’t know how badly you’d needed quiet all this time.

Back home, you’d fall asleep to the bustling of late traffic and night owls, and awake to the early birds starting their day before they’d have their coffee and honk at each other like territorial mockingjays.

But now, all you could hear were the quiet chirps of canaries, the ticking of cicadas, and the steady breaths of the oaf beside you.

You glanced over, his hat covering his enter face, arms folded over his chest that lifted up and down rhythmically.

He was the kind of guy who’d have no issue falling asleep outside.

Uraume seemed to have given up on playing catch, calling it a night and pawing over to their dogshed.

It felt like you were the only person alive right now.

In your own little bubble, you were the only one to watch time patter on, not a single other pair of orbs to witness it.

Sun marked your bare calves, a soft burn that had every hair standing on edge as your brain dazed into a summer night's musing.

Your hand lifted over to the edge of his hat, carefully lifting it to take a peak.

Curling your fingertips against it, your slow deliberation worked in your advantage, earning a glance at Sukuna’s resting profile.

Those deeply marked creases that had been carved into him over time seemed to have come to rest, smoothing out his complexion into something gentler.

His jaw didn’t look clenched like it did whenever he was around you.

You wonder what he must be dreaming about. If he was dreaming.

However, your curious train of thought was quickly broken as you felt a pair of fingers wrap firmly around your wrist.

You let out a stifled yelp, flinching as your gaze followed Sukuna’s incredibly quick hand.

“What are you doing?” He grunted, expression hardening though he had yet to open his eyes.

“I- Uh—,” your heart thrummed in your chest, netted in the act of prodding once again to a man who forbade it so fervently. You needed to think quick. “You said you were going to show me something,” you whispered, voice mousy as you emphasized each word, confidence unraveling like caught thread.

He opened his eyes, casting his gaze over you. His arrant crimson irises flickered with something akin to fostered suspicion, before he loosened his firm grip and tugged his hat off. “Uh, yeah.”

You shivered, dropping your hand.

You ignored the scars you saw littering his knuckles.

Thankfully, his grip wasn’t tight or anything, just unmoving enough to make you jittery.

Rule of thumb: Don’t touch Sukuna. Got it.

You dropped your head back onto the grass, your heart thumping along with the calls of the crickets as your trepidation came to a slow halt.

“You said you’re from the city, right?” He dragged a hand across his face, then tossed it behind his head to rest against.

“Oh, yeah. Lived in Yokohama all my life.”

He was quiet for a few moments, sight fixed on the sky blankly, before he spoke up. “You ever sky gazed before?”

You rested your hands against your stomach, peering over at him with a curious and pure gleam coloring you like a child had just been introduced to dinosaurs. “I’ve never had the chance to. Light pollution and all…” you trailed off, looking back at the sky with wonder. “Can you see stars from here?”

He hummed. “But not until the sun is down.”

And so the two of you waited.

You’re not sure how long you did, lost in a quiet spell like you'd been placed in a doorway between reality and a tender dream.

All warm light drained, day sky devoured and replaced by a mix of blue and purple auroras to color the black canvas. Twinkling stars kissed midnight in white gleams.

Your lashes felt heavy, but your eyes were still full of intrigue and thrill.

For the first time since you could remember, you didn’t feel like the world was caving in on you. Like the world was just waiting for you to finally give in and be swallowed whole.

“I was invited to a wedding,” you blurted out, all sense of silence tucked beneath your tongue.

You couldn’t tell if Sukuna reacted, your eyes fixed on the flicker of a star.

Nevertheless, he stayed quiet.

“The invitation I received… it was from my ex-husband.” You breathed out, feeling your rigid shoulders droop.

A sinner perched in a confessional, misplaced and bitter and bruised. The only cold comfort was the moon tethered to the skies.

”Ex-husband, huh?” He queried, voice a distant whisper.

“Yeah. Divorced last year.”

And this time, Sukuna stirred—turning his head in his palm to fix you with an incredulous stare you couldn’t see but feel burning you. “Yer kidding.”

You chuckled, though it was nothing short of dry and pitiful. “Seems he found himself a proper wife. Weddings’ not too long from now.”

Sukuna eyes bore into you, heavy and thick with judgement. “Okay, then. So what?”

Your eyes met his, shoulders caging up once more. “What do you mean ‘what’?”

He broke your stare, lazily shrugging his shoulders as he looked back up, eyes registering nothing between him as the cogs in his mind spun. “Why’s it matter what he does?”

You opened your mouth, defenses already loading themselves, before you paused.

Why does it matter?

You found yourself staring at his side profile, fixed in nothing but displeasure despite his incredibly softening words.

You shouldn’t care—you could barely tolerate your ex-husband. And he clearly couldn’t tolerate you either.

Sukuna didn’t push. He didn’t need to know your story before stumbling upon you in the forest. He only sees what he has to deal with before you’re healed and out the door.

It was true, it shouldn’t matter. But you couldn’t shake that off as easily. You lived it.

Regrettably, the life of a wife was still engraved into every fiber you were composed of, bleeding into each sorry part and staining it for everyone to witness.

Or at least you thought. You wondered if everyone could see the chipped and cracked edges of you.

The grief had been so heavy, you had nowhere to place it—clung to you like a thick coat you couldn’t shed.

The years spent in a disgustingly loveless marriage to a sleazebag that looked at you like property, accused you and your womb of things no woman should hear.

The proud look on your parents faces when they saw that you were finally settling down, done with the prancing around as an unmarried woman of your age.

And to a man with such status, they couldn’t believe it to be true.

Neither could you. Not until you’d bore witness to his dull, true colors previously brightened with rose-tinted lenses.

You’d rushed into it—a rich, and dashingly charming man with dyed blonde hair. You’d been attracted to his arrogance, assuming it’d be tall enough to build the both of you up.

You were woefully wrong.

“So what’s your story?” You found yourself inquiring, worrying your lip between your teeth.

He scowled, nose scrunching as if he’d just smelled something putrid. “Not everyone’s got a sob story.”

You giggled, leaning on your palm as you watched him reject your entire being in real time. “You saying that is making me think you’ve got one,” you pushed with a grin, leaning closer.

His molars grinded against each other, wishing he could head inside and feed you to the wolves but it seemed the jagged edges of his common logic were frayed. “I ain’t got nothing to tell,” he growled, placing a hand against your looming face and shoving you away.

You gasped, but then began to paw off his claws with giggles, knowing you’d gotten under his skin. “How long have you lived here?” You started. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than you if anything, so it couldn’t have been too long.

“Long as I can remember,” he curtly replied.

Wow. “Alright, don’t have to go and tell me your whole life story,” you dryly and sarcastically taunted, itching your scalp in an attempt to ward off your irritation.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

You rolled your eyes, but still you were desperate for some conversation. “You get into a lot of fights?”

“Huh?”

You pointed at his knuckles, not even caring about your bluntness, to which he moved away as if you’d somehow burned him. “Your scars.”

He waited a beat before replying. “Something like that.”

You shrugged off his deflection with a ‘whatever,’ gaze lingering back towards the sky.

And like a magnet drawn to another, Sukuna felt oddly compelled to begin speaking. Yet, you beat him to the bush.

“I don’t think anyone noticed I got lost in the woods,” you whispered, hoping your quiet admission would disappear with the night.

Sukuna huffed indignantly, but you didn’t know what to make of it.

You brought a limp forearm to your face and casted it over your eyes lazily. “I wonder how long it’ll take for them to notice.”

Your tone was dry, but anyone could make out how defeated you sounded.

Sukuna’s mouth went dry, eyes dancing across the black canvas desperately. “Open your eyes.”

You groaned, tugging your arm off and glancing over at him.

He lifted an arm, pointing at the sky. “Over there.”

You followed his direction, pointer finger directed at a cluster of stars hung gracefully. “What am I looking at?”

He huffed. “You're not the smartest cookie in the jar. It’s a constellation.”

You beamed at the information, brushing over how he’d just insulted you. “Wait, wait! Where?” You sat up on your elbows, eyes fixed on the spot he pointed out.

“Follow my finger,” he mumbled, fingertip drawing out the constellation before your eyes.

And you did, eyes dragging with his, a childlike wonder twinkling in your irises.

“That constellation is-“

“Lupus.” You interrupted in awe, mouth hanging open slightly as you cocked your head, able to make out the creature's shape.

Sukuna’s eyebrow arched, surprised at your knowledge.

You gazed down at his sudden silence, moonlight casting an ethereal glow on your features, a soft simper on your lips. “Not the smartest but definitely close.”

Sukuna’s brows furrowed, irked at your sarcasm despite every nerve in his body betraying him. “Not that close.”

You shrugged, facing the sky again and hugging your knees.

Sukuna stared at your back, pulling his cigarette box from his pockets. He placed it between deft fingers, pulling it to his mouth before fumbling for his lighter and sliding his thumb against the spark wheel.

Within moments, the scent of smoke you easily could associate with Sukuna or the back alleys of Yokohama at night, wafted into your nostrils, making you scrunch your nose instinctively.

He hummed, the smoke billowing from his pursed lips.

“Give me one.”

Sukuna’s eyebrows raised. “City girl wants a smoker?”

You pushed air from your nose, unimpressed. “I just said that.”

He hesitated. “Have you ever smoked before?”

You remained quiet, shuffling uncomfortably.

Sukuna chuckled, low, enough to send goosebumps dancing across your bare skin that had nothing to do with a soft night chill. “Here.”

He sat up, shoving a hand into his pockets to dig out the box and handed you a cigarette. You held it awkwardly between your thumb and forefinger, eyeing it suspiciously and suddenly regretting your burst of confidence.

“It’s not gonna eat’cha,” he gruffed, jutting his chin at you.

You frowned, placing it between your lips.

“Cup your hands.”

You obeyed, curling them around the cigarette to avoid the breeze snuffing out the blaze.

He held the lit lighter against the butt, just for a few seconds. Enough for it to burn, sending smoke into your mouth and down your lungs.

You jerked away, coughing up a fit as it seared your insides, clinging to the lining of your esophagus and singeing the hairs in your nostrils.

Sukuna found an odd sense of humor in your distress. He took the cigarette from you and crushed it before tossing it somewhere, placing an arm behind your back on the grass and laughing to himself as his head lolled. “Not so bad, right?”

“The hell do you mean ‘not so bad?’” You retorted with a hoarse voice, wanting to dip yourself into a lake and clean yourself from the prints of smoking. “I feel like I just inhaled fumes.”

Sukuna cocked his head in thought, an uncharacteristic grin on his sharp features. “You technically kinda did.”

You glared up at him, the barely-there buzz from one hit tickling the edges of your psyche.

Sukuna peered down at you, the distance between you suddenly shortened.

He hollowed out his cheeks, his cigarette hanging between his middle and forefinger, before he inhaled it sharply through his mouth and out of his nose.

His expression was unreadable, as if wheels were turning in his mind, possibly trying to understand you.

Your eyes swam with skepticism, just 24 hours with this man and you couldn’t understand him. “Why’d you let me stay with you?”

He didn’t falter, just blinked at you for a moment, before looking away. “Dunno.”

You frowned at his reticence, but nonetheless bit your lip. Most people would’ve just given you directions and sent you off with thoughts and prayers, not bothering to take you in the way he did.

If you hadn’t run into Sukuna, who’s to tell you wouldn’t be dinner to a pack of wolves for the next few days, a forgotten corpse turned into nothing but a bag of bones.

You couldn’t help but question what kind of person he was.

“Gets quiet out here,” he started up again, pulling his knees up just to toss his arms over them. “Just me and that mutt.”

You stared wide-eyed at his large form beside you, an odd ache in your chest at his admission.

Who knows the last time he’d had a proper conversation with someone that wasn’t small talk at the work?

He peered over at you, his scowl flinching before he flicked his cigarette to the ground. “Fuck you makin’ that face for,” he grumbled.

You hadn’t even noticed the watery orbs you’d been giving him, shaking your head and wiping the backs of your hands on your eyes. “Shut up. I’m an empath.”

He snorted at that, wanting to shove your face again when he heard you sniffling. “You hungry?”

You nodded quickly, to which he rolled his eyes at.

He stood up, rising to his feet and dusting off his jeans. He grabbed his hat and jacket and strode back inside, you on his tail.

Shutting and locking the door behind you, you watched Sukuna’s form pace around the kitchen. Wandering over to the kitchen table, you plopped down and watched him work.

He’d grabbed his toaster from a cabinet, popping in a couple of chocolate chip Eggos from the freezer and searching for the pan you had used earlier that morning.

Your eyes felt heavy, the quiet clinking and clattering of Sukuna nearly lulling you to sleep, chin bobbing against your chest.

“Oi. Keep those eyes open, I’m not eating two servings,” he grunted, cracking a couple of eggs into the pan.

You adjusted in your seat, rubbing your eyes and yawning. When did it get so late?

Standing up, you wobbled over to the couch and laid down, nearly resigned to your exhaustion from cleaning all day.

Sukuna peered over at you skeptically, not even realizing he had been quickening his movements as your eyes threatened to shut.

But it was inevitable, your lashes fluttering and your breath steadying.

Sukuna grumbled something, placing both full plates on the coffee table minutes later and looming over you with a chagrined expression.

Within moments, he was snapping his meaty fingers in front of your face, breaking you from your slumber.

You flinched, sitting up and feeling your head spinning. Grumbling, you rubbed your eyes and leaned your head against the back of the couch.

Sukuna plopped down beside you, shoving a plate of waffles and eggs into your hands as if the two of you hadn’t eaten pancakes that same morning.

You were too tired to complain.

With low lids, you brought the fork to your lips and began eating in slow and heavy movements, like your limbs were caught in black tar.

Sukuna eyed you warily, afraid that you’d fall asleep into your plate and you’d somehow stab your eye.

“Aye. City girl. Finish your food.” He cracked open a beer with one hand, tossing it back in just a few gulps. You studied the way his Adam’s apple bobbed while he guzzled it down.

Shuddering, you tossed him a sleepy scowl. “I’m full.”

He passed you a glass of water, grabbing your plate with his and heading towards the kitchen to set it down. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

You let out a small burp after a sip, quickly covering your mouth and tossing him an awkward glance before shuffling in your seat. “I’m going to need a refresher.”

You didn’t actually need one.

Sukuna inhaled sharply at your feigned ignorance, hands placed beside the sink as he stared down, before pushing off and running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll let you help out. Don’t need to wire me nothin’ when you get back.”

You chuckled, grabbing a shopping bag to pull out some pajamas he’d bought for you. A grey satin set that probably cost far too much but you didn’t complain, it’d definitely keep you warm. “Okay. Thanks for this, Sukuna.”

“Whatever.”

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williamafton2030 · 1 day ago

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Mimic 2's entire story makes me want to cry a million times 💔😔😭

He was only created to imitate David, imposing this on him from the start. Unlike his "self" in the books, he never lived with David but imitates him because that's how Edwin wants him to be.

Then one day, while he's being what M1 and Edwin have forced him to be, Edwin arrives and destroys him. He destroys him for literally doing what he had ordered Mimic 2 to do. I can't even imagine how confused and terrified Mimic 2 must have been at that moment, but I'm sure he would look just like you drew him.

Mimic 2 is destroyed, and when he wakes up from the tremendous beating Edwin gave him, he stops imitating only David and starts imitating other people too because ends up being born of emotions. The problem is that Mimic 2 ends up being born from from a very negative emotion: anger and rage, and now it's completely aggressive and lethal… 💔😔

However, he's not bad, but Edwin once again conditioned him to be what he is now. This time, he's not forced to be someone he's not, but it's his fault that he's so aggressive. 💔😔

Mimic 2 also wants to be his own person, not an imposed one. That's why he rips off the metal box from his chest that has the Data Diver connector and also why he takes the Data Diver from Arnold.

He wants to be his own person, but unfortunately, he's filled with anger and rage because of Edwin… 💔😔

Also, it seems that he somehow also retains some memories of Mimic 1 (not the memories of what Mimic 1 is as Mimic Fiona, of what this program lived while it was in the "Mimic" endo, that is, before being in that big machine that looks like the MXES one in Ruin). I suppose it's because Mimic 1 and Mimic 2 shared the same world, and the memories may have been left behind. Even so, this doesn't make them the same at all, as they're very different from each other, but they share some memories.

Anyway, after reflecting on all of this, I'd like to tell you that the drawing is really good ❤️😊

I could really feel the fear Mimic 2 is feeling at that moment. Especially the way he shrinks and grabs the curtain… 💔😔

It breaks my heart to see him like that, really 💔😔

I wish I could get inside and help him, but unfortunately, it's impossible.

I just hope Mimic 2 can have a happy ending in the end 🙏

Because if he dies, I'm going to cry for three months straight 😭

I'm sorry M2, I lost my temper!

#fnaf #fnaf sotm #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddy's sotm #sotm spoilers #fnaf spoilers #fnaf edwin #fnaf mimic #fnaf mimic 2

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cheftsunoda · 3 days ago

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hiiii i’ve got a request for lando + magui!!! i was thinking of a scenario where reader is the best friend of one of magui, but has hooked up with lando! Magui figured out and instead of being mad, she seduces reader and they all three end up together!! i love you work!! i haven’t seen anyone request magui and lando together so i thought it would be a nice little change!!

complicated — ln4 + magui

smau + blurbs

lando norris x reader x magui corceiro

yn was not supposed to see him that night. not in that club. not under those lights. but there he was—lando norris. smiling, golden, drunk off something that looked a lot like heartbreak. yn hadn’t seen him in months, not since the last very public breakup with her best friend, magui. and as far as she knew, it was over. again. so yn danced with him, laughed, let her walls down, let her guard slip. one drink turned into three. his hands found her waist. her lips found his. and somewhere between midnight and regret, yn let herself forget who he was to her. but in the morning—when the makeup smudged and silence settled—she figured it out and the guilt hit like a freight train. yn never meant to hurt her. she was her ride-or-die. her other half. but when yn showed up to confess, to beg for forgiveness, magui didn’t cry. she didn’t yell. she only smiled, slow and sharp. “you could’ve just told me you wanted him,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind yn’s ear. “i would’ve shared.” and just like that, their entire world turned upside down.

fc : lily rowland

(a/n) : as on my kelly post— please no hate. i am simply doing what was requested of me. everyone has their own opinions on magui and they are entitled to those. if she makes lando happy, that is all that matters.

also i suck at writing smut and i attempted to write some slightly in this so do not hate me if it is horrible.

—

f1gossipgirls

2,790,002 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Supermodel YN LN was spotted in a Monaco nightclub in the early hours with none other than F1’s own Lando Norris. The pair were seen getting very close inside before slipping out together through the back entrance. Sources say Lando and longtime on-again, off-again girlfriend Magui Corceiro (who is yn’s bff btw) were recently back on… so this little rendezvous is raising a lot of eyebrows 👀

—

view 175,002 other comments.

username00 : not this man speedrunning his way out of a relationship again 💀💀

username0 : yn??? as in supermodel, cover-of-every-magazine YN??? oh lando won fr

username1 : you lose them how you get them🤷🏻‍♀️

username5 : nah yn and magui have been best friends forever. yn would never just randomly do this to magui. something is up.

username7 : v confused bc after the latest breakup yn was in the press cursing this man’s name

username10 : nah if I was Magui I’d be flipping a table rn.

username11 : someone check if magui unfollowed her rn. I NEED LIVE UPDATES.

—

The bass was so loud I could feel it in my chest, every beat syncing with my pulse like my body couldn’t tell where the music ended and I began. I was two drinks past responsible, three smiles past exhausted, and somewhere between pretending I was fine and actually starting to believe it. And then I saw him.

I didn’t mean to. He just—appeared. Out of nowhere. Like the room shifted and suddenly there was Lando, standing across the club like some kind of glitch in my night. I blinked, thinking maybe it wasn’t him. But no—same curls, same smirk, same way of holding a drink like he couldn’t care less but also wanted to be watched. And his eyes—of course—landed on me.

Of course they did. I froze. For a second, I thought about turning around, disappearing into the crowd, pretending I hadn’t seen him. But then he smiled. And I was fucked.

He made his way toward me like he had all the time in the world. My heart shouldn’t have jumped the way it did. Not for him. Not when he was Magui’s. Or—was he?

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, low and smooth, like we were friends and not two people who definitely shouldn’t be talking.

“Didn’t expect you to still be breathing after what you did to Magui last time,” I shot back, arching a brow.

He laughed—really laughed. That easy, boyish kind of laugh that used to make Magui melt and make me roll my eyes.

“She forgave me,” he said with a shrug. “Or she said she did. It’s… complicated.”

I shouldn’t have cared. But my stomach twisted anyway. Because complicated, to me, always sounded like unfinished. Still, I didn’t walk away. I let him step closer. Close enough to smell that stupid expensive cologne I used to tease him about. Close enough to forget every reason I had to keep my distance.

“Let me get you a drink?” he asked, tilting his head just a little. Like he already knew I’d say yes.

And I did. God help me, I did. Because in that moment—with the lights too low and my brain too soft—I forgot who he was to her. Or maybe I just didn’t want to remember. He handed me the drink — something clear, cold, and expensive — and leaned in just enough to make it look casual. Just enough to make my skin prickle.

“You look different,” he said.

I sipped. “That’s what happens when you don’t see someone for five months. People change.”

He gave me that smug half-smile. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

I didn’t answer. I let the silence stretch between us, heavy with everything unsaid. I could’ve walked away right then. Could’ve rolled my eyes, handed him back the drink, said “Tell Magui I said hi.” But I didn’t. I just… stayed.

“Still modeling?” he asked, like he didn’t already know. Like my face wasn’t plastered on billboards and magazine covers he drove past on the way to every circuit.

I gave him a look. “Still racing?”

He grinned, then took a slow sip of his own drink. “Touché.”

The music shifted — something deeper, smoother, the kind of track that made people lean in and lose their morals. I felt it in my spine.

He stepped a little closer. Too close.

“You and Magui still talk?” he asked. His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp.

I nodded. “We talk every day.”

“Even about me?”

I tilted my head. “Why? Want to know what she says?”

“Only if it’s good,” he murmured, and I laughed despite myself.

He smiled at the sound like he’d won something. Like he knew how dangerous this was and didn’t care.

“You really think this is a good idea?” I asked, finally meeting his gaze head-on.

“I think you look like you needed a good idea tonight,” he said softly. “And I think I did too.”

God. He was trouble. He was Magui’s trouble. But in that moment, under those lights, with the crowd fading into a blur and my brain begging for a break from the pressure—I didn’t feel like the girl who made the right choices.

I felt like the girl who was one wrong move away from doing something she couldn’t take back.

And when he reached out, fingers brushing against my wrist, I didn’t pull away.

I let him.

—

The lights were lower on the dance floor — dim and smoky, pulsing red and violet like the whole room was breathing in sync. The music shifted again, slower now, deeper. A beat made for moving close. For making mistakes.

Lando looked at me like he was waiting for a sign. I didn’t give him one. I just turned and walked toward the crowd.

I didn’t look back to see if he followed.

I didn’t need to.

The moment I stepped onto the floor, the music swallowed me. Arms in the air, eyes closed, hips swaying like I hadn’t been overthinking everything since the second I saw him. And then — there he was. Behind me. A hand lightly grazing my hip, like a question mark.

I didn’t stop him.

We moved like that for a while — not speaking, not looking, just feeling. The heat of his body behind mine, his chest at my back, one of his hands trailing down my arm as if he wasn’t sure where he ended and I began. Every movement, every breath, felt like a warning I didn’t listen to.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed the shell of my ear as he said, “Tell me to stop.”

I didn’t.

Maybe I couldn’t.

I turned to face him instead. His eyes were darker now, searching, daring. And before I could think better of it, before I could even breathe—he kissed me.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It was months of tension. Years of denial. A thousand unspoken what-ifs igniting in one split second. His hand tangled in my hair, mine fisting the front of his shirt. The world blurred around us. People danced, lights flickered, music pounded—and I didn’t care.

I kissed him like he belonged to no one. Like I wasn’t betraying my best friend. Like I didn’t already know this would ruin everything.

Because in that moment?

I just wanted to feel something.

And God, did I.

—

The kiss didn’t end so much as it broke. A breath, a beat, and then we were staring at each other like we didn’t recognize what we’d just done.

His lips were red, mine were tingling, and somewhere between the club lights and common sense, I let the words slip out:

“Let’s go.”

He didn’t ask where. He didn’t need to. We slipped out through the back — the same way all bad ideas leave clubs at 2 a.m. The air outside was cool and sharp against my flushed skin. A car was already waiting. Of course it was. Lando moved like a man who always expected the night to bend to him.

The taxi ride was quiet, except for the way his hand found mine between us. Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just there. Warm. Real. Dangerous.

He looked out the window. I looked at him.

“This is a bad idea,” I whispered.

“I know.”

I should’ve told the driver to turn around. I should’ve texted Magui. I should’ve said something that sounded like loyalty.

But instead, I followed him into the elevator, twenty-something floors up, heart in my throat and guilt already clawing at my ribs. He swiped his key. The doors opened.

The suite was sleek. Cold. Bigger than my apartment.

He shut the door behind us with a quiet click, and we stood there — still, silent — like if we didn’t move, the weight of what we were doing wouldn’t fall on us yet. Then he stepped forward. And so did I. It wasn’t rushed.

It was worse than that — slow. Careful. Reverent. His hands found my face, then my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek like he was trying to memorize the shape of regret.

“You don’t have to—” he started.

“I want to,” I said, before I could lie.

Clothes hit the floor like confessions we didn’t say out loud. Every touch felt wrong and right at the same time. His mouth was everywhere — my neck, my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder — and I let him have it all. Not because I didn’t know better. But because for one night, I didn’t care.

His skin was warm, his voice soft when he whispered my name against my throat, and I let myself fall into the way his hands knew exactly how to undo me.

And in the quiet moments in between — when his forehead pressed to mine, when our breaths synced, when he kissed me like I was something more than a distraction — I tried to forget that this wasn’t mine to have. That I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross. And that the person I loved most would never see me the same again.

—

I woke up to sunlight bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows, sharp and unforgiving. My head was pounding, my mouth dry, and the unfamiliar sheets were tangled around my legs like consequences I couldn’t shake off.

It took me all of three seconds to remember.

Lando. His skin. His hands. His mouth.

Last night.

I bolted upright, heart in my throat. The hotel suite was quiet, eerily so, except for the soft rustle of sheets beside me. I glanced over.

He was still asleep.

Hair a mess. Arm thrown carelessly over the pillow where I’d just been. Peaceful. Innocent-looking. Like he hadn’t just helped me commit emotional treason twelve hours ago.

I stood up, grabbing the first oversized shirt I could find — his, obviously — and stumbled toward my phone on the marble counter. Bad idea. Worst idea.

I had five missed calls, three texts from my agent, and a flood of notifications. Instagram, Twitter, even WhatsApp was lit up like a Christmas tree.

I opened one of the DMs. Then another. Then my stomach sank. There it was. A photo of us. Him. Me. The back exit. His hand on my lower back. My head tipped toward him like I was seconds from kissing him again. Oh my god.

“Oh my god,” I said aloud, louder than I meant to.

Lando stirred behind me. “Mm?” he mumbled, voice hoarse, eyes still closed. “You okay?”

“No,” I snapped, spinning around. “No, Lando, I’m not okay.”

He blinked at me, trying to sit up. “What’s going on?”

I held the phone out like it was evidence in a murder trial. “Are you with her?”

He squinted. “What?”

“Magui. Are you and Magui back together?”

He was silent for a second too long.

That was all the answer I needed.

“Oh my god.” My voice cracked. “I thought you were done. You said it was complicated. You let me think—”

“I didn’t let you think anything,” he said quickly, rubbing a hand down his face. “I said it was complicated. It still is. She and I—we weren’t official, not really—”

“Not really?” I echoed. “Lando, she’s my best friend. I just slept with my best friend’s on-again-off-again boyfriend.”

He sat up fully now, panic creeping into his eyes. “Okay, okay. Breathe. Look—we’ll handle it. I’ll talk to her.”

“No,” I said, stepping back, pulse in my ears. “I have to talk to her. I have to fix this.”

I didn’t know if she’d scream or cry or never speak to me again. But I knew one thing with gut-wrenching certainty. Last night had been a mistake. And no matter how good it felt in the moment, I wasn’t the kind of girl who could sleep with someone and pretend the fallout didn’t matter. Especially not when the person I could lose was the one I never wanted to hurt.

—

I didn’t call. I couldn’t. Because if I heard her voice — if she sounded angry, or hurt, or disappointed — I knew I’d fall apart before I could even apologize. So I just got in the car and went. The ride over was a blur. My stomach twisted the whole way there, hands shaking in my lap. My brain kept replaying the headline. The photo. The kiss. The choice I made.

Her building was too familiar. I’d been here a thousand times — hungover brunches, girls’ nights in, crying on her couch after heartbreaks we swore we’d never repeat. And now I was the one who broke the rules. I didn’t know what to expect when she opened the door. Screaming? Crying? A slap in the face? But instead, Magui just… stared at me.

Hair in a messy bun. No makeup. An oversized hoodie and a mug of coffee in her hand like it was just another Sunday. Her eyes flicked down to my face, then my outfit — still half in last night’s regret — and something in her expression shifted. I swallowed hard.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, the words falling out of my mouth like they were on fire. “I didn’t know you were back together. I never would’ve—Magui, I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you guys were done. I didn’t—”

“Stop,” she said, gently but firmly.

I froze.

She blinked at me. Then tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

I blinked back. “What?”

Magui stepped aside to let me in, shutting the door behind me like this was any other visit. Like I hadn’t just slept with the one person I was never supposed to touch.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” she added. “Did Lando freak out? Of course he did. Men are always worse at cleaning up messes they help make.”

I just stared at her.

“You’re not… mad?”

She let out a soft laugh. Not bitter. Not sharp. Just amused. “Mad? No. A little surprised you didn’t tell me? Maybe. But mad?” She shrugged. “I mean, I did say it was complicated. You’re not the first girl he’s kissed while we were technically on a break.”

I felt like the floor dropped out beneath me. “Magui, we didn’t just kiss…”

She smiled then — slow, sly, a little too knowing. “I figured.”

I stared at her, speechless. “Why are you being so calm about this?”

She took a sip of her coffee, then leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes locking with mine in a way that made something inside me buzz with nerves.

“Because,” she said simply, “if it had been anyone else, maybe I would’ve been pissed. But you?”

She stepped closer. Close enough to make my heart trip.

“You’re the only girl I’ve ever looked at and thought… maybe I wouldn’t mind sharing with.”

I forgot how to breathe.

“I’m serious,” she added, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You think I didn’t notice the way he looks at you? Or the way you look at me? Come on. I’ve seen the way you stare when you think I’m not looking.”

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

She laughed again, softer this time. “You didn’t betray me, querida. You just… exposed something we’ve all been ignoring.”

She stepped even closer, and my back hit the wall.

“So, now the real question,” she whispered, fingertips lightly grazing my wrist.

“What do you want?”

—

yn_ln

liked by lando, lewishamilton, magui_corceiro and 10,007,002 others.

yn_ln : girls cum first!

tagged : magui_corceiro

—

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username00 : everyone SHUT UP. mothers r mothering together even after that MAN tried to ruin it.

liked by yn_ln and magui_corceiro

magui_corceiro : as they always should ;)

liked by yn_ln

franciscagomes : my girliesss ily

liked by yn_ln and magui_corceiro

username0 : why is lando in the likes?? get out.

↳ username1 : half the grid are in her likes tbh. don't blame them.

lando : cheeky 👀

liked by yn_ln and magui_corceiro

↳ alex_albon : i am so fucking confused.

liked by yn_ln and lando

↳ lilymhe : me too but yn is so hot that i am distracted

liked by yn_ln, magui_corceiro and lando

lewishamilton : Stunning as always, YN.

liked by yn_ln

↳ yn_ln : charming as always, mr. hamilton.

liked by lewishamilton

—

I left that conversation rather open...I wasn't sure what to say. And naturally, Magui texted me the next morning like nothing had changed.

Lunch? My treat. You owe me a story.

A winky face. A heart. And I guess… I went. Maybe because I owed her more than just a story. Or maybe because a part of me still hadn’t processed the night before — the way she looked at me, the way her hand grazed my wrist, how her words wrapped around my neck like a silk ribbon I didn’t know what to do with.

You’re the only girl I’d ever share with.

I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. So I met her at this rooftop café she loved — the kind with overpriced salads, glittering glassware, and the best view of the city. She was already there when I arrived, tucked into a corner booth like a summer goddess in a tiny white dress and gold hoops that caught the sunlight like they had a grudge against everyone else trying to look good.

She looked up, smiled, and waved me over. “You’re late.”

I sat down, suddenly self-conscious in my little black tank and messy bun. “You’re insufferably early. What’s new?”

She laughed — this soft, lazy sound that made my skin buzz. “You look tired.”

“You look smug.”

“I slept better than you, apparently.”

I didn’t reply. She knew exactly why I hadn’t slept. And the fact that she was smiling about it made me dizzy. We ordered — iced coffees, ridiculous truffle fries, something green we wouldn’t finish — and the conversation drifted. Travel. Work. A red carpet she was skipping. A shoot I had next week in Milan. But then she leaned in, chin resting in her hand, eyes fixed on me like she was trying to peel me open.

“Are you still overthinking everything?” she asked, voice low.

I blinked. “I’m not overthinking.”

“You’re literally chewing your straw, meu amor.”

I dropped it instantly. She smiled, then slid her foot against mine under the table — gentle, deliberate.

“You do that thing when you’re nervous. Your shoulders get tight.” Her fingers brushed the top of my arm. “Like this.”

I swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re spiraling. And for what?” she said, sitting back, picking up a fry like we were talking about the weather. “You made one bad decision.”

“You mean sleeping with your boyfriend?”

Her brows lifted. “Ex-ish. On-again-off-again. Technicality territory. And don’t forget the part where I’m not mad about it.”

“Yeah, I still don’t get that part.”

She tilted her head, eyes glittering. “That’s because you keep thinking in black and white. But people… we’re messy. And maybe I like messy.”

Her voice was soft, but her meaning hit sharp. She reached for my hand — just like that, like it was natural — and started tracing lazy circles over my knuckles with her thumb. It was… grounding and electric all at once. I stared at her, a thousand questions racing through me, none of them landing.

“I like you,” she said. “You know that, right?”

I nodded, because my voice had stopped working.

“And maybe this whole thing isn’t about me and Lando,” she added, eyes locked with mine. “Maybe it’s always been about you.”

I exhaled, shaky. She smiled again — that slow, dangerous kind of smile that made it very clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Come out with me tonight,” she said, casually, like it wasn’t a dare. “Just us. No cameras. No pressure. Just… me and you.”

And the way she looked at me — confident, knowing, patient — it made something inside me unravel.

“Okay,” I said, barely above a whisper.

She squeezed my hand. “Good girl.”

And just like that, I was spiraling again — but for an entirely different reason.

—

By the time I made it to the bar, my heart was already pounding. She was waiting for me near the back, in some dimly lit corner of the rooftop lounge. Black dress. Slicked-back hair. That familiar smile like she’d been watching me from the second I walked in.

“Hi, pretty girl,” she said as I slid into the seat next to her.

“Hi.”

She handed me a drink — something pink, bubbly, a little too sweet.

“Drink. Relax. You’ve been thinking too hard since Wednesday.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

We clinked glasses. She kept looking at me over the rim of hers like she could see every nerve firing inside my brain. And somehow, that didn’t scare me as much as it should’ve. We talked. Laughed. Shared fries and made fun of people’s shoes. It felt good. Too good, almost — too easy, too safe, like forgetting how complicated this all really was. But every time our knees brushed under the table, or our fingers touched reaching for the same thing, something tugged at me. Something warm. Something dangerous.

“Do you remember Milan?” she asked suddenly, swirling her straw in her drink.

I blinked. “Which part?”

“That night we stayed in, ordered pizza, and danced around in that ugly hotel robe you stole?”

I laughed. “It wasn’t ugly. It was iconic.”

“You wore it like a runway piece. Of course you did.” Her gaze dropped to my lips for just a second. “I wanted to kiss you that night.”

The air left my lungs. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, because I didn’t know what I was about to say — or whether I should say anything at all.

She leaned closer, her voice low. “Did you want me to?”

I couldn’t lie. Not to her. Not now.

“…Yeah,” I whispered. “I think I did.”

Her eyes softened. She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers brushing along my cheek. The city lights flickered around us, but everything else faded. She didn’t rush. She gave me space — the kind that feels like a question. And when I didn’t pull back… she kissed me. Soft at first. Intentional. Her lips warm, familiar, curious. Like she was asking permission even now — and I gave it to her without hesitation. The kiss deepened, just enough to make my fingers curl into the fabric of her dress. Just enough to feel it — not lust, not confusion, but something slower. Heavier. Real. When she pulled away, her forehead rested gently against mine.

“I’ve been waiting for you to catch up,” she whispered.

“I think I just did.”

She smiled, her thumb stroking my jaw. “Good. Because I’m not sharing you tonight.”

And for once — for the first time in days — my heart didn’t panic. It fluttered.

—

third person pov

Magui was already in his kitchen when he walked out, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, his hoodie hanging off one shoulder, and she was drinking his almond milk straight from the carton like she owned the place. She did that sometimes. Acted like the apartment was hers. Acted like he was.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"You’re out of coffee pods. Again."

He blinked at her. “Did you break in?”

“Spare key,” she said sweetly, setting the carton down. “And a very compelling reason.”

He raised a brow, stepping around her to pour a glass of water. “Let me guess. This has something to do with YN.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just gave him a look — the kind that meant yes, obviously and don’t play dumb, Norris.

Lando leaned back against the counter, glass in hand. “You kissed her, didn’t you?”

Magui tilted her head. “She kissed me back.”

That made his chest tighten. Not with jealousy — something softer. Something almost excited.

“Is she freaking out?” he asked.

“A little,” Magui admitted, walking toward him. “But not in a bad way. She’s thinking. Feeling. I can see it on her. She’s not confused about what she wants, just scared to admit she wants both.”

Lando smirked. “She’s not the only one who should be scared.”

Magui leaned against the counter beside him, shoulder brushing his. “We’re not dangerous, Lando. We’re just honest. For once.”

He looked down at her. “You think she’d go for it? Us. Together.”

Magui nodded without hesitation. “I think she already is. She just doesn’t know how to name it yet.”

He was quiet for a moment, replaying every second of that night with YN. The way she kissed like she didn’t know how to stop. The way she looked at him like she wanted something more, even if she didn’t dare ask for it. And now… she was looking at Magui the same way.

“We can’t push her,” he said carefully. “She’ll bolt.”

Magui smiled, slow and sharp. “Who said anything about pushing?”

Lando looked at her — her confidence, her calm, her certainty. The way she always made chaos feel like a controlled burn. He exhaled slowly.

“So what’s the plan then?”

She grinned. “We love her. Loudly. Softly. Patiently.”

“And if she runs?”

Magui shrugged. “We follow.”

She picked up her phone, tapping out a message with a knowing glint in her eye. “Let her think she’s in control.”

Lando raised a brow. “You’re scary.”

Magui winked. “You love it.”

Magui was already typing out a text to YN.

Drinks tonight? Our place? Bring your pretty mouth and better excuses this time. x

YN’s name lit up below it, typing. Lando didn’t have to read the reply to know she’d say yes. And this time, they wouldn’t let her slip away.

—

your pov

I wasn’t sure why I said yes. Maybe because I didn’t know how to say no. Maybe because a part of me wanted to test what the hell this even was. Or maybe… because deep down, I wanted it. Them. Both of them. I told myself it was just drinks. A casual hang. Something chill. But nothing about stepping into that apartment felt casual.

Lando opened the door with a smirk that was entirely too smug for someone wearing sweatpants and a tight black tee that should’ve been illegal.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, eyes doing a slow sweep of me like I was already undone. “You came.”

“Yeah, well… free alcohol is hard to turn down.”

He chuckled and stepped aside to let me in. The place smelled like something warm and expensive — wood, vanilla, him. The lights were low, music playing faintly from the speakers. Nothing too loud. Nothing that could distract from the fact that he was the only one here.

I glanced around. “Magui not here yet?”

“She’s… around,” he said cryptically. “She’ll be out soon.”

I frowned, but before I could question it, he handed me a glass. Something chilled. Bubbly. Of course.

He gestured toward the couch. “Sit with me.”

So I did. We sat close — not touching, but too near to pretend the tension wasn’t already thick in the air. His knee brushed mine when he shifted. His gaze kept dropping to my lips every time I sipped from my glass.

“You look good,” he said after a beat.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything. Just telling the truth.”

I looked away, suddenly very aware of how warm my skin felt.

“You’ve been different lately,” he added, softer now. “Since… that night.”

“You mean the night we shouldn’t talk about?”

He tilted his head. “You regret it?”

I hesitated. Too long.

“I regret not knowing what it meant,” I admitted.

His eyes darkened, but there was something gentle behind it. “What if it didn’t have to mean one thing? What if it could mean something new?”

I swallowed, unsure what to say — and then I heard her voice.

“Stop hogging her, baby.”

I turned. Magui leaned against the hallway doorframe in a short silk robe and nothing underneath if my eyes were telling the truth. Her hair was loose, her makeup soft, but her smile was all bite. My heart skipped. She walked toward us slowly, like she had all the time in the world. Like this was normal. Like I was hers.

She dropped onto the couch on my other side, tucking herself in close so her thigh pressed against mine. Lando was already on the other side of me, his arm draped along the back of the couch. I was boxed in — not by force. By gravity. Magui reached for my hand, traced my knuckles like she had at lunch, and looked at me like she already knew how this ended.

“We want you,” she said simply. “No games. No secrets. No ‘what are we.’ Just truth.”

Lando leaned in closer, lips ghosting the curve of my shoulder. “Only if you want us too.”

The air felt electric. Like I’d been caught in the eye of a storm I didn’t even realize I walked into. Their hands were soft. Their eyes held no pressure — only promise. And for the first time since all of this started, I didn’t feel guilty. I felt wanted. I set my glass down slowly, heart racing.

And whispered, “Then show me.”

I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t need to.

Magui’s lips were on mine before I could take another breath — soft and certain, like she’d been waiting for that moment since the very first time we locked eyes. Her fingers slid up my neck, threading into my hair, pulling me closer like she wanted to taste every part of my hesitation and replace it with her own rhythm.

Lando’s hand brushed my thigh, grounding me. The contrast between them was dizzying — her kiss was honey and heat, while his touch was fire and restraint. He leaned in behind me, his mouth at my ear.

“Tell us if it’s too much,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “We’ll stop whenever you want.”

But I didn’t want to stop. I wanted more. I turned, catching Lando’s mouth with mine, my fingers clutching the front of his shirt. His kiss was hungrier — less patient than Magui’s, like he’d already had me once and had been thinking about it every night since. When Magui’s lips found the edge of my jaw, trailing kisses down to my throat, I let out a quiet sound I couldn’t hold back.

Their hands moved in tandem — hers on my waist, sliding beneath my top, and his slipping under the hem of my skirt, fingertips tracing just enough to make me shiver. I was caught between them, quite literally — all breath and skin and want. Every shift brought a new sensation: Lando’s lips hot on my collarbone, Magui’s nails grazing down my side, the press of their bodies against mine like they were rewriting me together.

“You’re a little excited,” Magui whispered, but she was smiling — not teasing, not cruel. “You feel everything, don’t you?”

I nodded, eyes fluttering shut as her hand slipped beneath my bra, cupping me in a way that made my breath hitch. Lando was behind me now, kissing the curve of my shoulder, sliding the straps of my top down with maddening control.

“Let us take care of you,” he said against my skin. “Let us have you.”

And I let them. They undressed me like they’d done it before — like they’d thought about this, dreamed about it. Every layer peeled away carefully. No rush. No shame. Just reverence. Magui laid me back on the couch, her mouth returning to mine while Lando’s hands parted my thighs, slow and sure. He kissed up the inside, murmuring things I couldn’t quite catch — words that vibrated against my skin and made my stomach clench. And when Magui trailed kisses down my chest, Lando’s mouth replaced her lips on mine, and I felt the rhythm of both of them, their energy folding over me, touching everywhere at once — I gave in.

To the sensation. To the safety. To them.

Hands and mouths, warmth and wetness, soft gasps and low groans — it all blurred together in a haze of pleasure and trust. Every time I cried out, Magui kissed it from my lips. Every time I arched, Lando held me steady. I wasn’t just wanted — I was worshipped. And when they finally brought me over the edge, both of them watching, touching, kissing, whispering my name like it was something holy — I realized this wasn’t about chaos or confusion anymore. It was about belonging. They didn’t just seduce me. They claimed me. Together.

—

I woke up warm. Not just from the sunlight slipping through half-drawn curtains or the lingering heat between my thighs, but from the weight of them — Magui curled against my back, Lando draped over my front, his arm looped around my waist like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. For a moment, I didn’t move.

I just breathed. Let myself exist in the stillness of it. The calm after the storm. My skin still tingled, my lips were swollen, and my body ached in that delicious, heavy way that only came after being touched exactly how you needed.

Magui stirred behind me first, her nose brushing against the back of my neck.

“Mmm… you’re awake,” she murmured, her voice husky and warm with sleep.

I smiled into the pillow. “Barely.”

Lando made a soft sound of protest from the other side of me and nuzzled closer, his arm tightening around my waist. “Too early,” he mumbled. “Five more years.”

Magui giggled, her hand slipping up to rest gently over my heart. “You’re such a baby.”

“You wore me out,” he shot back, voice still heavy with sleep, but amused.

“You’re welcome,” I muttered, which earned a soft hum of approval from both of them.

We laid there for a while, tangled together in a silence that wasn’t awkward. It was… easy. Like we were exactly where we were supposed to be. It should’ve felt confusing. Maybe even wrong. Instead, it felt like peace.

Eventually, I turned onto my back, both of them shifting with me like we were connected by something invisible. Magui propped her head on her hand, looking down at me with that slow, unreadable smile of hers.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

I nodded, eyes flicking between them. “Yeah. Actually… I think I am.”

Lando stretched, looking far too pleased with himself for someone whose curls were a complete mess. “Told you we’d take care of you.”

“You also told me you wouldn’t fall asleep immediately after,” I teased.

“That’s slander.”

Magui laughed and leaned down, pressing the gentlest kiss to my shoulder. “We’re serious, you know.”

I looked up at her. “About…?”

“You,” she said. “Us.”

Lando’s fingers found mine beneath the sheets. “Only if you want it.”

I swallowed, staring at the ceiling for a moment — then at them. Their eyes, still soft. Their hands, still on me like I was something worth holding onto.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said honestly. “Or what it means yet.”

Magui nodded, unbothered. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Lando pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. “We’re not going anywhere.”

—

yn_ln

liked by magui_corceiro, lando, alexandrasaintmleux and 11,007,007 others.

yn_ln : no comment. just my recent chaos.

tagged : lando and magui_corceiro

—

view 777,213 other comments.

username00 : um are we ignoring the literal kiss with her and magui???

↳ username0 : i feel like they r just close like that. what we really are ignoring is lando making the dump and the last photo...that is clearly A MANS hand.

carlossainz55 : no entiendo nada pero me encanta

liked by yn_ln

↳ carlossainz55 : also choosing to ignore the fact that you are a barcelona fan 🤮

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↳ yn_ln : visca el barçaaaaaaaaaa baybeeeeeee

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username1 : this post has LORE and I’m here to decode it 🔍

magui_corceiro : your chaos is my favorite kind. 💋

liked by yn_ln

↳ yn_ln : need another kiss rn

liked by magui_corceiro

↳ magui_corceiro : on my way babes

↳ lando : ME TOOOOO WAIT FOR ME

liked by magui_corceiro and yn_ln

↳ username5 : officially so fucking confused

↳ alex_albon : get on the train. i've been confused for weeks and i know these people.

liked by lando, yn_ln and magui_corceiro

—

Magui and I boarded first, sunglasses on, coffee cups in hand, sliding into the plush cream leather seats like we did every time. She claimed the window seat immediately, like always. I stretched out beside her, barefoot already, and pulled a blanket over both our laps.

Lando arrived five minutes late, hoodie up, sleep in his eyes, and dragging a backpack he hadn’t even bothered to zip. He dropped into the seat across from us with a groan and zero grace.

“This was a mistake,” he muttered, muffled into the seat cushion.

“You begged to come with us,” Magui said, sipping her drink. “Don’t act like a hostage.”

“You’re both insufferable,” he mumbled.

“You’re lucky we let you sit near us,” I added sweetly.

He cracked one eye open and gave me a lazy smile. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes without me.”

“Is that a challenge?” Magui quipped, raising a brow.

Lando rolled his eyes, but didn’t move — just kicked his feet up, stretched his legs across the aisle, and left one hand lazily draped over the armrest… which “just happened” to brush against my leg.

The hum of the engines and soft clink of glassware blended into that peaceful kind of silence only private flights could give you — no strangers, no press, no noise except the occasional comment from Magui when she found something ridiculous on Pinterest.

“You two are freakishly coordinated,” Lando said at one point, glancing at our matching claw clips and identical socks. “It’s like watching a cult.”

“They’re bows,” Magui said without looking up. “And you’re just mad you can’t pull them off.”

“You’re terrifying,” he replied, sipping his orange juice. “Both of you.”

Magui reached across me to tug on his hoodie string. “Jealous you weren’t invited to the slumber party.”

“I was invited,” he said, smirking now. “I’m the emotional support.”

I grinned. “You’re just here for the snacks.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who ate three croissants before takeoff.”

“Self-care,” I said. “Don’t be a hater.”

Magui leaned her head on my shoulder and whispered, “He’s pouting. It’s kind of hot.”

Lando groaned. “I swear, one day I’m gonna walk off this jet mid-air.”

“Do a flip,” I whispered back.

We all fell asleep eventually — the kind of hazy, luxurious nap only a jet could grant you. Magui had her head in my lap, her hand loosely around my wrist. Lando had stretched out across two seats, one leg hanging off, one hand still brushing my ankle like even in his sleep he couldn’t help it. I woke up first. The cabin was warm and quiet, lit only by the afternoon sun pouring through the windows. I reached for my phone and opened my camera roll — scrolled through blurry selfies, Magui’s bare shoulder under hotel sheets, Lando kissing my cheek in a moment I didn’t even remember capturing. One photo stopped me: the three of us tangled on the bed, laughing, undone, us. I saved it to my favorites.

Lando stirred across from me, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with sleep. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Just thinking.”

He smiled, slow and sleepy. “Still weird?”

I looked down at Magui’s face, peaceful in sleep, curled into me like she belonged there. My fingers grazed the side of her arm.

“No,” I said. “Not weird at all.”

He nodded like he already knew.

Then he muttered, “Still want snacks though.”

And just like that, we were back to normal — whatever our version of that was now.

—

The room was quiet, warm, filled with the kind of stillness that only happens when you’ve run out of words — not because there’s nothing to say, but because nothing needs to be said. Magui sat at the edge of the bed, brushing out her damp hair in one of Lando’s oversized t-shirts, legs bare, skin glowing from her evening skincare routine. Lando was on the couch by the window, hoodie pulled over his curls, legs stretched out, staring out over the lights of the city below like he was trying to slow the world down before race day hit him full force. I stood somewhere in the middle — between them, between sleep and thought, between this is happening and this is mine.

“You’re pacing,” Magui said softly, not looking up.

“I’m thinking,” I replied.

Lando didn’t move from the window, but I saw his smirk in the reflection. “Same thing, if you’re her.”

I rolled my eyes, finally making my way toward the bed. Magui reached for me instantly, like she was waiting. Her fingers curled around my wrist, pulling me down beside her, one leg draping lazily over mine.

“You’re allowed to just be,” she murmured.

“Hard habit to break.”

Lando joined us a minute later, dropping beside me with a sigh that sounded more like relief than exhaustion. He leaned his head on my shoulder, his hand reaching for Magui’s without a word. She laced her fingers through his, like they’d done it a thousand times. Like this had always been the plan.

“Big day tomorrow,” I said, even though none of us really needed to hear it aloud.

He hummed. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got my good luck charm.”

I raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

He looked up at me. Then at Magui. “Both of them.”

Something soft cracked open in my chest. Magui leaned in first, pressing a gentle kiss to my shoulder. Lando followed, brushing his lips just under my jaw — not rushed, not heated, just there. Warm and steady. Real. The three of us shifted until we were lying back on the bed, limbs overlapping, tangled in sheets and skin and something too new to name but too certain to ignore. Magui’s head rested over my heart. Lando’s arm wrapped around my waist, thumb tracing lazy patterns into my ribs. I stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of them both and the strange lightness they brought with them.

“I still don’t know what this is,” I whispered.

Lando kissed my collarbone. “It’s whatever we want it to be.”

“No rules,” Magui added sleepily, “just honesty.”

“And lots of kisses,” Lando said. “That’s non-negotiable.”

I laughed — a small, genuine sound that only came out when I felt safe.

Magui looked up at me, her lashes fluttering. “You feel safe now?”

I nodded, threading my fingers through her hair. “I think I’ve never felt safer.”

Lando kissed the top of my head. “Then we’re doing something right.”

We fell asleep like that — wrapped up in each other, quiet and full and whole in a way I hadn’t known I was missing until they gave it to me. And for the first time before a race weekend… I didn’t feel like I was waiting for something to fall apart. I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

—

f1gossipgirls

4,001,005 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Double Trouble? YN and Magui Corceiro Seen in the Paddock — Together — Supporting Lando Norris. If you thought one blonde beauty in the paddock was enough to raise eyebrows, try two. Spanish Supermodel YN and Portuguese starlet Magui Corceiro were both spotted at the Grand Prix this weekend — and let’s just say, the energy was not subtle. Fans captured photos of the two women chatting and laughing with Lando Norris’ mum, hinting at a comfort level that goes way beyond casual friends or supportive exes.

Even more interesting? Sources say YN was seen sharing a quick kiss with Norris just before he stepped into the garage — while Magui stood nearby, smiling like she was in on the secret. The trio haven’t commented on the growing speculation about their relationship dynamic, but between matching outfits, late-night Instagram stories, and now a cozy chat with Lando’s mother, the rumors practically write themselves. No confirmation yet — but the paddock tension? It’s giving poly-coded. Stay tuned.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

It started with a hand on my back. Light. Barely there. But unmistakably his. Lando didn’t say anything at first. Just stood behind me while I talked to one of the PR girls I’d met a few races ago, his hand grazing my lower back like a casual habit. Like he’d done it a hundred times. Like it didn’t make my entire body burn. Magui was a few feet away, talking animatedly to one of the McLaren engineers like she owned the place — laughing, gesturing, a vision in low-rise jeans and a vintage racing jacket that I swore she stole from Lando’s closet. She caught my eye mid-sentence. Winked. I nearly choked on my water.

People didn’t really question why I was here anymore. I was “friends with the team.” A face they’d gotten used to. But there was something different now. The way I moved between them — between him and her. The way Lando didn’t flinch when his hand slipped around my waist in front of the crew. The way Magui tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear while we waited by the garage, like it was just something she did. It all felt natural. Dangerous. Beautiful.

I stood next to Magui during quali, both of us in sunglasses and team colors, and didn’t miss the subtle glances from the photographers — the way lenses lingered, not quite sure what they were catching. Lando walked past at one point, suit half on, helmet in hand. He slowed just enough to tap my waist and press a kiss to my temple.

“You good?” he murmured.

“Always,” I whispered back.

He smiled, then turned to Magui. “You behaving?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, grinning.

He jogged off and left us both standing there, half-laughing and trying not to look too pleased with ourselves. Later, we found ourselves in hospitality, tucked in a quiet corner. Magui sat with her legs thrown over mine, her fingers brushing patterns into my knee while I scrolled through photos from the day. Lando slid into the booth beside us like he’d been summoned.

“Tired?” he asked, nudging his thigh against mine.

I nodded. “You race. I survive the chaos you cause.”

He smirked. “Same thing.”

Someone across the room was definitely taking pictures. I could feel it. But neither of them seemed to care. And somehow, for once, neither did I. Because this was ours. And whether the world knew or not…I did.

—

It was too hot to be drinking tea, but Lando’s mum had insisted — and honestly, when Cisca offered something, you didn’t say no. We were at the back of the McLaren hospitality unit, tucked away in a little lounge area with floral mugs, little lemon biscuits, and an aggressive air conditioning unit humming above us.

Magui was cross-legged beside me, one arm draped lazily over the back of the cushioned bench, her head tilted to watch Cisca with that familiar, amused fondness she reserved for only a handful of people. I stirred my tea, more for something to do with my hands than anything.

Cisca smiled at us both over the rim of her cup. “You girls travel more than he does. It’s impressive.”

Magui grinned. “We’re emotional support. Jet-lagged, over-caffeinated support.”

Cisca laughed — that kind of low, knowing laugh that made you feel like you were in on something.

“He’s been different,” she said, not looking at either of us directly. “Happier.”

My heart flipped. Magui reached for a biscuit, broke it in half, and offered me the bigger piece without thinking. “He’s got a lot to be happy about.”

Cisca gave us both a look — not suspicious, not surprised. Just observant. The way mothers are. And then, after a quiet beat: “I don’t need to ask questions,” she said, taking another sip. “I’ve been around long enough to know love when I see it.”

I blinked. My fingers tightened around the mug. Magui, as always, recovered first. “Is this the part where you say you’ll kill us if we break his heart?”

Cisca shook her head, smiling. “No, darling. This is the part where I say thank you — for looking after him. And each other.”

Something cracked open in my chest. All the nerves, all the quiet what-ifs I hadn’t even let myself voice, slipped a little further away. Because it wasn’t just approval. It was acceptance. Magui bumped her knee against mine under the table, and I felt her fingers brush mine softly, like she was checking if I was okay. I didn’t say anything. But I smiled — and squeezed back. And maybe for the first time in this whole strange, beautiful mess of a relationship… I let myself believe it was real.

—

lando

liked by yn_ln, magui_corceiro, carlossainz55 and 15,001,004 others.

lando : B-O-A-F. BOAF? BOAF.

love my girls

tagged : yn_ln and magui_corceiro

—

view 778,004 other comments.

username00 : we need a lando masterclass bc how did he pull them both????

↳ lando : my big d-

↳ yn_ln : what can i say? he is a charmer.

liked by lando and magui_corceiro

carlossainz55 : this is quite literally the most lando way to hard launch.

liked by lando, yn_ln and magui_corceiro

danielricciardo : i leave and suddenly you know how to talk to girls.

liked by lando, yn_ln and magui_corceiro

↳ lando : i know how to do more than talk

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↳ yn_ln : lando.

liked by lando and danielricciardo

↳ lando : sorry mom- mommy.

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oscarpiastri : the math still is not mathing on how you got even one of them let alone the both of them but i am...happy for you. slightly impressed even.

liked by lando, yn_ln and magui_corceiro

—

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earthsparked · 2 days ago

Note

Seekers are weird birds head cannons my beloved

Do you know those gliding wingsuits? Imagine a human wearing one of those and gliding in a mountain range. Unfortunately, that area is considered deception territory, and one of the elite seeker trine is sent out to investigate. As soon as the human is spotted, however, any cohesive thoughts are out the window because they look like a seekerling. That is a baby seeker alone in the cold!! Where is it's trine?? Baby alone and cold?? Seekers are highly social and very protective of their young, so for them, it's instinct to take care of any seekerlings they can find (I'm imagining either Skywarp or Thundercracker as the yoinker). They bring the human back to hq, and Starscream is infuriated

SS: How. How do you confuse a human for a seekerling?!

SW: BUT look at how stinking CUTE it is?! *holds up human*

TC:...They are really cute, and so small...

SS *beating back the bird emotions because frag the human does look like a seekerling but almost cuter because soft and small*:...Fine. But you both are taking care of it!!

Poor human has just accepted their fate. But it's not actually that bad, all things considered. They get three extra friends to go flying with and get to hang with giant robots. The only problem is that they have three giant fighter jets posted up in their backyard (the human threatened to never go flying with the trine again if they didn't bring them back home).

That’s so cute 😭 I love the concept of wingsuiting! It’s really one of those purely human bad ideas that sound like it shouldn’t be done ever, but you see a video of it and…damn that’s cool.

Bird-Seekers and their new fledgling. Trying so hard to teach you to fly their way, but you can’t. You just know Starscream is going to make Shockwave make you a tiny jetpack or something. Jet powered hang glider.

…Or just teach you to fly in their alt modes. Then you come home one day and they’ve stolen a Eurofighter Typhoon for you and it’s just in your backyard. It’s a shame you weren’t born with wings, but you earned the sky. The trine is now a quartet.

Bonus point for them trying to feed you. And/or pushing you off cliffs to get you to fly. Because fledgling. And puffing up their armor and nesting on you. Defending you from anyone that’s not a Seeker.

Megatron unwisely walking into the Seekers quarters, which now resembles a giant nest filled with takeout containers: Starscream! Why isn’t your trine on patrol -

Megatron: gets treated to a three-Seeker chorus of broody velociraptor noises and afterburner engines screaming at him

#earthsparked asks #transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers first contact au #human distribution system

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 day ago

Text

close to you

Summary: After Jackson gets attacked by infected Tommy tells you that patrol lost contact with Joel. When the exhaustion and the worry of the day catches up with you, you fall asleep, startling awake when Joel comes back home to you, just like he promised.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.1k

Rating: E

Warnings: established relationship, a mini fix it fic, a touch of angst, mostly smut (unprotected sex), feelings and fluff

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

Through the haze of sleep you noticed someone slipping into bed, hands reaching out, strong arms pulling you against something warm.

Sighing you let yourself fall into the embrace, feeling someone kiss your shoulder.

„You’re home?“ You mumbled sleepily before you jolted.

Turning around, suddenly wide away your hands came up to frame his cheeks.

Joel had a cut over his eye, his hair was damp. He looked exhausted and you felt a million things at once.

This whole day had been… hell.

It had been a while since you had seen that many infected, but this time it was the first time they managed to get into Jackson in those big numbers.

You were focused on protecting the town, pushing the thought of Joel and Ellie out there out of your mind. You couldn’t let the worry you felt every time they went out on patrol take over.

So instead you focused everything on taking as many infected down as possible. Something that turned out to be the perfect distraction. It was hours after, you were already working on scheduling everyone available for clean up while Tommy took care of fixing the walls that Tommy walked into your office, telling you that they had lost contact with Joel.

By that time it was already getting dark and snowing heavily and the worry you had pushed down came back with vengeance.

It had taken Maria and Tommy to talk you out of going after them, searching for them. The snow was coming down heavy and you could only hope that they would be fine.

They had send you home around midnight. You had been at the gate, binoculars so tightly in your hands that you couldn’t feel you fingers as you kept looking out for them.

You don’t remember falling asleep when you got home.

„Always coming back home to you“ Joel nodded and you felt like a weight dropped from your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him.

„What happened?“ You asked and he sighed.

„Someone tried to kill me,“ he explained and you stilled, feeling one of his arms come around you pulling you closer. You were now laying on top him, your cheek against his chest.

„Ellie took care of her,“ he continued and you closed your eyes.

„She okay?“ You asked and he hummed.

„She’s with Dina and Jesse. If those two wouldn’t have shown up…“ he said, letting the rest linger.

Pushing yourself up you straddled his lap, your hands on his chest, his heart beating beneath your fingertips steadily.

„They all okay?“ You asked and he nodded, looking up at you.

„You okay?“ You whispered and he nodded again. You released a long breath, closing your eyes before you slowly leaned down at kissed his lips.

His hands were on your hips, slipping to your ass as he hummed against your lips.

„We could have died today,“ you whispered against his lips. He hummed, slowly pulling the shirt you had put on to sleep off.

„Need to feel you,“ you mumbled against his lips, pulling at his shirt before he sat himself up, pulling it off too. He wrapped his arms around you, your chest pressed agains his as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

„Feel me,“ he mumbled and you slipped one of your hands down, pulling his boxers down just so his cock sprung free. You didn’t waste much time with foreplay, wrapping your hand around his cock you lined it up just so you could slowly sink down on him, both of your breaths stuttering. You let your head fall back as you sank down on his length, Joel’s lips on your throat while he still held your close.

You both sighed when his whole length was inside of you and you kissed him, your arms wrapping around his neck, your hands in his hair.

A tear slid down your check, the overwhelming events of the day catching up on you. You didn’t even know what exactly happened to Joel but him telling him that someone tried to kill him? To take him away from you?

„Hey,“ he said softly, one of his hands coming up to brush your tears away.

„I’m okay. We’re okay,“ he whispered.

„We’re okay,“ you repeated, letting your head fall against his. His thumb kept brushing over your cheek.

„Can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m old and stubborn,“ he joked a little and you lightly slapped his shoulder, moaning when your hips moved against his.

„I want details in the morning,“ you said and he nodded.

„Can I fuck you now?“ He asked and you shrugged.

„Since you’re already inside of me….“ You smirked and he rolled his eyes before he kissed you again, slowly moving you on top of him. You rolled your hips, making out with him while you slowly rode him, his cock filling you perfectly.

„Joel,“ you moaned and he groaned. His hands now both on your ass, moving you against him.

„Need more,“ you whimpered and you found yourself on your back in the next moment with Joel on top of you. He fucked you deeply, using his whole strength to fuck you into the mattress. Crossing your legs behind his ass you pulled him even closer.

„Feels so fucking good,“ you moaned, both of your hands playing with your tits.

„Fuck you’re so wet,“ Joel moaned, his hips snapping against yours harder. One of his hands slipped between your bodies, finding your clit.

„Already close baby,,“ he groaned and you shook your head, the familiar flutter of your orgasm in your stomach getting stronger.

„Fill me baby, Oh fuck I’m gonna cum,“ you cried out, Joels fingers on your clit bringing you over the edge while he continued to fuck you.

„Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,“ Joel moaned, fucking you through your orgasm, now focusing on chasing his release.

„Fill me up baby, Fuck it into me,“ you whimpered, both of you moaning when he came, fucking his cum deep inside of you before he let himself fall on top of you with a groan. You released a surprised breath before you both chuckled and he rolled you both on your sides, his arms around you again, pulling you close.

His cock was still inside of you, slowly softening.

„I love you,“ he whispered and you looked at him.

„I love you too,“ you whispered back before you kissed him softly.

„I think I’m gonna cut back from patrol,“ he said after a while. You had almost been asleep.

„Yeah?“ You mumbled sleepily.

„Yeah. Don’t need to be out there so much anymore,“ he kissed your forehead.

„Cause you’re old,“ you mumbled sleepily and felt him shake as he chuckled.

„Yeah. Cause I’m old,“ he whispered.

#my fic #joel miller #joel miller x fem. reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #fanfic #tlou fanfiction

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zhelin-thames · 2 days ago

Text

The Fudge Courier

The Wayne Mansion was never exactly quiet, but the sudden crack of breached security systems and the high-pitched alarm was enough to cause a minor panic in the Batfamily group chat.

Everyone mobilized. Jason was halfway to the armory. Damian had his sword in hand. Steph already had a batarang between her fingers. Bruce was the first to reach the front foyer, cape trailing behind him dramatically, expecting an assassin, a rogue AI, or maybe Ra’s himself.

Instead, it was a teenager in a baggy hoodie and Converse, standing in the middle of the marble floor with a tray of fudge like he owned the place.

"WHERE IS THE OLD MAN?!" the intruder demanded.

Bruce raised a brow. "Now, I don’t think I’m—"

"NOT YOU! THE OLD MAN!" the teen snapped, eyes wild with exhaustion. “You don’t count. You’re like… diet old. Where’s the real deal?”

Before anyone could tase, tackle, or interrogate him, Alfred emerged from the dining room, adjusting his gloves with dignified calm. “Master Bruce, is there a—?”

He didn’t finish.

The fudge was shoved into his hands with the kind of reverence usually reserved for live bombs.

“Happy Father’s Day from Thomas and his wife.” The hoodie kid (ghost? gremlin?) looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “They haven’t stopped haunting me about it for weeks. I’m so tired. Please. Please tell me I can finally tell them that baby Brucie is fine and stop being their afterlife errand boy.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then Alfred—gentle, serene, forever composed Alfred—smiled. He even laughed, lightly, like this wasn’t a complete break in reality. “Yes, indeed. They are doing well. I am so terribly sorry to have put you in this position. Perhaps we can make it up to you by having you stay for dinner?”

Danny, hoodie gremlin in question, beamed like he’d just won the lottery. “Free food? Absolutely.” Then he glanced at the fudge. “Oh, right—It’s not poisoned or ecto-contaminated, FYI. Totally safe for normal humans and whatever brand of chaos you people are.”

He waved like this was a PTA meeting and followed Alfred into the kitchen like he hadn’t just broken into one of the most secure homes on the planet.

The Batkids stood frozen.

“Umm… Alfred, do you know this kid?” Dick asked carefully.

Danny turned to face them with a tired sigh. “Are you baby Brucie? Because I swear to the Ancients, if you are, I need to punch you. Like, lovingly. Ghost realm tradition. Don’t worry, it only hurts a little.”

A long silence.

Then Dick lost it, wheezing. “Nope! Nope, that’s not me—he’s behind you and probably wants to punch you now.”

Danny blinked, glanced back at Bruce, then offered a grin. “...Fair.”

Bruce stared at the tray of fudge in Alfred’s hands, then at the strange boy now comfortably parked on a kitchen stool. Then, very calmly, he pressed the panic button for the entire family. They were going to need back-up. And a full psych eval.

Meanwhile, Tim was already texting.

get here now bring Kon AND jon dinner’s cursed there’s fudge and ghosts and bruce has parents again???

The Phantom Courier had arrived. And dinner was going to be spicy.

Dinner at Wayne Manor was already chaos on a good day. Add in Danny Phantom, ghost errand boy of the dearly departed Wayne parents, and things got wild fast.

By the time the rest of the Batfamily arrived, Alfred had set the table like nothing strange was happening—because to him, nothing was. A guest was a guest, even if that guest had floated through a wall earlier and casually mentioned alternate dimensions.

Danny sat between Steph and Duke, legs criss-crossed in his chair, still wearing his hoodie like it was armor. “So anyway, it turns out if you make direct eye contact with the portrait of Martha Wayne at exactly 2:37 AM, she shows up and starts judging you for the dishes in the sink.”

Steph choked on her drink.

“You’re lying,” Jason said flatly.

“Swear on my core,” Danny grinned. “She folded my laundry. Folded it. But she also gave me this look like I was a raccoon rooting through the family fridge.”

“...She always did run a tight household,” Alfred muttered under his breath, pleased.

Tim, phone still in hand under the table, was quietly live-texting everything to Kon. Bruce hadn’t said much since Danny’s arrival, though he'd definitely tried to interrogate him mid-salad. Danny answered every question with equal parts snark and sincerity, and Bruce hadn’t known how to handle that since Nightwing’s teen years.

But the real kicker came after dinner.

Alfred brought out a lovely tray of tea and that infamous fudge. Everyone reached for a piece. Except Bruce.

Danny froze. Eyes wide.

“You’re not eating the fudge?”

“I don’t eat dessert,” Bruce said firmly, because of course he didn’t.

Danny paled—well, more pale. “Oh Ancients. You were supposed to eat it. That was like... half the haunting quota! I told them I shouldn’t be the one to deliver it, but nooo, I’m the ‘living representative’—"

Suddenly, the lights flickered.

A breeze swept through the dining room despite all the windows being shut.

Then—

A glow shimmered above the table, and two figures faded into view. Elegant. Ethereal. Slightly translucent.

“Bruce Thomas Wayne,” said Martha Wayne, voice calm but cutting, “You did not just ignore the dessert your father and I specifically requested be delivered for this occasion.”

Thomas Wayne crossed his arms. “We died. The least you could do is eat a single piece of fudge.”

Bruce stared at them, stunned. “...You sent the fudge?”

Danny waved his fork. “I told you. They’re relentless. I’ve never been hunted harder in my life—and I died.”

Jason was half under the table laughing. Damian stared at the ghosts with a mix of disbelief and awe. Dick was frantically signing do not punch them, do not punch them at Damian.

Martha floated closer, arms crossed like the world’s most disappointed PTA mom. “Your father and I have waited a very long time to share something—anything—with you again. And this young man was kind enough to help us.”

Thomas chimed in. “And he’s got moxie. You could use more of that in your life.”

Bruce cleared his throat, awkwardly picking up a piece of fudge. “...Fine. One piece.”

The lights settled.

The ghosts relaxed.

Danny slumped forward. “Thank the Ancients. I can finally go home and not have Martha materialize in my mirror telling me I ‘forgot the nuts.’”

Martha beamed. “Thank you, dear. You’re a delight.”

Then they both faded out. Just like that.

Silence.

“...So,” Dick finally said, “Do we do Father’s Day like this every year now or...?”

Tim texted Kon again.

fudge was ghost-coded bruce got mom’d from beyond the veil help bring backup

Tim’s texts didn’t go unanswered for long.

Kon: we’re coming Kon: jon says we should bring a gift Kon: is batman allergic to anything? Jon: (from Kon’s phone) my mom says you can’t show up empty-handed to a ghost-fudge dinner. I’m bringing lasagna.

Twenty minutes later, just as Alfred was prepping dessert plates and Danny was halfway through explaining what ghost zones were (with salt shakers), there was a knock at the front door.

A polite knock. One that radiated Midwestern kindness and super strength.

Bruce answered the door with the grim expectation of chaos.

Instead, he got Superman, Superboy, and Jon Kent holding a steaming glass dish wrapped in oven mitts.

“Hi, Bruce,” Clark said, smiling like this was a backyard barbecue. “Happy Father’s Day.”

“We brought food!” Jon added helpfully. “And napkins!”

Danny peeked out from behind Bruce. “...You brought napkins to a haunted fudge dinner?”

“Ghosts like etiquette,” Jon said with perfect sincerity.

Danny stared. “...I’m adopting you.”

Bruce groaned. “Why are you here?”

Clark gave the world’s most innocent shrug. “Tim said dinner was going great. And involved your parents. The ghost versions.” He looked very smug. “I couldn’t miss that.”

Tim popped out from behind a hallway arch, phone in hand. “For the record, you’re welcome.”

Danny barging into the wayne mansion wearing a hoddie and holding a tray of fudge.

"WHERE IS THE OLD MAN?!"

All the bats and birds panicing bc a random broke theu their security measures. Bruce being first to look at him"hey now, i dont think i'm~"

he gets cut off by Danny. "NOT YOU! THE OLD MAN!"

Alfred steps out of the dining room fixing his gloves and suit. Before he can speak danny shoves the plate of fudge in his hands"Happy fathers day from thomas and his wife. They have not stopped hounding me for weeks. And im tired. Please tell me i can say their baby brucie is fine." He says half pleading.

Alfred breaks a small smile before laughing lightly"yes indeed. They are doing well. I am so terribly sorry to have put you in this position. Perhaps we can make it up to you by having you stay for dinner?"

Bruce and the kids are glading ready for a fight unsure of how to interact in this moment."Umm Alfred, do you know this kid?" Dick asks breaking the silence.

Danny turns to him"are you baby brucie? Bc i swear to ancients i need to punch you and i hope you are an adult." Silence as crickets sounds before dick breaks down laughing."no he is behind you ready to punch you himself. Can umm you explain?"

Danny pauses thinking a moment before amiling"you offered me free food. I will gladly accept! Oh! That reminds me! The fudge isnt poisoned or ecto contaminated. So it is safe for normal humans to consume as well as whatever the hell you all are." He waves and follows Alfred theu to the kitchen.

Bruce panic buttons the rest to come home for dinner. This is gonna be a long night.

Meanwhile tim is texting Kon to being supes and jon with him to dinner tonight. Things are about to be spicy!

#danny phantom #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom crossover #dc prompt #dc x dp #alfred knows everything #danny just wants a nap #ghostly family drama #dead waynes causing problems again #this is canon now don't question it #danny is everyone's emotional support ghost #fudge diplomacy #zhelin-thames

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dollgxtz · 7 hours ago

Note

Can you write a short somno fic for Sylus but he’s already been doing it for awhile? And he feels so damn guilty about it but genuinely can’t stop because it’s like an addiction to him now? :)

In Somno

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, nonconsensual somnophilia, noncon, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, facials

Summary: Sylus just can't help himself when it comes to your sleeping body <33

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

AN: Sorry anon, I know you said "short" but I got really excited and got carried away. So lets just say this is my version of a short fic LOL. Also thank you thank you thank youuuu for requesting this, I've been itching to write another somno fic hehehe. Btw the title means “In slumber” in Latin!!! :33

He hadn't intended for things to escalate to this point.

Normally, Sylus was a master of self-control, able to reign in his desires with ease. But on that particular day, something had been stirred within him, something that he couldn't quite explain. It had started when he saw you lying in his bed, fast asleep and naked, after a long and exhausting mission. You'd taken a shower and had passed right out. Your fatigue had been palpable, and he had gone to cover you with a blanket, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast.

Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't meant to touch you like...that. His hand lingered for a moment, a mere whisper of contact, before he moved it away as if it burned. He stared at you, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the turmoil his innocent touch had ignited within him. He had always prided himself on his ability to control himself. Yet here he was, his heart pounding, his body betraying him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was just a touch, he told himself. A harmless, accidental touch. But his body refused to listen, his mind refusing to let go of the softness of your skin, the warmth that had radiated from you. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to touch you again, to trace the curve of your breast, to feel more of your warmth.

He knew he should leave, let you rest, should respect your sleep. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He had seen you naked before, had seen you sleep countless times. But this was different. This time, he felt something stirring within his groin as he watched your naked chest rise with each breath. Your beautiful, peaceful face was messing with his senses. He tried to dismiss it, to attribute it to the fatigue of the long day, the heat of the room, anything but the truth.

The truth was, you two hadn't had much time for each other lately, and even less for anything intimate. The lack of physical connection had left him pent up, achingly so. He couldn't remember the last time you'd both had a moment to yourselves, a moment to explore each other's desires and needs.

As he sat there, looking at you, he couldn't help but feel a surge of longing. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to calm himself down, but it was no use. Better to quell the urge to touch you now, and then forget about this, he figured. He reached back over, his hand gently touching the soft roundness of your breast, giving it a light squeeze. The touch sent a spark of electricity through his body, and he felt his cock harden in his pants.

Shit. He had definitely just made it worse.

You stirred, letting out a soft whine, and he felt his heart skip a beat. The sound of your voice was like music to his ears, a sweet melody that only added to his arousal. He quickly withdrew his hand, however, as you began to shift and turn your body away from him in your sleep.

Your butt was now completely visible to him. His heart dropped into his stomach. You had always been the only one to undo his calm, to make him feel this way. He ran his fingers through his hair, now having an internal battle within himself. It felt wrong...undeniably wrong...and yet…

One thing had led to another, and he found himself carefully pushing his fingers inside your wet folds. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he was breathless as your cunt sucked in his fingers bit by bit. The feeling of your inner walls clamping down on his fingers sent his mind into a frenzy, and he couldn't help but think about how much he wanted to be inside you.

How wet you'd be.

How tight you'd be.

His cock was rock hard and throbbing in his boxers, pressing against the back of your leg. He pressed himself against your butt lightly, trying to relieve some of the ache that had been building up inside him.

It wasn't enough.

You began to squirm, your body shifting slightly in your sleep, and he froze. He didn't remove his fingers, but ceased his motions...as if pausing could erase what he’d just done. He watched you closely, heart pounding, waiting to see if your eyes would open. If they did, he told himself, he’d just say you two had dozed off like that. Just a sleepy accident.

The lie formed easily in his mind, but the weight of it hit hard. He had never lied to you before...and now, standing on the edge of it, he felt something bitter twist in his gut. Shame crept up his spine, hot and sharp, settling in his face until his skin burned. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. He smothered the guilt with silence, burying it under the oldest excuse in the book: what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.

As you pressed your backside against him, unknowingly in your sleep, he felt a surge of desire wash over him, replacing all guilt and shame with a primal, aching need. The pain in his groin became almost unbearable, and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything else except satisfying his craving for you.

Within the next few minutes he had rid himself of his underwear, lifted your leg and slowly began to sink his aching, throbbing cock inside you, only a little bit at first. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he felt himself plunging into you over and over, his hips moving in a slow, rhythmic motion. His hand gripped the roundness of your ass, holding you in place as he thrust into you, his fingers digging slightly into your skin.

"Ah...fuck. Kitten, Im sorry..."

He bit his lip, trying to suppress a groan as he sunk himself deeper, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. The room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting, the creaking of the bed, and his ragged breaths. He could feel every inch of you, tight and warm around him. He wanted to savor this moment, to imprint it on his memory forever. He reached around, finding your clit with his fingers, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You moaned softly, still deeply asleep, arching your back to meet him.

"Mghn...S-sylus..."

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He was worried that you had woken up, that you would discover him inside you, and that everything would be ruined. He lay there, holding his breath, as he frantically thought of excuses, of ways to explain what was happening.

But as the seconds passed in silence, and you didn’t move, he began to ease—just slightly. He glanced over, searching your face for any sign that you were awake, that you knew. But your eyes stayed shut, your expression calm, untouched. Still lost in sleep.

You looked so docile, so innocent and soft with your mouth agape, small snores escaping your lips. He hates that he feels a rush of arousal looking at you in such a vulnerable state, peacefully sleeping in his bed.

He wondered if you were thinking you were having a dream, if your subconscious was responding to his presence inside you. The thought sent a thrill through him, and his cock twitched in your inner walls. Maybe you wanted him too? Even in your dreams?

As he began to thrust again, this time with a bit more force, he could feel the pressure building up inside him. The ache in his groin was becoming almost unbearable, and he knew he was on the verge of cumming. He groaned, the sound choked out of him as he struggled to maintain control.

But as he looked down at you, still asleep and unaware of what was happening, he knew he had to pull out. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't risk finishing inside you. Surely you'd put two and two together when you woke up and he'd be caught.

With a strangled groan, he forced himself to pull out, his cock throbbing with the effort. He gripped the sides of your hip, holding himself up as he shot a hefty, sticky load of his cum all over your inner thighs. The sensation was intense, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he finally released the pent-up tension.

As he looked down at the mess he had made, he felt a pang of guilt and anxiety. What would you think if you woke up and found out what had happened? Would you be angry, would you be scared? He didn't know, and the uncertainty was eating away at him.

So he simply cleaned you up as best as he could, and when you awoke the next morning you were none the wiser. You did question the ache between your legs, but fortunately for him you simply chalked it up to pushing yourself too hard during the mission. Besides, your entire body hurt already. What was one more area?

He swore that would be the last time.

Except it wasn't.

You didn’t always spend the night, but when you did, it was usually because you were too tired to head home after a long day. Sylus would swing by and bring you back to Onychinus’s base without complaint. You’d shower, get comfortable, and eat whatever dinner he’d ordered the chef to make you—just like always.

Then the two of you would settle in. Maybe you’d watch a movie, maybe listen to one of his new records. It was an easy routine. Comfortable. Soothing.

Eventually, you’d get too tired to keep your eyes open, and drift off beside him on the couch.

Then he’d carry you to the bedroom—slow, careful, as if you might break in his arms. On the surface, it was about comfort. He wanted you to sleep well. To feel safe.

But underneath that was something more selfish. He wanted to test the limits. To see how close he could get, how much movement he could do before you would stir, how long his hands could linger on your skin.

Most nights, you didn’t even move. You stayed limp and warm in his arms, face tucked against his neck, breath slow and even. It should have calmed him.

Instead, it made things worse.

Guilt curled in his chest like smoke. You trusted him. Implicitly. You let yourself go completely in his care. And he hated how that trust made something coil low in his groin, thick with heat and desire to strip you down and plunge himself in your wet walls.

And that's exactly what he did. Night after night, he'd start carefully moving your underwear to the side, swiftly inserting the head of his hardened cock inside you, and fucking you until a creamy white ring of your juices formed around the base of his shaft. Touching your breasts, butt, and pussy in ways you'd never let him before. And just as he felt himself about to release, he'd quickly pull out, covering your soft skin in his cum. Sometimes it was your thighs, sometimes your back. He'd even gotten bold enough to do your face at one point.

To compensate for the guilt that gnawed at him every time he let himself fall into his dark cravings, Sylus had started buying you more gifts.

At first, it was subtle—a snack you liked, a book you’d mentioned in passing. But it escalated quickly. If you so much as glanced at something in a store window while the two of you were out, or paused a moment too long while scrolling on your phone, it would show up in your hands within days. Sometimes hours.

You noticed, of course. It was hard not to.

“Another one?” you’d ask, brow arched in amused suspicion as you unwrapped a new plushie, or a piece of jewelry that matched your favorite dress, or a gadget you’d casually mentioned needing just once.

When you asked him why he was suddenly giving you so much, he’d just shrug—casual, like it meant nothing.

“You've always been spoiled, why question it now?” he’d chuckle.

As if that explained everything.

And maybe it did. At least, enough to keep you from pressing further.

Because to him, each gift was a way to say I’m sorry I touched you too long, I’m sorry I wanted more than I should, I’m sorry I’m not being honest. I love you so much.

It was his way of trying to be good for you.

Even as the craving got harder to ignore.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

He found himself unable to stop. Would you really blame him if you found out? You must clearly want it too...the way your body greedily sucked in his cock, squeezing around it like a warm, wet vice. It was as if your body was begging him not to pull out, to keep going, to keep giving you more. Every time he thrust into you, your muscles would contract, holding him in place, and then release, allowing him to slide back out, only to repeat the process again. It was a sensual, intoxicating rhythm, one that threatened to consume him whole.

And the soft little whines you made when he was stretching you out or when he pumped into you a little harder than he meant to drove him absolutely crazy...

He'd promptly cease his movements, gently shushing your little noises while he waited for you to calm.

"Im sorry, baby. I didn't mean it, stay asleep for me," he would coo, his voice a soft, gentle whisper, as he gazed down at your sleeping face. He would pause for a moment, his chest heaving with desire, as he struggled to control his own needs. But then, with a quiet sigh, he would resume his movements, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of you with a smooth, gentle rhythm.

As he moved, he would continue to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, his words a soothing balm to your sleeping form. "Just need to see you covered in my cum one more time..." His voice was a gentle hum, a vibration that seemed to resonate deep within your body, as he continued to pump into you.

He did this for several weeks, reassuring you whenever you began to grow concerned at the continued ache between your legs. Of course, you'd trust him. Relax after. He'd feel terrible but he'd tell himself it was for your own good. You just felt too good. Too soft, so warm.

Tonight was no different. You both were watching a new movie in his home theater this time, when you promptly yawned. Immediately he felt his breath get shallow, and his pants get tighter.

“Tired, kitten?” Sylus asked, his voice lower than usual—rough around the edges, like he was holding something back. He reached for the remote and shut off the screen, the soft click echoing in the quiet space between you.

You nodded through a sleepy stretch, arms lifting lazily above your head before collapsing into your lap.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes already heavy. “We never finish these movies. I just…I don’t know. I’m always so tired now.”

There was a faint furrow in your brow as you said it—genuine regret, like falling asleep beside him was some kind of failure.

He leaned in without hesitation and kissed your forehead, slow and deliberate. His lips lingered there a moment longer than they needed to, soaking in the warmth of your skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for being sleepy,” he said softly, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “You’re welcome to come back and finish it any time.”

You didn’t respond.

He was rock hard now.

As he rose to his feet with you cradled in his arms, your body melted into him completely. Your head dropped to rest against his collarbone, lips parted in the beginnings of sleep. He felt the small puff of your breath against his neck—warm, steady.

Halfway down the hallway, he glanced down at you.

Out cold.

He smiled. There was something in your face when you slept—unguarded and soft. Your lashes fluttered faintly, cheek pressed against the curve of his chest like you belonged there.

“They must be working you to the bone,” he muttered to no one, voice barely audible.

Unfortunate for you.

But for him…

You felt incredibly wet and tighter tonight. He'd boldly set you on your back this time, not wanting to miss a single facial expression or noise. Even if it meant being more gentle than usual. He watched greedily as your breasts bounced up and down with his movements. He leaned down, hands on either side of your head, trying with strained effort to quiet his groans.

"How am I ever going to stop doing this to you? You feel so good," he hissed through his teeth, his voice a low, tortured whisper, as he struggled to keep his gentle rhythm. His cock was buried deep inside you, and with each thrust, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. The sensation of his tip grazing your cervix was almost unbearable, threatening to overwhelm him.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched in a fierce effort to hold back, but it was no use. The feeling of being inside you, of being surrounded by your warm, wet flesh, was too intense, too addictive. He couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get enough of you. And as he looked down at your sleeping face, he knew that he was doomed, trapped in a cycle of desire and pleasure that he couldn't escape.

His hips moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, as he chased the sensation, as he sought to prolong the pleasure. And with each stroke, he felt himself getting closer, closer to the point of no return, closer to the moment when he would finally succumb to his desires and let go. "Hah...gonna cum...," he growled, his voice a low, animalistic snarl as he felt his orgasm building.

"Mmmm..."

As you began to squirm under him, your eyes peering open just a bit, but still not enough to be considered awake, he felt a surge of panic mixed with excitement. Were you waking up? He should stop, he knew he should, but he couldn't. He was too close, too caught up in the moment, too desperate to cum inside you.

He leaned in closer, his large body encasing yours, his warm breath whispering against your ear. "Shh...I'm almost there baby...don't wake up..." He pleaded, his voice a low, husky whisper, as he tried to calm you down, to keep you from waking up and discovering what was happening.

But you whine, sleepily grabbing onto his arms, your hands wrapping around his biceps like a vice. You clearly aren't aware enough to even realize what's happening, and he takes advantage of that, using it to his benefit. He continues to thrust into you, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into your wet flesh with a relentless rhythm.

As he looks down at your face, he can see the faintest glimmer of awareness in your eyes, but it's not enough to stop him. He's too far gone, and he knows that he's going to cum inside you, no matter what. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Fuck..."

As he pushes as far as he can go, his hips stuttered, jerking forward with a mind of their own, as his cock pulsed, throbbing with the intense force of his release. As he came, he felt his cock unleash a torrent of cum, wave after wave of it flooding into your body, filling you to the brim. A wave of relief crashed over him, drowning out the relentless hunger that had been gnawing at him all night.

As he looked down at you, Sylus noticed you were starting to squirm again, your body shifting slightly under the covers. You were clearly on the verge of waking up. Your brows twitched, your breathing changed, and your fingers gave a small, unconscious twitch.

Thinking quickly, he moved to wrap himself around you, encasing your body in his arms in a way that was both protective and possessive. His chest pressed against your back, one arm curling securely around your waist, hand resting just beneath your ribs.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering open for a brief moment—glazed, unfocused—before slowly slipping shut again. He felt your body melt against his, the subtle tension in your shoulders and spine easing as sleep reclaimed you. Your breathing evened out. You relaxed fully in his grasp.

Relieved, Sylus allowed himself a quiet breath of his own, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissipate as he gazed down at you. He looked down to see the remnants of his cum slipping down the trails of your thighs, a warm, sticky liquid that glistened in the dim light.

He would definitely have some explaining to do when you woke up...guess it was time to buy that cart full of items you'd been begging for...

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m0narche · 2 days ago

Text

Cw: Yandere themes, heavy infantilization, mommy kink, forced captivity.

"Oh little one..."

The freezing cold bubble of shock and numbness pops when he reaches for your face to wipe away the messy tears streaming down and you can't even flinch away –not that he'd like that.

"It's okay, shh you're safe, sweet thing. Everything's okay" Each word feels no less heavy and painful than a blade cutting through your tender beating muscle. Your ears are ringing and the world feels so loud, it's just too much. So unpleasant, unbearable –And he would love to tell you that you're too sensitive to survive.

It takes a few seconds of grounding for your hearing to be fully restored, that's when you realize you've been sobbing on his lap the entire time –Ah, that explains the coddling, why he's been bouncing you on his thigh, why his arms feel somehow more like a cage than usual.

"I'm so sorry Mommy had to scare you like that. But you needed to learn your lesson."

Right.

Suguru came home to a broken window since you didn't have time to cover up your tracks. The sound of the keys jigging in the keyhole coupled with his sickly sweet signature call of "Sweetheart I'm home" made your mind go blank and sent your feet sprinting to the woods.

It's honestly very infuriating how he manages to reduce you to a little prey animal. One he is very eager to domesticate.

You didn't get far, of course you didn't. He was immediately hot on your tail. It took him no more than 5 short minutes to pin you down on the wet dirt –with his hand nailing your face to the ground and your hands held up together behind your back, his weight felt more crushing to your soul rather than your body– you felt silly for even trying. And like a switch was flipped you went completely limp, –a little white bunny playing dead on the snow –camouflage. You don't recall anything besides being scooped up and scolded all the way back to the cabin he keeps you confined in.

It didn't even hurt when he savagely slammed you down.

Granted it would be the only time he ever was aggressive or rough with you, it was a moment of desperation, he was frantic to catch the little startled bunny before it hopped away, not that it had a chance to begin with. His excessive coddling must have been what snapped you out of your daze and triggered the panic attack.

"It's okay, mommy's got you now" he continues to shush you quietly "poor thing, you must have been so scared. I'll make sure to properly lock the windows next time, okay?

For God's sake.

You'd think falling on your sword is the smart way to go about avoiding any punishments, but he doesn't even fucking retaliate. He's so deep in his own delusions that he sees your attempt at escaping him as a consequence of his negligence.

It's just so humiliating. You want to yell, scream, hurt him in any way. You want him to understand and you want it to be painful and heartbreaking.

And before you could even move, Suguru notices the shift in your mood and moves to lift up his shirt and shove your face into his plump chest before securing you in place with a firm hand. It feels like putting a swift end to a toddler's tantrum before it even begins.

"I know you're scared, baby. I really do" he coos "But it's alright. Once you finish suckling, mommy will clean you up and put you for a nap, alright?" He starts to bounce you on his lap again, gently this time.

"Tsk- silly little thing, you were just tired weren't you?" More caressing, more touching– so suffocating.

"You're just too little to understand what's good for you".

208 notes · View notes

myrleius · 3 days ago

Text

unscheduled — aizawa s.

aizawa s. x detective fem!reader│wc: 4k

synopsis: It's late. You're working. And Shota brings fast food.

cw/tags: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, suggestive themes

The office is quiet, save for the low hum of your laptop, the occasional creak of old plumbing, and the steady scratch of your pen across paper.

The overhead lights are off, replaced by the soft glow of your desk lamp and the blue light of open tabs—city surveillance footage, license plate databases, a paused video from a bodega robbery.

You’d been reorganizing your notes for the last hour, half out of necessity, half to keep your mind from spiraling after thirty-two hours with little sleep.

You’re mid-sentence, scribbling something about time discrepancy, when you felt it. A warmth at your back, a slow exhale ghosting over your neck.

Arms eased around your waist. Familiar. Strong. And oh-so gentle.

You stiffened for a breath, instinct prickling—but then you melted.

“Detective,” Shota murmured, voice low against your ear. “A word?”

You sighed, letting your eyes flutter shut as the pen slipped from your fingers. “Mmm… you’re going to say two,” you murmured back, your lips quirking into a smile. “Probably ‘go’ and ‘home.’”

“Funny,” he said, pressing a kiss to your nape. “I was going to say ‘come’ and ‘here.’”

A quiet laugh bubbled from your throat. You slowly turned in his arms and there he was—tired eyes, dark circles, hair tied back loosely. Stupidly handsome, as always.

You leaned up to kiss him, soft and quick, before wrapping your arms around his waist. Tucking your face in his shoulder, you breathed him in. He smelled like clean soap and night air.

It had been two months since you last saw him.

Your gaze caught on a plastic bag resting on one of the tables behind him. That hadn’t been there before, and the red logo was unmistakable.

“You brought dinner?” you asked, knowing full well it’s past 2 A.M.

He shrugged, the barest of smiles tugging at his mouth. “I figured you hadn’t eaten. Or slept. Am I wrong?”

You pinched his cheek, shifting slightly to at least pretend to hide the chaos on your desk. “You haven’t either,” you muttered, gaze flicking to the shadows under his eyes.

He chuckled, then nodded toward the couch in the corner. “Come on. Before it gets cold.”

The couch creaked beneath your combined weight as the two of you settled in. Shota set the takeout bag on the coffee table, unwrapping its contents. He handed you your portion without a word.

You accepted it with a small smile, the wrinkle of wax paper loud in the quiet room. “So,” you started, peeling back the wrapper of your burger, “what’s the occasion?”

You took a bite before he could answer, humming in content. It was only then that you realized how hungry you were.

“Your cholesterol wasn’t high enough,” he replied dryly, popping a nugget into his mouth.

You laughed, stealing one for yourself. “How romantic.”

“I try.” He smirked, nudging the nugget container closer to your side.

“But seriously, didn’t you have patrol tonight?” you said around a mouthful. “And it’s a school day tomorrow too.”

“I switched shifts,” he said. “And I’m not staying long. Just for a few hours.”

Your heart warmed at that. Of course he’d trade rest for this. For you.

You ate in silence for a few minutes, but you didn’t mind. It felt nice to share a meal like this again, a sliver of normalcy in your sleepless world. You didn’t realize how much you’d miss this. How grounding it was to just be next to him.

You glanced at him.

As you chewed, a few strands of your hair slipped loose, falling over your eyes. You tried blowing them away with a breath, though unsuccessfully.

Then, without a word, Shota leaned forward. Fingers brushed your hair back behind your ear, the backs of them lingering against your cheek for a beat too long. You felt the warmth trail after them like a tide pulling back, slow and reluctant.

“What?” he said, but his mouth curved into that lazy, knowing smile.

“Nothing,” you murmured, and turned away.

Your eyes dropped to his mouth and found a smudge of ketchup near the corner, barely noticeable.

Without thinking, you reached over, wiped it away with your thumb, and licked it clean like it was second nature.

And it was. You’d done it before, countless times.

But the way he looked at you, you’d think it was the first time.

“That was kinda hot,” he murmured, voice amused but soft.

You huffed a laugh, gently nudging his shoulder. “That’s all it takes to get you going? You’re more sleep-deprived than I thought.”

His chuckle vibrated against your palm, but that look—that wasn’t him getting turned on. Not even close.

Then, without warning, he said, “I missed you.”

You paused, the words landing somewhere deep.

Shota never said things like that first.

You usually had to tease it out of him, pull it loose behind a wall of dumb jokes and half-hearted grumbling. And even then, he’d deflect, tossing some excuse like, “The cats keep looking for you,” or “The bed’s too cold.”

Yet, here he was, handing it over without a fight.

You put your food down slowly, more carefully than needed, as if sudden movement might startle the moment away. After a pause, you wiped your fingers with a napkin and shifted closer to him.

Then, you leaned in, resting your head against his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was warm, soft from too many washes.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you exhaled, long and quiet, letting go of something you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“I missed you too,” you murmured, cheeks warm. “Even when you’re here right now.”

There was a brief silence. Then came the low rumble of his voice, deadpan and almost fond.

“You always get like this when I say nice things.”

But he didn’t pull away. If anything, his shoulder stayed steady beneath your cheek. He tilted his head, just enough to rest his cheek against yours. The bristle of his stubble scraped your skin, and something fluttered low in your stomach.

You snorted. “Wow. Groundbreaking observation. What’s next? ‘Water’s wet’? ‘Sky’s blue’?”

You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, already rolling yours. “Yes, Shota, when you’re nice, I like it. I know. Shocking.”

His lips twitched, trying to hold back a grin. “Damn. With this level of skill, I think I deserve a promotion.”

His hand slid up your shoulder and gently pushed, guiding you back into the cushions as he shifted to hover above you. His weight didn’t press—but the suggestion of it was there.

“What’s above a detective again…?”

You burst out laughing, half at awful innuendo, half at the ridiculous way his eyebrows wiggled. “Oh my god. That was so bad.”

He didn’t budged, still caging you in, but his smirk softened. “Worked on you, though, didn’t it?”

“Barely.” You shoved at his chest—half-hearted and not really trying. His presence was solid, familiar. And oddly comforting. “And the answer is nothing, because you’d be a terrible boss.”

“Oh, really?” he murmured, dipping his headcloser. “You weren’t complaining when I bossed you around in bed last time.”

You squinted. “Perv.”

But you didn’t move. And neither did he. Until his mouth found yours.

The kiss started slow, gentle. His lips moved with unhurried certainty, like he had nowhere else to be, like this was the only thing on his list tonight. You curled your fingers into the front of his shirt, already halfway to dragging him closer when—

Your stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl. It sounded halfway between a snarl and a dying cat.

Shota froze, lips still hovering close. “... Wow.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, pressing a hand to your face. “I’m hungry, okay?”

“Clearly.”

He stayed where he was for another second, intentionally putting his weight on you just to be difficult. And your stomach made another dramatic complaint.

He chuckled, finally easing off you and helping you sit up. “Alright, alright.”

He reached for the abandoned takeout, pressing it back into your hands like it was a peace offering.

“Here,” he said. “Eat. Before you start chewing on me.”

As you both settled back into the food, the conversation drifted easily into life updates. You told him bits about the case, nothing sensitive, just the parts that frustrated you most. He listened the way he always did, never offering solutions unless you asked for them. Just letting you talk, until you didn’t need to anymore.

You rolled your eyes but took the burger anyway, biting into it with a vengeance.

Then, as if on instinct, you kicked him lightly in the shin.

He didn’t even flinch.

In return, he gave you updates from U.A.—small things, subtle milestones, the kind of stories that made you realize just how far you’d slipped from the normal rhythm of life. And how much you’d missed it.

“Oh, right,” you said as the last of the wrappers were balled up and tossed into the bin.

You crossed the room to your desk, rummaging through one of the drawers until your fingers closed around a white envelope. It was pristine, elegant, embossed with delicate swirls that shimmered faintly in the light.

“Kaede and Ren got engaged,” you said, offering the envelope as you returned to the couch.

The words came out too carefully, like you were reciting a report rather than sharing news.

Shota raised an eyebrow, fingers brushing over the embossed edge. “Really?”

“Yeah. Sent us an invite. It’s next spring,” you said, watching him too closely as he opened it. “She says she’s thinking of quitting the field too. Maybe start a consultancy firm instead.”

He nodded slowly, skimming the invitation before sliding it back into the envelope and leaving it on the coffee table.

You bit your lip. Why was this so hard? You weren’t asking for a promise. Not even a plan. Just a thought. A possibility.

But the fear was there, coiled tight in your stomach.

What if he hadn’t considered it at all?

What if you were the only one letting your mind wander there?

You didn’t talk about these things. Not unless they were buried under sarcasm or deflection. And even then, only when you were brave enough to pretend you weren’t serious.

But tonight, with that envelope glowing white against the dark wood, and with his warmth pressed beside you after too many nights apart, the words just hung on the tip of your tongue, desperately wanting to be said.

You glanced at him sideways, heart hammering. “Does that… ever cross your mind? Stuff like that?”

He didn’t answer right away.

But he didn’t look away either.

“Sometimes,” he said at last. “Lately, more often.”

You nodded, your fingers toying with a napkin, twisting it slowly.

“I never used to think about it,” you said. “I was always focused on work. And I thought… what we have, it’s enough.”

And then, with a rush of panic, you waved your hands in front of him.

“And it is,” you rushed to say. “It still is. I just—”

You exhaled shakily. “I’m starting to realize how temporary everything is. How one day you’re this invincible twenty-something and the next you’re watching everyone move forward while you’re still…”

The sentence crumbled under its own weight, the rest of the thought too vulnerable to voice.

Your gaze dropped, voice softer. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if wanting more than what we already have—on what we agreed on—makes me… selfish.”

The word tasted bitter in your mouth.

You hadn’t meant to say any of it. These were just silly thoughts, the kind that came in waves after too many hours at your desk, when you passed a bridal shop and your reflection lingered in the glass, or when you found yourself staring at high chairs in restaurants, imagining a tiny hand reaching for yours.

Just stupid yearnings you tucked away before it could take root.

You shook your head, trying to laugh. “No, forget it. That was dumb,” you muttered. “I’m probably just missing you too much.”

The attempt at humor didn’t land, not even with yourself.

Shota shifted closer. His hand found yours, threading your fingers together.

“I don’t think wanting more is selfish,” he said, his voice low but certain. “And it’s not dumb.”

You stared at your hands, at the way his thumb moved in circles against your skin. “But we agreed—”

“We agreed on what made sense then,” he cut in. “That doesn’t mean we can’t want something different now.”

You fell quiet. And then, softly, almost as if he wasn’t sure you’d believe it—

“You’ve never asked for more than I could give. Not once. Even when you should have. So… be selfish. It’s okay.”

Your chest tightened.

Of course he knew.

Of course he’d noticed all the ways you held back. The weekends you gave up without complaint. The way you buried your feelings when his schedule didn’t align. The way you told yourself—and him—that you didn’t need anything else.

You thought you were being understanding. Strong. Low-maintenance.

But he’d seen you. All of you.

And now, hearing it out loud, hearing him say it, had you remembering all the words you’d swallowed. But for once, they didn’t taste so bitter.

He exhaled. “I know I’m not easy. My job, the hours, the unpredictability… And yours is just as bad.” His eyes searched yours, steady and dark. “That’s why we told ourselves this was enough. Because we used to think people like us weren’t meant for that kind of thing.”

His fingers curled tighter around yours, guiding you gently into his arms. He pulled you in, tucking you beneath his chin.

“But right now,” he murmured, “it doesn’t sound so far away anymore. Doesn’t sound so foolish. Even if it’s messy. Even if we’re scared sometimes. If it’s with you… it’s something I’d want. And—”

He hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

You felt it in the way his fingers stilled, in the subtle shift of his breath. For all the steadiness in his voice earlier, this part had been harder for him to say.

Your heart softened.

Shota never fumbled his words, not even under pressure. Apparently even he had his limits.

So you tilted your head toward him, voice no louder than the hush between heartbeats. “And?”

He looked down at you, gaze steady. Open. “And I wonder,” he said quietly, “if it’s something you’d want… with me.”

You almost laughed, but it came out as a shaky breath instead.

Not because it was funny, but because the weight you’d been carrying—years of quiet yearning, careful restraint—suddenly felt so light.

All that time spent tiptoeing, stuffing those dreams into the corners of your mind, convincing yourself not to need too much… and he’d been thinking the same things all along.

You’d both been afraid. Overthinking the same silences.

But here you were.

Asking the same question.

And finally wanting the same answer.

“Of course I do,” you whispered, words thick with emotion as you hugged him tighter. “I always have.”

Something in you finally let go.

It hadn’t broken anything. Saying it out loud hadn’t made it fragile. If anything, it had stitched the two of you closer—tightened something that had already been strong for years, but now felt even more solid. More real.

“I mean,” you added, blinking quickly to fight the sting behind your eyes, “I wouldn’t stick around for eight years with your grumpy ass if I didn’t want to.”

That earned a small huff against your temple. The tension in his shoulders eased all at once, and you felt the exact moment his smirk formed.

“Grumpy, huh?” he murmured, mock-offended.

“You scowl, like, constantly.”

“I’ve saved cities with this face.”

You pulled back, snorting. “Yeah, by making villains think you’re one of them.”

His hand dragged lazily up your arm, warm and familiar. “You’re not exactly sunshine yourself, detective. Didn’t you threaten to arrest me the first time we met?”

You scoffed, indignant. “You were covered in blood and refused to answer any questions.”

“I did answer,” he said. “I told you it was mine.”

“After fifteen minutes of silence,” you shot back. “And only when I blocked the exit.”

You could still remember that moment with startling clarity—the way his capture weapon had twitched when you stepped into his path, the way your quirk had hummed under your skin, ready to activate. A standoff between two overworked, underslept people with too much pride and no patience.

“I was trying to avoid paperwork,” he muttered, but there was no edge to it now. Only warmth and a hint of amusement.

“And I was doing my job,” you said. “Some scruffy stranger ducking out before forensics arrived? Covered in blood? Yeah, forgive me for finding that suspicious.”

A beat.

Then you both cracked.

Soft laughter spilled out between you, warm and unguarded.

He shook his head, his eyes crinkling faintly at the corners. “We’re so stupid.”

“Mmm. Speak for yourself,” you said, smirking. “I’m delightful.”

Shota rolled his eyes, but his grin gave him away. “Sure. That’s why I keep coming back. For the delight.”

“Damn right.”

Your smirk barely had time to settle before he leaned in. His lips ghosted over yours, not kissing, just letting you feel the possibility of it. It was enough to steal the smugness right off your face.

“Oh, screw you,” you muttered, and kissed him first.

He chuckled against your mouth, the sound low and warm, vibrating between your lips as you tugged him in by the collar. It started off soft, familiar, but the way he gripped your waist told you exactly where this was headed. There was no rush, but no hesitation either.

“I love you,” he murmured in between kisses, just barely.

Your breath hitched. Fingers stilled against his shirt.

But before you could say anything back, he took advantage of the pause—your lips parted and your guard down. He kissed you deeper, rougher. Tongue sliding in, stealing the words right out of your mouth.

By the time you pulled back, flushed and breathless, his hands had already started roaming. One arm circled your waist, pulling you flush against him; the other palmed your chest through your blouse. He gave a squeeze, and you let out a startled snort, half scandalized, half amused at the sheer nerve.

“Are we really doing this on my couch?” you breathed, not quite stopping him.

He glanced around, casual. “There’s a desk right there.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you mumbled, swatting at his arm.

“What?” he said, unbothered. “You were complaining.”

“Shota—”

“So the desk thing’s a no?”

You narrowed your eyes, already fighting a grin. “I thought you already knew I like it when you take charge.”

He laughed hard, his hand sliding beneath your thighs.

You barely had time to react before he lifted you, strong and steady, his breath brushing your cheek as he carried you the short distance across the room. Mischief burned in his eyes. You could’ve walked, but that wasn’t the point.

He set you down on your desk with a soft thud, knocking over a pen holder in the process. Neither of you cared. Not when his fingers were already working open the buttons of your blouse, slow but practiced, like he knew the exact rhythm that would drive you just a little crazy.

The fabric slid open and his mouth followed—shoulder, collarbone, a scrape of teeth that pulled a quiet sound from your throat.

You arched into him, gasping, and tugged at the hem of his shirt in return. Your hands slipped underneath, dragging your nails lightly up his back.

He shivered. And you smiled.

You loved that. How easy it was to unravel him. How willingly he let you.

You tipped forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I love you too,” you whispered.

And just before things went further—before more clothes hit the floor, before the night dissolved into heat and motion—you cradled his face in your hands.

You kissed him one more time. Gentle. Devoted.

A seal on all the things left unspoken yet deeply and undeniably present.

Whatever the future held, you’d figure it out.

Together.

The lights were off, save for the faint glow of a desk lamp behind them—left on, probably, as an afterthought in the mess they’d made of the office.

The couch cushions shifted beneath his weight.

Yn lay draped over him, her bare skin warm against his, cheek pressed to his chest, her breath slow. One leg curled between his. A hand rested lazily over his ribs. She was heavier now than she’d been an hour ago.

He wasn’t tired. Not yet.

His fingers moved through her hair, slow and steady. She liked that, or at least, she didn’t ask him to stop. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe not. He didn’t move to check, not wanting to disturb her.

The silence was soft here, and they didn't get much of it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing with her. Letting the heat between them fade. Letting his body cool and settle.

She smelled like him now. Like night air and sweat and something sweet beneath it all.

He liked that more than he probably should.

They’d done this before, more than a few times. On couches, in beds, cheap hotel rooms. Hell, once on the floor of the dorms, curled up in his sleeping bag after she’d shown up past midnight with exhaustion in her voice and dirt on her boots. They were good at this—at catching up, making space, carving time out of whatever cracked hours they had left.

It always meant something.

But tonight felt different.

Not because of what they did.

Because of what they said.

His eyes opened again and he looked down at her.

Her lashes cast faint shadows across her cheekbones. Her lips were slightly parted, breath brushing warm against his chest. She looked… relaxed. Completely.

That was new.

Even asleep, yn was usually tense—wired from caffeine and adrenaline, her body half-braced for whatever new emergency might pull her from rest. But now… now, she was still. And Shota wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her this peaceful before.

His hand slipped from her hair, tracing slowly down the line of her spine. Not sexual, he’d done that plenty earlier. This was just… feeling her. Like he was mapping something fragile and didn’t want to leave a mark.

She shifted slightly, murmuring something in her sleep he couldn’t quite hear. Her face nuzzled further into his chest.

And that’s when he saw her hand again, splayed over his ribs. Unguarded and vulnerable.

He reached for it gently, cradling it on his own.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles, then down toward her ring finger.

And paused there.

Shota had never been a romantic. He wasn’t built for that kind of thing. Marriage had always sounded like too much noise, too many expectations. He didn’t think he had space for it in his life, and he didn't want to be someone else’s obligation.

He knew what it meant to be loved with conditions.

And worse, what it meant to love in spite of them.

But yn… she never asked him for more than he could give.

Never once made him choose.

And now, with her asleep on his chest, her hand in his, her ring finger bare beneath his thumb—he wondered, not for the first time, if maybe he could give her more.

Not because she asked.

Because he wanted to.

Not now. Not tomorrow. But someday.

When the world was a little quieter. When the nights weren’t quite so short.

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to that ring finger. A soft, fleeting brush. Nothing she’d feel. But maybe something he’d remember.

She stirred faintly, but didn’t wake.

He exhaled through his nose, then tucked her hand to his chest. His other arm came around her, drawing her in closer, as if to shield her from the weight of everything outside this room.

He closed his eyes.

Sleep came easily now.

180 notes · View notes

christopherisfoive · 2 days ago

Text

LEVELS

Pairing: Changbin x Producer!Reader Prompts: 14. Enemies to lovers tension , 18. “Don’t go. Not yet.” Setting: Studio, late-night session (REQUEST)

The beat had been looping for ten minutes.

You leaned back in the creaky desk chair, fingers tapping impatiently on your phone, trying not to sigh out loud. Across the studio, Changbin stood with his arms crossed, brow furrowed like the fate of his entire career rested on this one snare hit.

"You changed it," he said finally, not looking at you.

You didn’t flinch. “Yeah. The old one buried your vocals.”

"I liked the old one."

You turned to him slowly, meeting his eyes. “You like a lot of things that don't work in the final mix.”

Behind Changbin, Chan and Jisung froze. Chan was mid-sip of his energy drink. Jisung paused with a chip halfway to his mouth. Slowly, they turned to glance at each other—wide-eyed, silently communicating the shared pain of being stuck in the room during this again.

Changbin scoffed. “Right. Because you always know better.”

Your fingers tightened around the mouse. “You asked for feedback. Don’t whine when it’s not what you want to hear.”

From the couch, Jisung audibly inhaled like he was bracing for impact. “Uh… should I go warm up the other studio?”

Chan gave him a sharp look and whispered, “Don’t move. She’ll hear you.”

“I heard that,” you muttered, clicking back into the project.

Changbin stepped closer, ignoring the others. “I’m not whining. I’m disagreeing.”

Your chair creaked as you turned to him. “Then disagree. But don’t waste my time.”

He opened his mouth to fire back—but didn’t. Instead, his eyes flicked toward the screen behind you, watching the waveform quietly. His jaw ticked. You could practically feel the tension vibrating through the small room.

Chan shifted awkwardly. “…You guys want us to, uh, go get dinner or something?”

“No,” Changbin said at the same time you muttered, “Maybe.”

The quiet that followed was thick and awkward, broken only by the low looping beat and Jisung’s slow, cautious chip crunch.

Finally, Changbin mumbled, “I’m not trying to fight. Just… want it to sound right.”

You softened, slightly. “So do I.”

The tension didn’t dissolve—but it curled, subtle and strange. You felt his eyes on you even after he stepped back, like the last word hadn’t really been said yet.

Chan and Jisung gave each other another look—somewhere between “they’re hopeless” and “they’re definitely in love”—but wisely chose to say nothing.

Not yet, anyway.

The fluorescent lights in Studio B buzzed faintly as you sorted through vocal layers alone, trying to decompress from the earlier chaos. You didn’t expect anyone to follow you—definitely not him. But the door opened anyway, and in walked Changbin.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, eyes flickering around the room like he was still arguing with you in his head.

You didn’t look up. “What?”

“I didn’t like how that ended.”

You tapped the spacebar a little too hard, stopping the track. “What, us fighting in front of your members? Yeah, not my favorite either.”

He scoffed. “I wasn’t the only one with an attitude.”

Now you looked at him. Really looked. His brows were furrowed, mouth set, but something behind his eyes looked…off. Like he wasn’t here to pick another fight, but didn’t know how to do anything else.

“Well, I guess that’s what happens when someone acts like they know everything about production because they’ve been in a booth a few times,” you said, voice clipped.

“That’s not fair,” he snapped. “I’ve been working on my own music longer than you’ve been at this company.”

“And yet,” you muttered, turning back to your screen, “you’re still in my studio.”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud—but it was full. Heavy with things neither of you would say out loud. Not yet.

He moved behind you then, not close, but enough that you could feel the weight of his presence. Close enough that the silence shifted into something else entirely.

“You’re good at what you do,” he said, voice lower. “I just hate when you act like you’re the only one who cares.”

You didn’t reply at first. You couldn’t.

Because the thing was—you did care. A lot. And so did he.

You just showed it by keeping everything tight. Professional. Controlled. While he pushed back, challenged you, pressed into every soft spot like he was trying to find the line you wouldn’t cross.

And maybe this was it. Or maybe not yet.

“I’m going home,” you said eventually, standing.

But before you could grab your bag, his voice cut in, sharp.

“Running off again?”

You met his eyes. “I’m not running. I just know when to leave before something gets said that can’t be taken back.”

This time, he didn’t stop you.

But he didn’t leave either.

“Let’s try that one more time, Jeongin-ah. You were a little ahead of the beat, but the tone was great.”

Your voice was softer now, warm and patient, the exact opposite of the sharpness it carried yesterday.

Jeongin, standing in the booth with his headphones around his neck, grinned sheepishly. “My bad, noona. I’ll get it this time.”

Changbin was across the room, leaned back on the couch, jaw tight.

He hadn’t meant to show up today, but Chan had asked all of 3RACHA to sit in on vocal comp sessions to help shape the new track. He didn’t expect you to be here, running the session.

He also didn’t expect to feel like this—on edge, watching you be kind. Just not to him.

Hyunjin stepped in next and you lit up a little, laughing quietly as he teased you about coffee orders and pitch correction. Felix arrived mid-session, bringing iced Americanos for everyone and getting a shoulder pat from you in thanks.

It was the same smile. The same voice. But something about it twisted inside him.

He hadn’t seen you smile like that at him in weeks.

Or maybe you never had.

“You want to add anything here?” Chan asked, nudging Changbin with his shoulder.

He snapped out of it. “What?”

Chan gave him a look. “You’ve been zoning out since Jeongin started. You alright?”

“Fine,” Changbin muttered. “It’s fine.”

You didn’t even glance over.

He hated that he noticed. Hated that it mattered.

Because the moment he raised his voice to you, everything changed—and now, you were polite. Civil. Friendly, even.

To everyone but him.

The session wrapped smoothly, and you gave each member clear notes and encouraging feedback, lingering in the booth with Felix a bit longer while he asked about his vocal placement.

Changbin stayed seated. Didn’t move. Just watched.

And when you finally turned off the mic and began packing up your laptop, your eyes met his for the briefest second.

Cool. Flat. Professional.

Then they moved on, like he wasn’t even there.

Studio A – Two Days Later

The door creaked open as you adjusted the mic stand, glancing up just as Seungmin walked in.

“Hey,” you said, giving him a small nod. “We’ll warm up with the second verse—don’t overthink the run at the end, it sounded clean last take.”

“Got it,” Seungmin replied, setting his water down and slipping on the headphones. He was always easy to work with—calm, focused, sharp. There was a quiet rhythm to your sessions together that didn’t need much fuss.

You clicked the track into play and leaned back in your chair, jotting down timestamps.

From the corner of the room, Changbin’s voice cut through. “He was flat on ‘breathe.’ Let’s take it again.”

You paused the track, head tilting. “I was going to do another take anyway.”

“But he’s flat,” Changbin said again, arms crossed, irritation already simmering behind his words.

Seungmin glanced between the two of you, lips pressed together like he knew where this was headed.

“He’s barely flat,” you countered, voice cool. “A little vocal warmth in that line sounds better than forcing it clean.”

Changbin’s laugh was dry. “Since when do we settle for barely?”

You blinked at him. “Since it fits the tone. Since it’s a creative choice. Since—”

“You’re ignoring technical flaws.”

“And you’re micromanaging.”

Silence settled over the room. Seungmin slowly slipped the headphones off, sensing it wasn’t his place to mediate.

Chan and Jisung were off in another studio today, and there was no one here to stop this one from unraveling.

“I’m just trying to make the song better,” Changbin muttered.

Your hands curled into fists, but your voice stayed even. “No, you’re trying to win something that doesn’t exist.”

He stiffened. You could see it—the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes flicked away like he didn’t want you to see what that line landed.

But you did. You saw it all.

You turned back to the board. “Seungmin, take five.”

He nodded quietly and stepped out.

The door shut behind him, and the silence that followed wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was personal.

“You never fight like this with anyone else,” Changbin said finally, voice low.

You didn’t turn. “Maybe because no one else turns every session into a battle.”

He stepped closer, tension radiating off him. “Or maybe you save the worst of you for me.”

You slowly turned your chair toward him, eyes narrowing. “You really want to go there right now?”

He looked at you, mouth opening like he had something else to say—but nothing came out. Just that same storm behind his eyes, one you weren’t sure either of you had the words to weather.

The studio was behind you, but his voice was still in your head.

You sat on the floor of your apartment, the light from your laptop casting pale shadows on the wall as your unfinished notes for the track blinked up at you. You hadn’t touched them since getting home.

Every little thing about today kept looping. The way Changbin looked at you like you were the one sabotaging things. Like he couldn’t separate you from the producer role. Like he didn’t want to.

You dropped your head into your hands, exhaling sharply.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Working with Stray Kids had been one of the most creatively fulfilling experiences of your career. But lately, it felt like every session with him chipped away at your confidence—at your patience. It wasn’t just professional disagreement anymore. It was personal. He made it personal.

A soft ping pulled you from your thoughts. A message from Chan.

hey, everything okay? you left kinda fast.

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys.

Then, another ping.

we want you here. the rest of us do. i do too. just… talk to me if you’re thinking of walking.

You didn’t respond. Not yet. You weren’t even sure what to say.

Because part of you was thinking about walking. Not because you wanted to quit, but because staying meant seeing him again. Fighting him again. And somewhere along the way, you’d stopped being sure if this friction was something you could work through—or something that had already broken too much.

You closed the laptop.

Maybe you just needed time. Maybe you needed distance.

But if Changbin noticed your silence tomorrow—or the next day, or the day after that—he’d know it wasn’t about the music anymore.

It was about him.

You arrived ten minutes early. Not to be productive. Just to breathe.

The studio lights were a little too bright, the coffee a little too bitter, and your reflection in the glass of the booth looked like someone else entirely. Still you—but muted. Quieter.

When the door opened and Changbin walked in, you didn’t even flinch.

"Morning," he said, cautiously.

You nodded. "Morning."

That was it.

The rest of the group trickled in slowly. Seungmin was first, offering a small smile your way. Chan and Han followed, already in mid-conversation about edits from the night before. When Hyunjin asked how you were, you said "good" and nothing else.

And when Changbin started talking through the plan for the day—tempo tweaks, layering ideas, minor adjustments to Seungmin’s part—you simply nodded. Took notes. Said, “Got it,” in the softest voice imaginable.

No pushback. No counters. No fire.

Chan glanced up from his laptop. Han did too.

Even Jeongin, who was just passing through with a banana milk in hand, paused and looked between you and Changbin.

The silence after one of Changbin’s notes stretched too long.

“Y/N?” he asked.

You blinked once, pulling yourself back. “That’s fine. Let’s go with that.”

“…Really?” There was something off in his tone.

You gave a small smile. “Yeah.”

He stared at you like he didn’t recognize you. Like your body had been taken over by someone else.

When Seungmin came in to record, you didn’t follow the usual back-and-forth. Just quietly adjusted levels, nodded at the right moments, and told him he sounded great. Even when he flubbed a note.

Seungmin looked uneasy. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said. Then added, “Let’s move on.”

You felt eyes on you the entire time. Mostly his.

Changbin’s voice was strained when he finally said, “We’re taking a break.”

No one argued.

You stood, turning away to tidy up some cords, not because they needed it—just to avoid his eyes.

Behind you, you heard him say it—low and frustrated.

“She’s not fighting anymore.”

And then Chan, quieter: “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

A break was needed. Where would be better than the studio breakroom? You didn’t hear him come in, but you knew it was him. The air always shifted with Changbin. Dense. Unsettled.

“Y/N.”

You didn’t respond. Not right away. Just kept staring into your coffee cup like it held the answers to everything you didn’t want to say out loud.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he said. “Not with you pretending like nothing’s wrong.”

You finally looked up, but your expression was unreadable. “There’s nothing wrong. We’re working. That’s all we’ve ever done, right?”

He looked pained. “You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”

“Hide what?” you snapped. “That I’m tired? That every time I open my mouth in a session, you shut me down or talk over me? You made me feel like shit in front of your members, Changbin. Constantly. And now you wanna have a heart-to-heart like none of that happened?”

His mouth opened, then closed. His fists clenched at his sides. “That’s not what I meant to do.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“I know,” he growled, frustrated. “I know I messed up, but that doesn’t change—” He stopped himself, voice catching before pushing forward. “It doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”

You blinked, stunned—but it didn’t land sweet. It felt heavy. Messy.

You laughed once, bitter. “You love me? Is that what this has been? Belittling me in front of everyone, picking fights, acting like I don’t know what I’m doing? That’s how you show love?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“But you did,” you cut in. “So what am I supposed to do with that? Just pretend it didn’t matter because you’ve decided now you’re in love with me?”

He stepped closer, but you held your ground.

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” he said, quieter now. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle it. The way I felt about you. I was stupid. I thought pushing you away would make it easier.”

You scoffed. “And did it?”

“No,” he admitted. “It made everything worse. Especially now that you won’t even look at me like you used to.”

You paused, jaw tightening. “I can’t forget how you made me feel.”

“I don’t want you to forget,” he said. “I want to earn it back. Every piece I broke.”

The silence stretched.

You looked away first, arms folding protectively across your chest. “I don’t trust you. Not yet.”

“I know,” he said, voice softer than you’d ever heard. “But don’t go. Not yet.”

You hesitated. Your hands tightened around your coffee cup.

“I’ll stay,” you said, barely above a whisper. “But only if you mean what you said—and if you’re ready to prove it.”

“I will,” he said without blinking. “Whatever it takes.”

Recording Studio – A Few Days Later

You hadn’t said much since that night. Not more than necessary. You showed up on time, prepped the session, and avoided looking at Changbin for too long. But he was there—already in the booth, headphones on, waiting for your cue.

Chan, Han, and Seungmin sat nearby, eyes flicking between the two of you like spectators waiting for the bell to ring.

You clicked the talkback mic. “Okay, Changbin. Let’s try verse two again.”

His eyes met yours through the glass, and instead of the usual nod and go, he… smiled. Genuinely. No sarcasm, no smugness.

“Got it, Y/N.”

You blinked. It was the first time in months he’d said your name without a bite.

He rapped the verse cleaner this time—focused, grounded. You let it finish before pressing the mic again.

“Good take,” you said. “But maybe try softening that last word. You’re punching it too hard for the tone.”

“Right,” he said immediately. “You’re right. I’ll do that.”

The room went still.

Jisung blinked. Chan raised his eyebrows. Even Seungmin looked up from his phone.

“Did he just—agree with her?” Jisung whispered to Chan.

“She didn’t have to fight him,” Seungmin added, stunned.

You ignored them, staring at the console, pretending your heart wasn’t skipping weirdly in your chest.

Another take. Another clean pass. No arguing. Just him listening.

When he came out of the booth, you stepped back to give him space. But he stopped next to you, one hand resting on the console, the other lightly brushing your notebook aside to glance at your notes.

“Thanks,” he said, softly. “You always know how to fix it.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. He was so close, the studio lights painting shadows under his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Well…someone’s gotta make you sound good.”

He chuckled. Low, warm.

Jisung looked between you two, then stage-whispered to Chan, “Are they flirting or are we hallucinating?”

“You’re not hallucinating,” Chan muttered, rubbing his temple. “I don’t know what’s happening either.”

You tried not to smile as you turned back to the console. But when Changbin brushed past you—shoulder grazing yours—it lingered.

Something had changed.

And you weren’t sure what it was yet.

But for once, it didn’t feel like war.

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