#⟪ ic. ⟫ rude conversations.

[ouraniatm]

if you asked cora frankly, these missions and highly specific biddings for someone else were bunch of crazy talk. elio this, elio that... the green haired criminal grew tired of those lines being thrown around, over and over again, like a mantra. she didn't think much of it in the beginning - back when the world seemed to truly turn it's back on her - and even played along in order to survive, but now only annoyed her. perhaps it's the arrogance of their leader to believe destiny could be predicted and planned through, like he's playing a strategic role-play game, or just the fact cora does not like being told what to do ... it didn't matter. her opinion wouldn't make a change, nor would her situation get any better should she do the foolish act and oppose elio, himself. better survive on your own than to get in more danger than she's ever been in her life.

then again...who would give a damn should their underdog hunter get caught by IPC? nobody knew anything about her, not even the highest authorities had much information on her...she was just a black sheep.

well, not that she'd just up and say these thoughts out loud...especially not to spider lady, over here. hollow, icy eyes roll at kafka's comments while back is turned to her, mostly preoccupied with fixing her ice launchers before scoffing. ❛ heh...you were definitely the spoiled rich kid in previous life. ❜ she pauses to reload said launchers with ice-cased rockets, clicking her tongue and moving the goggles on top of her head. ❛ sure, bashing skulls is fun and all...only after i've taken everything i needed and made them watch it all, so they know they got duped on. ❜ cora grins devilishly as jaded eyes look back to kafka. ❛ but, eh... it's not like i give too much thought into my methods...i just find an opening. least i'm not a petty loser like our resident hacker. ❜

cora moves one hand to hip while other swings her weapon across the shoulder, finally having the decency to fully turn to kafka. ❛ so, you here to brag 'bout your criminal record or to fix your shit, again? you know i don't do chit-chat. ❜

@crownshattered ... continued from here!

[spiderwarden]

The tone is not missed on the Drow, "Oh, is that so." Tone is even with the flat addressing of the wizard in question. "Perhaps in Waterdeep an acknowledgment of your presence is unworthy of respect but even in the deepest depths of Menzobarranzan, there are infants with a better sense of the word." Then there is the slow dip of her chin as she looks the man over entirely, before making a short amusing huff. "I had started to believe at one point that you. combustible as you are, was capable of such a infantile ability. But it seems even I was mistaken, loathe as I am to admit it. Therefore I will snuff out what little of my social graces I had spared for you, Gale of Waterdeep - for a much more worthy individual."

@weavesick / Minthara is responding to this.

[ceilidho]

prompt: construction worker ghost and his elementary school teacher neighbour who made the poor decision to start feeding him (nsfw, 2k) [based on this old ask] [on ao3 here]

-

They say not to feed wild animals. 

It makes them grow soft, lazy. Alters their behaviour. Takes an animal previously capable of finding its own food dependent on humans for sustenance. Makes them lose their natural fear of humans and nearly always results in an increase in human-wildlife conflicts as they start to seek out people. It’s a known fact. You can’t go to a park without seeing it plastered on posters in the bathroom and on the sides of the vending machines under the gazebos where you purchase your post-hike iced tea and veggie roll to eat on a nearby bench. 

You know this. So you really don’t know what possessed you to leave a cooler full of sandwiches on your neighbour’s doormat before turning in for the night. 

He wakes up preternaturally early and leaves every morning around four-thirty or five o’clock on the dot. Sometimes in the fog of sleep, you wake to hear the door to the apartment beside yours crack open and slam shut, and then the sound of lumbering footsteps down the hall towards the staircase before that door opens and slams shut too. 

He never comes home before four o’clock at the earliest. That’s around when you come home from work as well, meaning that you sometimes catch him at the door, him covered in grime and reeking of old sweat while you come flouncing down the hall in whatever colourful dress you’d donned that morning, inevitably paint-splattered by the end of the day. Always something appropriate to wear at an elementary school but colourful enough to keep the kids’ eyes and attention on you. 

You’ve caught his name in half-whispered conversations with the property manager, but aside from that, all you know about Simon Riley is that he works in construction. He certainly looks the part: big, calloused hands with blunt, dirt-caked nails and cut up fingers, knuckles always swollen and thick. Body all strength and brawn. Hard hat tucked under his armpit and decorated with countless stickers from old job sites, the same way his forearm is covered in tattoos. 

You’ve even passed by his current job site once or twice—some new condo complex going up by the canal that’s forced you and hundreds of other commuters to leave an extra thirty minutes early to account for the road closures. You pointedly don’t bring that up in conversation though. That would just be rude. 

At least it would be something to talk about though.

It’s not like the two of you talk. You’re not close by any means. Though you moved in a few months ago, you haven’t had much luck mustering up the confidence to squeak out more than a hi to him in passing. When he grunts back something approximating a hello, it’s all you can do not to break your key in the lock when you hurry into your apartment and slam the door shut behind you, heart beating frantically in your chest. 

It’s humiliating. You’re a grown woman and you’ve talked to plenty of men before. You’ve dated plenty of men before. Just because this one speaks in monosyllables and stares at you with an intensity that makes your stomach churn and your palms grow sweaty doesn’t change anything. Just because this one is built like a redwood with wrists thick enough that you’d need both hands to wrap around doesn’t make him any different than any other person.

And yet, when Simon asks you for your name on a rainy June afternoon after you’ve come in after him for a change only to find him sifting through letters at the mailbox, you garble out something that sounds nothing like your name before scurrying up the stairs to your flat.

It’s humiliating. It’s humid outside and your dress is sticking to all the wrong places (namely, your nipples and the inside of your thighs when the skirt swishes between your legs with each stride) and now you’ve made an ass of yourself in front of the only hot guy in your building. There are serial arsonists with more charm than you. 

So maybe the sandwiches are an apology letter or an olive branch. Or maybe it just makes your heart race to think of Simon opening up the cooler and finding four wax paper-wrapped sandwiches tucked neatly over ice packs. 

All you know is that when you step out of your apartment the next morning, the cooler is empty on your doormat, the lid propped open. He must have taken them with him. 

You smile. A job well done. Apology served fresh, with cucumber slices in the middle. 

The problem starts when you don’t leave him another cooler full of sandwiches on his doormat the next day. 

You didn’t consider that he might think you’d make it a habit. Perhaps that’s partially on you for not leaving a note on the cooler the first time to explain that it was just a one-off; just a way to apologize for being less than chipper around him. But instead of shrugging it off, you come home after a long day to find him standing right outside your apartment, arms crossed over his chest, thick biceps straining against his sweat-stained shirt. 

“Open the door,” Simon commands, nostrils flaring as he glares down at you. He jerks his head towards your door when you just frown, not following. “Been starving here waiting for you to show up.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You’re at a loss for words, never mind that your whole job involves talking. He leaves you speechless though. 

Simon doesn’t move when you step close enough to unlock the door. You try to keep your body angled away so as not to brush up against him, but it’s inevitable. He doesn’t move when the door opens either, forcing you to squeeze by him. 

He goes straight to the kitchen and drags a chair out, letting it scrape across the floor like men always do before taking a seat. You follow after him nervously, apprehensive at having a man in your space. Not just a man, but Simon Riley. It feels sacrilege—not like he has no right being in your space, but you can’t imagine him here, sitting at your tiny dining room table like he comes over for dinner every Sunday. 

When he catches you standing under the archway to the kitchen just staring at him, he barks, “Well?”

That has you scurrying over to the fridge to pull out the cold cuts and pickled red onions. There’s a loaf of bread already on the counter, the bag twisted and tucked underneath because you had to leave in a rush this morning. You don’t know half of what you pile on the sandwiches, but whatever you serve him must satisfy him because Simon digs in with gusto, finishing the plate off in only a few bites while you wash the cutlery in the sink. You watch him out of the corner of your eye the whole while.

He leaves not too long after that, only a light warning for you to not miss tomorrow’s lunch before heading back over to his own apartment. You don’t even get a word in edgewise. 

It becomes something of a routine after that and not one you have any control over. Every night before bed, you leave him a cooler full of sandwiches and other things like cut up fruit or slices of cheese on his doormat, and every afternoon you rock up to him waiting on your doorstep, demanding to be let in. 

He takes to giving you a wet kiss before he leaves, all tongue and his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. When you try to cover his mouth with your hand, he nips at your fingers until you move them and let him slip you some tongue. 

The day you make him a casserole for supper, he bends you over the back of your couch and eats you out. Simon eats like a man starving, glutting himself on the wetness between your legs, licking even over the furl of your asshole and chuckling under his breath when you squeal and flail, your toes just brushing against the floor. 

In the aftermath, you sit panting in his lap while he eats. He gets up only briefly to get the bowl of strawberries and cream you left chilling in the fridge before lifting you up and putting you right back in his lap. You stare bleary-eyed when he holds a finger covered in cream up to your lips.

“Clean me up, pet,” he says, then watches you with half-lidded eyes while you lick his finger clean. 

He makes you suck his fingers too, to keep things even. He does it when you’re angled half off the bed, thick digits stuffed down your throat until your eyes leak big, fat tears that he licks away, hungry for those too. The man is always hungry, always keen to fill his belly. 

The arrangement continues on long enough to become normal, even routine. Simon shows up at your door every day after work waiting to be fed, and then makes you come a couple times before he leaves, a little thank you to repay you for the food. He never really says all that much when he comes around, not a conversationalist of a man. His preference is to eat, fuck, and leave, which you’re happy to accommodate, still too tongue-tied yourself to broach a real conversation. 

That’s all before he starts helping himself to your bed for a quick nap after a big supper. Then for naps that turn into a full night’s sleep, snoring like a chainsaw under the covers with you tucked under his arm, naked breasts pressed against his side, keeping you awake most of the night until you pass out somewhere around one A.M. 

Just as you suspected, Simon gets up at around four or five to be at the jobsite on time, but at your place, he gets up a bit earlier to help himself to breakfast. He doesn't even bother waking you up, just turns you over onto your tummy and spreads your legs before sinking his dick into where you're still stretched out from the night before. If you wake up or squirm, he just leans down and murmurs, “S'alright, pet…just need a pick me up before work. Go back to sleep, you’re okay,” and ruts between your thighs until he comes inside you and leaves you all wet in bed with one last messy kiss to your temple. 

The door slams shut on his way out. 

Because you feed him, he keeps coming back. The workday passes in a blur: attendance, a spelling test, recess, maths in the afternoon, and then you’re driving home in the same daze that has you slamming on the brakes before rear ending an old woman who stopped two cars behind the truck at the redlight ahead. 

You’re home earlier than him for a change, so you unlock the door quickly while there’s still a chance to avoid him. No such luck. When Simon turns up, he pounds on the door until you let him in. And you do. 

It’s a wonder you haven’t come apart at the seams, horny and pent up after this morning. You were too sleepy to come after all, rode hard and put away wet. Still, you flit nervously around the apartment, looking everywhere but at him. 

He always smells rich after working all day in the sun, like sweat and dirt. It's not a particularly nice smell, but it still kind of gets you going. He goes for a shower and then collapses on the couch after, beckoning you over to you crawl into his lap and grind yourself on his thigh because he knows of course. Simon can probably smell it on you, the ache. He shushes you when you whine about it, big hands fitting around your hips and pressing you down until your clit rubs deliciously against the muscle of his thigh and your head goes cloudy, cheek mushed against the pillow of his chest. 

When you come, Simon tips your chin up with his knuckle and murmurs, “Knickers off, love. Haven’t got my fill.”

He feeds you your own slick from his fingers when he kneels on the floor in front of the couch, your legs draped over his shoulders. Your fingers scratch helplessly over shorn blond hair, buzzed almost to the scalp. It’s prickly under your fingertips. 

Simon’s a messy eater. Your slick dribbles down his lips and glistens on his chin. It makes the blood roar under your skin, feverishly hot. 

“Please, Simon,” you whine, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “It hurts.”

You feel his lips quirk up against the folds of your pussy, the flat of his tongue running up the seam and flicking over your clit. He chuckles when your hips jerk. “Greedy aren’t you, pet? Didn’t even say thank you for getting on my knees.”

“You didn’t make me come!”

His voice borders on mocking when he coos, “Poor little thing. It’s gonna be a lot longer ‘til she gets to come if you don’t say thank you.”

Your brain goes staticy, fingers twitching on his scalp. His words echo back in your head. It’s rubbish, is what it is. All this time and he’s never said thank you once for the countless meals you’ve fed him. Indignation bubbles up in you, rising to the surface like fat on the cream, and you raise a hand to rub the tears from your eyes, a harsh rebuke on the tip of your tongue.

The protest dies on your lips when he meets your gaze. It’s hungrier than anything you’ve ever seen. Whatever animal lives under his skin stares back at you with black eyes, drool leaking from its jowls. It’s mindless, intent only on slaking its hunger. Filling its empty belly. And it is not afraid of you anymore. It knows you’ll feed it until it’s full. It knows you won’t let it go hungry anymore. 

So, always leery of the bigger animal in the room, you mumble out a chest-thick, “Thank you,” and shiver when he grins. 

There’s a reason they tell you not to feed strays. They often come back for more.

[suncoved]

BIG MAN ON CAMPUS! — RAFE CAMERON

pairing; fratboy!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary; you come to your first college party and have the worst panic attack of your life. who knew your knight in shining armour would be the captain of the biggest fraternity and the biggest fuck boy on campus

warnings ; panic attacks, anxiety, drugging, angst but like fluff!!

"Liv, i'm really not sure about this"

You're best friend and roommate looked at you with a blank stare, watching as you pulled the tight white dress down that had ridden up your thighs. She had dragged you out of your dorm only 20 minutes ago, telling you that if you didn't come she was going to wake you up with a bucket of ice water.

"Cmon babe, you made me promise i would drag you to at least one party this year. and i don't break a promise. Which also means that i promise if you don't like the first 30 minutes, then we can go home and eat 30 pounds of ice cream and pass out in our makeup"

You smiled at her, trying to push yourself through whatever anxiety was coursing through you. Liv was really a good friend, even if she was harsh about it at times, you know that she wanted the best for you.

The smell of booze and sweat hit your nose immediately as you walked into the frat house, the music blasting and the rainbow lights blinding against the otherwise dark space.

Liv pulled you to the corner of the living room, smiling brightly at you and giving you an extra tight hug. "Ok! I'm gonna go get us some drinks, stay right there and don't move!"

She had to yell because of how loud the music was, wasting no time before disappearing into the kitchen.

You stood in the party like a fish out of water, biting your lip as you looked down at your feet.

You'd like to say that you weren't that much of an introvert. I mean sure you liked to be curled up with a good book from time to time, and you were studying a bit more than healthy. But you like to go out and shop with friends, talk to new people in your classes and slumber parties on the weekends.

But parties were something you did not do. It had a combination of all the things you disliked most in life. loud music, people yelling, drinking, flashing bright lights and... frat boys.

You'd already been brought out of your shell at college, you were confident enough now to present in classes and partner up with new people on assignments, but this was pushing it.

You were a sweet girl, but naive. You didn't have enough experience with greedy men and even you would admit that you resembled a lost deer more often than you would like.

You lifted your head as you heard someone approach you, looking up quickly as you assumed it was Liv coming back from the kitchen.

But it wasn't Liv.

A brunette looked straight at you as you made eye contact with him, a red solo cup resting in his hand.

"What's a pretty girl like you standing here all alone in the corner" he stated, inching closer to you as you subconsciously stepped back a bit. "I'm Jeremey"

He reached out his hand to you to shake, only to receive a dumbfounded look on your face.

"Normally people reply back with their name, Babe"

"Oh! Sorry!" you replied flustered, repeating back your name as he grinned wide, showing his bright smile.

You didn't want to admit that when Jeremy was talking to you, you continually kept glancing over at the entrance to the kitchen, hoping that the next person to walk out was Liv, who was going to hopefully come to save you from this conversation.

"Hey, I was experimenting in the kitchen, wanna try my new concoction." Jeremy dangled the red solo cup in your face, the liquid pink and smelling of strawberries.

"No thank you. I don't drink" you replied sweetly, hoping to be polite and not upset him. "There's barely any in it, promise. Pleaseee, don't wanna hurt my feelings, do you?" He replied in annoyance.

A pang of hurt shot through you as you panicked, how could you have been so rude! Jeremy was taking time out of his day to talk to you and you rejected a drink he made you?

"Oh! no, I'm sorry. Thank you so much" you replied, taking the cup out of his hands and looking down at the liquid. He watched closely as you took a sip, your face twisting at the strong flavour of vodka.

"What do you think?" he smirked as he asked, bringing his hand up to your lips and wiping the extra liquid off with his thumb.

"Its- its great, thank you" you replied, your heart beating faster as you started to feel increasingly more uncomfortable. He watched you closely as he hinted to you to drink more, looking down at you like he was a wolf, and you were his prey.

You held back tears as you felt the room start to spin under your feet, your cheeks feeling hot and your hands shaking involuntarily. It hit you quickly that this wasn't alcohol that was making you feel like this, no, it was something else. Something much, much worse.

And you didn't want to stick around to figure out what it was.

"Um, sorry Jeremy, I need to go to the bathroom" you spoke up, using all your courage to push through the crowd quickly as he followed.

Your breath was now speeding up as you fought your way through the waves of people, your steps becoming faster as you felt the room spinning more and more, tears streaming down your face.

You didn't know where the bathrooms in this place were, but you didn't have time to think about that now.

You just needed to find Liv, or someone, anyone.

Your eyes fell on a room at the end of the hall, light spilling out of the crack where the door failed to meet the floor.

You didn't have time to think, just to act. Your balled fist made it up to the door, knocking over and over again as you looked behind you, Jeremy in the crowd but looking all over for what you assumed to be you.

You didn't even want to begin to imagine how stupid you looked, or how impolite you were being as your knocks became harsher and frantic as Jeremy came closer.

"Jesus, learn how to wait your fucking turn" a voice sounded as the door opened. you didn't even look away from Jeremy as you tumbled into the bathroom, accidentally bringing the person in the door with you.

"Yo, what the fuc-" the aggressive voice came to a halt quickly, but you all you could focus on was your breathing, which was out of control.

Your cheeks were wet with tears as you closed your eyes, bringing your hands up to your face and letting yourself sob. "I- I can't breathe" You let out, unknowing if you were talking to yourself or the person in the space with you.

You couldn't even handle your anxiety and emotions when you were in control of your body, let alone now.

That's the main reason you don't drink, because you tend to freak out to the point of no return, and this, this was much worse.

Your face was buried in your hands as the person softly closed the door to the bathroom. You didn't even register him softly moving you to sit on the toilet seat in the bathroom, kneeling down and removing your hands from your face.

You opened your eyes to see a man's face looking back at you, his features painted with worry and his body distanced enough away from you as to not upset you even more.

"Hey- hey. Its ok, what's wrong?" the boy asked, trying not to show how confused he was on how to deal with this situation. "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head quickly at his statement, your tears slowly coming to a halt as your vision became less blurry. You could now see his face more clearly. Fluffy dirty blonde hair, bright blue eyes, soft pink lips.

"Uh, um. Wait" He spoke, breaking eye contact with you for the first time since you entered the bathroom. He started frantically opening draws and cabinets, stopping when he found a box of tissues under the sink.

"Here" you looked between him and the box he was handing you before taking it in your hands, your fingers brushing past each other momentarily.

"Thank you, i-i promise I'm not this much of a mess all the time." You replied, earning a soft smile from the man. "It's ok, it happens to the best of us. Have you taken anything, or just drunk?" He asked delicately.

Rafe didn't understand what he was feeling at this moment. Because he'd never felt it before.

Sure he could be an asshole sometimes, He was rude and got into fights on occasion, and he had been known to make girls complete the walk of shame out of his room involuntarily after a big night out, but that didn't mean he would ever leave a clearly intoxicated girl alone at a frat party.

But this, this was different. He had to know what was wrong with you, and he had to fix it. Sure you were a mystery to him and only met you seconds ago, but he wasn't leaving until he knew you were safe and sound... and had given him your name.

"I don't drink- or, at least I didn't. This boy gave me something, it tasted weird. Then I got all dizzy and now- now I can't stop crying" You rambled, sighing softly and looking into his eyes.

He gazed back at you, running his tongue around his teeth before seemingly snapping out of the trance he was in. "Did you know the guy?" He huffed, obviously agitated with your reply as he ran his fingers through his hair.

You shook your head softly, a wave of sadness running through you because you couldn't give him the answer he wanted. Tears started running down your face again suddenly as you kept repeating 'I'm sorry' over and over again.

He lifted his thumb up to your cheek, softly brushing the tears away. "Hey it's okay, Don't worry. I'll keep you safe"

He didn't understand the feelings he was feeling, He had never craved to protect someone so much, He had never been this gentle in his whole life.

"What's your name?" he asked, distracting you to hopefully stop the flow of tears streaming down your face. He felt like if you didn't stop crying in the next minute, he was going to lose it.

You answered your name to him, earning a soft smile. "I'm Rafe, it's nice to meet you." He finished the sentence with your name, sending shivers down your spine.

"Liv" You gasped, making his head tilt in confusion before you shot up from your seat. "Wow, ma. Slow down, what do you mean?" Rafe replied, holding your hips to stop you from completely falling over. You sat back down quickly in defeat, your eyes wide with panic.

"Liv, I-I came here with my friend Liv. I'm gonna scare her. I need to find her." You gasped, your voice trembling as you spoke. "It's ok, We'll find her. Don't worry, it's ok." He repeated, desperate for your face to get back to your normal expression, aka, not struck with terror.

It was obvious to Rafe through the glaze cast over your eyes, the shaking from your hands and the drooping of your eyelids that someone had slipped something into your drink.

He had hosted enough parties at his fraternity to know what insecure, probably small dicked boys, not men, can do to women. And it revolted him.

"R-rafe. I'm gonna go to sleep now" You whispered, your body finally giving out before you could stop it, his arms quickly coming up to stabilize you before you toppled over.

He bit his lip as he tried to figure out what to do, pulling your body into his arms as you didn't even stir. He was scared. So scared.

He didn't know what you were given, how much you were given, what would happen after you woke up, if you even woke up at all.

He carried you up the stairs and into his bedroom, unlocking the door and locking it behind him again. His room was the only one with a lock in the whole house, because he was damned if he was going to walk in on random strangers having drunk sex on his bed.

He rested you softly on his bed, making sure your head was comfortably on his pillow and resting a blanket over your body after taking your heels off.

He looked at your sleeping form, your long eyelashes resting on your cheeks, your hair falling softly over your shoulders and your chest rising and falling with your breaths.

He looked at you one last time before leaving his room, ignoring every person greeting him as he made a beeline straight for the living room.

He scanned over the large crowd in the house, numerous people dancing, some making out, his frat brothers doing keg stands, and one very panicked girl going up to every stranger she sees.

Rafe took no time before walking straight to the girl in the middle of the dance floor, tapping her on the shoulder. She turns immediately to face Rafe, her face struck with confusion.

"Are you Liv?" Rafe asks, earning a confused nod from the girl in front of him” I am! Have you seen my best friend anywhere? She's about yay height, really pretty, heart of gold, she kinda looks like that baby deer from that Disney movie, she's wearing this white dress and-"

Rafe stops her ramble with a quick nod causing her eyes to widen. "What? Where is she?"

"In my bed" Rafe replied, remembering he wasn't all that good with small talk. "What? What the fuck do you mean, in your bed? What did you do? I swear to god-"

"Ok, calm down. Someone gave her something. I found her in the bathroom sobbing before she passed out. I put her in my bed then came down here, end of story" He replied, starting to get slightly agitated.

The girl he now knows to be Liv quickly walks off, heading straight for upstairs where the bedrooms are. Rafe rolls his eyes before following swiftly behind her, though he's glad that there's someone out there other than him trying to protect his newfound soft spot.

Liv halts at all the bedrooms, looking expectantly at Rafe before he walks in front of her and opens his door. Liv immediately rushes to you, still passed out on Rafe's bed.

She sits next to you, tucking your hair behind your ear before placing a kiss on your forehead. "Of course, on the first party she goes to, some sick fuck roofies her and she ends up in Rafe Cameron's bed" Liv speaks, not taking her eyes off you.

"How do you know my name?" Rafe asks, not even bothering to look at the person he's talking to as he focuses on your chest rising and falling. "Ha, everyone knows who you are Rafe. And if I find out you had anything to do with her getting hurt, I'm gonna chop your dick off and feed it to you and make sure everyone on campus knows it"

It would be a lie to say Rafe wasn't slightly amused by your best friend's words, holding back his smile and keeping his face stern. "I would never do that shit. Especially not to her" Liv's eyebrow quirked in confusion at the last bit of his sentence.

She knows for a fact that you did not know Rafe Cameron before this night, let alone any frat boys. Liv could cry at the sight of your passed-out form, taking full blame and responsibility for the fact that you got hurt when she was meant to protect you.

She pulled her phone out from her purse, about to call an Uber back to the dorms for both of you. "No, I'll drive you" He stated, not leaving room for an argument

Liv nodded slowly before pulling the blanket off you, your body involuntarily starting to shiver from the cold air.

Rafe walked over to his closet, grabbing his warmest hoodie. Liv looked up at him as he raised your body softly, placing the hoodie over your head and softly lifting you up into his arms.

Rafe walked with Liv down to the road outside the fraternity house, receiving hundreds of stares from people in the crowd. But he didn't care, all he cared about was you.

He let Liv open the door to the backseat of his truck, allowing him to place you softly inside before Liv climbed in next to you, placing your head on her lap.

The ride was completely silent, barring Liv's directions to the dormitories, but she didn't miss the way he was constantly looking in the rearview mirror at you.

It didn't take long before Liv was leading the way to your dorm, Rafe trailing slowly behind with you in his arms.

She flicked the light on in your dorm, Rafe quickly knowing which bed was yours from the multiple stuffies and pink blankets. He lifted the covers before placing your head on the pillow once more, knowing Liv was going to get you changed before she slept.

"Thank you, Rafe, for looking out for her when I didn't" Liv said as Rafe walked to your door, nodding curtly in repose to her statement.

He gave you one last look before he walked out of your door, watching as Liv was about to shut the door on him after saying goodbye. Panicked he placed his foot in front of the door before it shut, forcing it open.

"C-can I get her number, please?"

[luveline]

More spencer x hotch's sister? I love her relationship with hotch so much btw! Maybe spencer learns some of what she went through in her past?

“What did you get Haley for your six months?” you ask. 

Aaron shakes his basket of fries. You can smell them from your side of the table, salt and grease from the fryer. He doesn’t need to see you looking, maybe he doesn’t care that you want one or not, he tips half of the basket onto your plate and shrugs. “It was a long time ago, I’m not sure I remember. For our first year together I gave her a promise ring, I think.” 

“I don’t think I can get him a promise ring…” You swirl your drink with your straw. Fizzy bubbles rush to the surface. “A ring might be nice, though. Can he wear jewellery in the field?” 

“One nondescript ring would be fine.” 

“Maybe a necklace.” You stab a few of his given fries on your fork and smile. “I’m very stressed, but he’s been so kind the whole time. He never makes me worry about anything.” 

“Spencer is kind.” Aaron glances to the side as a couple sits in the booth opposite. “Admittedly, I was worried. But you’re happy, so I’m happy.” 

“Six months is a long time for no fights.” 

“Honey, some people don’t fight.” 

You toy with a stray piece of lettuce. “I’m really glad that we don’t, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

“It won’t drop. You think I’d let you date Spencer if I suspected he was secretly evil?” 

“There are a few things wrong with that question…” You wipe your mouth with a napkin. “Okay, it won’t drop. Can we get, um, dessert? Rocky road sundaes?” They’re Aaron’s favourite, so they’re yours, too. 

Despite his assurances, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You think about your conversation with Aaron for the days leading up to your six month anniversary with Spencer, which he aptly names your ‘half anniversary’. He doesn’t plan any surprises —he sends you a PDF with different options for everything. Five different restaurants with different options for courses, moods, and settings. There are notes for each place and why you might like them, and there are activities for each one afterwards based on the location. It’s so thoughtful it makes you feel sick. The other shoe looms, and looms. 

You choose a smaller restaurant just outside of the busy city, with a beautiful outdoor eating area on a stone veranda. It’s lively but not crowded, secluded but not completely private. 

Spencer tucks your seat in, and he kisses your cheek before he takes his own. When he does, he looks across the table at you, and says, “Wow, you’re so pretty.” 

“You think so?” 

“You’re beautiful.” He gives you one of his not so shy, almost cheesy smiles, like he wants to laugh. “Do you want your gift now or later?” 

“Is it rude to say I want it now?” 

“No, it’s not rude. I’ll feel better once I know you like it.” 

He presents you with a box wrapped in dark blue crepe paper and rounded silver star stickers. There’s twine wrapped around it and bowed, too beautiful to want to open. You look between him and the present in awe. “This is real pretty,” you say softly. 

“It’s nicer inside,” he says. 

You unravel the twin carefully, and you take off the paper to reveal a large, flat box. You put the paper in your jacket pocket, folded primly to keep. Spencer waits patiently. 

You press your thumbnail into the box’s seam and push. 

It’s four pieces of jewellery. What catches your eye first is the sapphires, blue crystal with deep dark hearts pressed into the pendant of a necklace, the heart of a bracelet, and the main bodies of their matching earrings. All simple, elegant pieces, and compiled, their impressiveness is amplified. Your breath catches. You don’t need to be an expert in jewellery to immediately assign a ballpark price tag, and it’s a lot. It’s sort of startling. 

But the price doesn’t matter half as much as the sentiment. 

“Do you remember them?” he asks softly. 

Fourth date. Hand in hand, you and Spencer walked through a shopping centre with iced drinks and churros, and you’d paused for a few seconds to ogle the jewellery display. You’d pointed straight at the sapphire bracelet and said, “That’s gorgeous. I think if I save, I can get it for Christmas.” 

“I know it’s not Christmas,” Spencer says, “I’m sorry, I cheated. But I hope you like them.” 

“Spencer, I love them, I love them,” —you reach your hand across the table— “I love you. Thank you.” 

He smiles at you. “Yeah, I love you, too.” 

You can’t stop yourself from getting up to hug him. He bends under your weight and holds your arms, doesn’t wince when you press the entirety of your face to his hair and breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, kissing his forehead twice, “thank you, I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” He takes your face into his hand before you can leave. “You like them?” he asks. 

“I love them.” 

His smile is everything. “I really did cheat, I wrote it down when we got home and you know I can’t forget the things I read,” he murmurs, pulling you in for a kiss. 

Six months later and your heart still skips a beat. Doesn’t matter that he has an eidetic memory, what’s important is that he wrote it down. 

You take another hug, to his delight, and return to your seat. Your presents wait in a bag under the table. Two books, one jewellery box. He goes for the smaller box first. 

“It’s a ring,” you say, too nervous to let him discover it by himself. “I know you don’t often wear them, but I thought maybe it’s because it’s not something you’d get for yourself, and I think it would look good on you.” 

He opens the box with a smile. So pretty, and exuberantly bright. “Oh, wow.” 

“I don’t know if brands mean anything to you, but it’s Vivienne–”

“It’s beautiful,” he interrupts, “I love it. What finger do I wear it on?” 

“Most wear it on their marriage finger, I think, but you obviously don’t have to do that.” 

He slips it onto his ring finger, turns his hand one way and another, and there’s this joy that echoes all the way across the table from his very core. “Thank you. I love it, and now every time I look down I'll remember why you gave it to me.” 

You spend a lot of time apart, what with both of you working. “I thought that, too.” 

He takes the books next. His laugh is soft. “I’m not surprised.” 

“They’re… they’re my personal copies.” 

He startles at that. “They are?” 

“Yeah. Uh,” —you point at the first— “that’s my favourite, and I think it could be your favourite too.” 

“And this one?” he asks gently, slipping the first underneath the second. 

“Aaron gave that one to me. I know what you’re thinking, okay, that I’m giving something to you I should really keep. Maybe it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t know, but I love you.” You lick your lips. “It’s nice to fall in love. And you’ve made it so easy.” 

He stares at you, lips parted. 

You panic. “It was hard, growing up, and I know everyone struggles but it was hard. If it weren’t for my brother… I feel like it sticks to me and you’ve never made me feel that way. You love me for me. I was convinced nobody would ever do that.” 

“I know it was hard,” he says. 

“Really hard, sometimes, but you aren’t. I’m never scared of you.” 

He reaches across the table to touch your hand. “You aren’t supposed to be scared of anyone, angel.”

Warmth blossoms under his touch. You shake off the fog. “It’s not just about all of that, I swear, I really do think you’ll like them. But if I got it all wrong just lie to me, okay?” 

“You didn’t get anything wrong, shut up,” he says. Spencer stands, his turn to hug you, but he goes about it differently. He tips your head back and he kisses you, and his nose is a pressed line in your cheek as he squeezes you to him. “I’d be surprised if anybody who’s ever met you didn’t love you. Okay? Thank you for trusting me with it.” 

It, and not them, not the books. 

He peels away. You beam at one another. 

“Should we eat?” you ask, feeling pleased and shy at once. 

He kisses you again, one quick peck. “Yes, we can eat.”

[pucksandpower]

Breaking the Ice

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Lando Norris x Räikkönen!Reader

Summary: a boy who never shuts up meets a girl who rarely wastes the energy to speak … it doesn’t go as expected (or in which not having much to say runs in the Räikkönen family)

Lando shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting nervously as he awaits the arrival of the other drivers for the pre-season press conference. His gaze darts around the stark concrete room, taking in the harsh lighting and the row of empty chairs on the raised platform.

This is his sixth season in Formula 1, but the thrill of the new year and the prospect of racing still sends butterflies fluttering through his stomach. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

The door opens and you stride in, Valtteri Bottas at your side. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to you, the rookie driver already capturing attention despite your quiet presence. You move with the casual confidence of someone who has grown up in this world, unbothered by the lights and cameras.

Lando finds himself staring, captivated by the way you carry yourself. The famously reserved Räikkönen genes clearly run through your veins.

Before Lando can gather his wits to introduce himself, you slide into the chair at the end of the row, Valtteri taking the seat next to you. Lando blinks, realizing he’s been caught gawking.

Smooth, Norris. Real smooth.

He clears his throat and makes his way over, mustering his most charming grin. “Hi there! Lando Norris. Welcome to the circus.”

You turn towards him, your expression unreadable. For a beat, you simply regard him in silence. Then, “Hey.”

You give a small nod of acknowledgment before turning away, effectively shutting down the conversation. Lando’s smile falters as you refocus your attention on … absolutely nothing at all.

Well, that’s a bit rude. He frowns, stung by the brush-off. So much for breaking the ice. Maybe you’re just shy around new people? Lando decides to give you the benefit of the doubt as the other drivers begin filing in.

He takes his seat a few chairs away, sneaking sidelong glances at you. You haven’t so much as glanced in his direction again, adopting the same thousand-yard stare as the Iceman.

Like father, like daughter, Lando muses with a shake of his head.

When the press conference gets underway, question after question is lobbed at the drivers. Lando fields them with his usual charismatic charm, unable to resist hamming it up for the cameras with comedic flair. In contrast, you remain stubbornly curt whenever the mic is passed your way.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I don’t know.”

Your terse responses draw titters of laughter from the audience and press corps alike. Lando watches in amazement, unable to fathom how anyone could be so … so ...

“Boring?” He blurts out before he can stop himself.

You cut your eyes towards him, holding his gaze for the first time since your noncommittal greeting. Lando feels himself flush, suddenly uncertain if he’s been too cheeky. But then the corners of your mouth tug up in an unmistakable smirk before you turn away again, leaving him to wonder if he’s imagined it.

By the time the press conference mercifully ends, Lando has decided you’re definitely an odd duck. But also … kind of fascinating? In an eccentric, robotic sort of way? He’s not sure what to make of his swirling thoughts as you all rise to make your exit.

Lando hangs back, angling to get one more shot at conversation. “Hey, uh, Y/N? I know you’re still getting your feet wet here, but if you ever need any advice or, you know, someone to show you the ropes, I’m always around.”

You pause, glancing back at him over your shoulder. For a fleeting second, Lando thinks he detects … what? Amusement? Disbelief? It’s impossible to tell with your trademark poker face firmly in place.

“Thanks,” you reply, your tone mild. “But I’m good.”

And with that, you pivot on your heel and stride away, leaving Lando to stare after you.

“Huh,” he mutters to himself. So much for breaking the ice.

As the next couple of days of testing wear on, Lando can’t seem to get a read on you. Oh, you’re perfectly courteous whenever your paths happen to cross in the paddock. You’ll return his greetings with a respectful nod or murmur of acknowledgment.

But that’s as far as it goes. You’re polite, but also totally inscrutable. Lando has no idea what you make of him, or really anything at all that might be going on inside that head of yours. All he knows is that his curiosity about you has been thoroughly piqued.

One morning, Lando spies you sitting alone, sipping from a a mug of coffee as you study a stack of data printouts. He ambles over, determined to try chatting you up again.

“Y/N! How’s it going?” His voice is cheerfully upbeat. “That coffee from the hotel? Because let me tell you, it’s rubbish. If you want a proper brew, you’ve got to venture out and find a decent cafe. I know all the best spots around here if you’d like some recommendations ...”

He trails off as you simply look up at him, silent and unblinking. Lando clears his throat, feeling oddly off-kilter beneath your steady regard.

“Anyway,” he blusters on, undeterred. “How are you finding testing so far? Not too overwhelming, I hope? If you ever want to debrief or go over data or anything, I’m happy to lend an ear. Or even an eye, I suppose, since it’s more looking at numbers than listening to-”

“Bwoah.”

The single syllable cuts through Lando’s babbling. You set down your coffee and rise to your feet in one effortless, graceful movement. Lando blinks in surprise as you turn and walk away without another word.

“Oh. Erm. Sure, just … ignore me then,” he mutters, feeling his cheeks flush hotly.

He shakes his head as you disappear around the corner, baffled by your total indifference. But then a wry chuckle escapes his lips as the truth dawns on him with crystal clarity.

You’re not rude or shy at all. That’s just … who you are. Curt, to the point, unconcerned with frivolous chitchat and social niceties. You’ve got laser-focus, and nothing is going to distract you from your pursuit of speed.

In that moment, Lando feels a swell of admiration. He gets it now — you’re carved from the same uncompromising bedrock as your old man. Refreshingly authentic without any affectations or pretense.

Most people would find your blunt aloofness off-putting. But not Lando. No, he finds the prospect of unraveling the mystery that is Y/N Räikkönen irresistibly intriguing.

He grins to himself as he ambles off to get ready for his own session out on track. Just you wait, Y/N. He’s going to get you to crack a smile yet, even if it kills him.

After all, whoever said being a woman of few words was a bad thing?

***

Lando is in the middle of his pre-race routine, trying to center his mind and get into the zone, when you appear out of nowhere and thrust something at him.

“Here,” you say brusquely.

He blinks, puzzled, as he registers the scraggly bundle of wildflowers gripped in your fist. They look like they’ve been unceremoniously ripped out of the dirt, roots, soil and all.

“Uh … what’s this?” Lando asks.

You meet his confused gaze head on, your expression typically unreadable. “Flowers. For you.”

“For me?” Lando repeats dumbly. He glances around, as if expecting a hidden camera crew to jump out at any second. “Are you … giving me these?”

“No, I’m giving them to the other idiot who won’t stop yapping at me every single day,” you deadpan.

Lando feels his cheeks grow warm at the mild rebuke. He knows you’re referring to his persistent, if extremely one-sided attempts at conversation over the past few weeks. All his friendly openings and invitations have been met with a string of indifferent brush-offs and noncommittal hums.

Can’t blame a guy for trying, right? At least he’s being polite, which is more than he can say for-

“Well?” You break into his thoughts, arching one coolly expectant brow. “Are you wooed or not?”

This time it’s Lando’s turn to stare at you blankly. “I’m … sorry, what?”

“Wooed,” you repeat flatly. “You said the girl of your dreams would woo you with flowers or some nonsense. So I got you flowers.” You give the bedraggled bouquet a little shake for emphasis. “Now you’re wooed. Happy?”

It takes a moment for the words to click into place in Lando’s brain. Then a strangled laugh bursts from his lips as he remembers the foolish, offhand comment he made in an interview a few days ago. He’d been prattling on about his imaginary ideal partner, somehow painting the ridiculous picture of himself being “wooed” like some lovestruck Victorian lady.

Leave it to you to take the whole ludicrous scenario at face value. Lando can’t decide if he’s more charmed or bewildered by the fact that you’ve actually gone to the trouble of physically wooing him with … weeds?

“You cannot be serious right now,” he sputters out between residual chuckles.

You simply stand there, utterly unfazed as you hold out the world’s saddest excuse for a bouquet expectantly. “Well? Am I doing it right or not?”

“Doing what right?” Lando shakes his head, chortling again. “This whole wooing business? Y/N, that was just me rambling on like an idiot, as usual. You didn’t actually have to-”

“But I did,” you interject, effectively cutting off his protests. “So. Are. You. Wooed?”

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it again as he searches for the right response. There’s no menace or mockery in your expression, just that same intense focus and matter-of-fact bluntness that you apply to everything. Somehow, he gets the distinct impression that you won’t be deterred until he gives you a straight answer.

“Uh … no?” He ventures at last. “N-Not really, I guess?”

You stand there for a beat, Processing his words. Then you give a curt nod of acknowledgment. “Okay. That’s a you problem.”

With that, you turn smartly on your heel and stride away, leaving Lando gaping after you in a stupor. He stares down at the shoddy little bundle of greenery still clutched in his hand, not sure whether to laugh or just shake his head in amazed disbelief.

“A ‘me’ problem?” he mutters, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “Well, you’ve got me there, Y/N.”

Because the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that you respecting him enough to even entertain his absurd hypothetical … that might just be his new favorite problem.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Lando brings his car across the finish line in fourth place. Not his best result, but respectable points in the bag. He allows himself a tight smile as he peels into the pit lane and kills the engine.

Until the unmistakable bright green and black livery of your Kick Sauber fills his vision, that is.

Lando does a double take, his jaw dropping as the implication sinks in. No way. There’s absolutely no way you’ve … you’ve won this race, right? In that underpowered, aerodynamically-challenged shitbox?

He can scarcely believe his eyes as you glide to a stop behind the large “1” board. The cheers and applause swelling around the track leave no doubt — somehow, against all odds, you’ve just taken the top step of the podium.

Lando scrambles out of his own car, tugging off his helmet and balaclava as he hustles across parc fermé in a daze. The first thing he notices is the sheer confusion and shock etched onto the faces of everyone else milling around. Even the marshals look gobsmacked by this upset for the ages.

In the middle of the chaos, you’re casually unfurling yourself from the cockpit with your trademark nonchalance. Like this is just another ho-hum Sunday drive for Y/N Räikkönen instead of, you know, the most spectacular overachievement in recent Formula 1 history.

Lando stands there gaping at you, unable to fully process what’s just happened. He vaguely registers the rest of the top finishers pulling in around you, their body language radiating bewilderment and disbelief as they all turn to stare, dumbstruck.

No one can quite seem to believe that an underdog backmarker has just eclipsed them all in a car that typically struggles to score points, let alone wins.

For your part, you’re projecting indifference to the chaos swirling around you. You simply grab a water bottle and take a long, unhurried pull, seemingly oblivious to the escalating frenzy.

Then, you casually turn in Lando’s direction and arch one brow ever-so-slightly. A silent question.

“I … you ...” Lando sputters uselessly, his brain still stuttering to catch up. “Did you seriously just ...”

The corners of your lips quirk upwards, hinting at a suppressed grin. “Well?” You prompt him calmly. “Are you wooed yet or what?”

It takes a moment for the light to flicker on in Lando’s mind. Any other time, he’d be delighted by the playful ribbing, eager to keep the back-and-forth banter flowing.

But right now, something else cuts through the haze of astonishment clouding his thoughts.

“Wait … is this ...” Lando squints at you searchingly. “Did you just win this race … for me?”

The words slip out before he can stop them. Because that would be such an impossibly, endearingly you thing to do, wouldn’t it? To dedicate achieving the unachievable all because of an offhand remark about wanting to be wooed?

His heart does a strange little flip-flop at the mere idea of you going to such outlandishly romantic lengths, all for the sake of who-even-knows-what is brewing between you two these days.

For a long beat, you simply stare back at him, your expression unreadable as ever. Then, “What?” You let out a faintly derisive snort. “No, of course not. Why would I do that?”

The words detonate like a slap in the face, momentarily winding Lando with their blunt force. “Oh. Well, I just thought maybe since I mentioned the whole wooing thing, and then you ...”

You shake your head impatiently, cutting him off. “You’re not the one who won this race, Lando.”

With that, you turn on your heel and stride away, dismissing him with a curt finality. Lando is left speechless, mouth agape as he watches your retreating back.

Around him, the rest of the drivers and crew are still buzzing with perplexed whispers and incredulous looks. No one can seem to wrap their minds around what they’ve just witnessed.

A sudden boom of laughter from Stake F1 Team Kick Sauber garage shatters the tension. Lando glances over to see your grizzled race engineer doubled over, tears of mirth streaming down his face as he wheezes helplessly.

“That’s my girl!” He chortles, shaking his head in amazed delight. “Leave it to a Räikkönen to blow the entire fuckin’ field away and just shrug it off like it’s no big deal!”

Lando feels the corner of his own mouth twitch upwards, the pinpricks of embarrassment fading as quickly as they flared. Of course he wasn’t on your mind out there today — you’re a laser-focused competitor brimming with the same single-minded intensity as your father. No thoughts, just pure, unbridled velocity.

You don’t crave grandstanding or glory, you’re simply out there doing what you were born to do, with ruthless, unsentimental precision. No fuss, no frills. Just inevitable, undeniable greatness through sheer force of will.

For now, that’s more than enough to leave him feeling utterly, deliriously, irrevocably … wooed.

***

Lando flops back on the hotel bed with a contented sigh, still basking in the post-race glow. P3 on the podium is a stellar result, made even sweeter by the fact that you claimed second place.

He grins lazily as you emerge from the en-suite bathroom, having shed your team wear in favor of a comfy t-shirt and shorts. Even with your hair tied up in a messy bun and your face scrubbed free of makeup, you’re still the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on.

“There’s the champion,” he rumbles affectionately, reaching out to snag your wrist and tug you down onto the bed beside him. You allow yourself to be pulled into the circle of his arms with a quiet huff of amusement.

“I didn’t win, you dork,” you point out mildly, making no move to extract yourself from his embrace. “That was Max on the first step today, not me.”

“Mmm, true.” Lando hums his agreement, nuzzling against the crown of your head. “But you’ll get there again soon enough. Then we can really celebrate.”

He punctuates the promise with a languid kiss, smiling against your lips as you melt into him with a soft sigh of contentment. These tender, unguarded moments are rapidly becoming his favorite part of any race weekend.

You allow the liplock to linger for a few long, blissful seconds before finally pulling back with a faint smirk. “Speaking of celebrating ...”

Then, without any hesitation whatsoever, you deftly roll off the mattress and sink down onto your knees in one fluid motion, effectively pitching Lando’s heart rate into a gallop.

“Whoa, hey now,” he sputters out a nervous chuckle, propping himself up on his elbows to gawk down at you in surprise. “What are you doing down there, trouble?”

Rather than answering directly, you simply arch one eloquent brow and ask, “Are you wooed yet?”

Lando blinks, needing a second to parse your meaning. Then a bark of laughter escapes before he can stop it, finally realizing where this is going. “Oh my god, you cannot be serious right now. Are we really still doing that stupid bit?”

There’s no missing the impish glint in your eye as you regard him from your knees, clearly quite pleased with yourself for managing to get the upper hand. “Well? I’m waiting for an answer here.”

Lando shakes his head in amazed disbelief, unable to smother his grin. “Y/N, love, you have got to be the most impossible woman on the planet sometimes.” He reaches down to brush an errant lock of hair out of your eyes, cradling your face tenderly. “But lucky for you, it’s impossibly charming as hell.”

You lean into the caress ever so slightly, regarding him with an impish glint. “So? Do you feel wooed yet or not?”

Something warm and gooey blossoms in Lando’s chest as he studies your features — the amused quirk of your lips, the slight flush on your cheeks, the fire dancing in your eyes. You’re such an endearing contradiction, managing to be the most formidably stoic badass on the racetrack while also being irresistibly playful when it’s just the two of you.

“Y/N ...” he starts, a bemused chuckle rumbling from his lips. He presses a kiss to your forehead, relishing your quiet hum of approval. “You do realize you don’t have to keep trying to woo me anymore, right?”

You blink up at him, your brow furrowing slightly as you process his words. “What are you talking about?”

Lando nods towards the pillow behind him, gesturing vaguely. “The flowers. The race win. All the coy banter and teasing.” He grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed at this point, love.”

You continue to stare at him with a blank look, like he’s suddenly started speaking in tongues. The lack of comprehension on your face is so unguarded and genuine that it makes Lando’s grin slowly slip.

Hold on … could it be that you actually don’t realize-

“Hey,” he asks slowly, hardly daring to breathe. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, but … I thought after the whole flower thing, we kind of … you know ...”

He trails off helplessly, not sure how to broach the subject in case he’s somehow misread everything completely. Your brow remains furrowed, making him abruptly hyper aware of the fact that your lithe form is literally kneeling at his feet while wearing very little clothing.

A pregnant pause stretches between you, thick with confused tension. Then-

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, your eyes going comically wide as the pieces finally click into place. “Did you think we were … dating? All this time?”

Lando chokes on his own tongue, too stunned to respond right away. He simply gapes at you, feeling like the world’s biggest moron for somehow operating under the wrong assumption for … how long, exactly?

Now that he’s thinking back, neither of you ever explicitly defined what was brewing between you two ... you just sort of started spending more and more time together, growing more and more intimately intertwined until … well ...

Suddenly he’s laughing, helpless peals of mirth bubbling up from his core as the truth dawns on him. All this time, you two have essentially been a couple of awkward teenagers muddling through the beginning stages of a relationship, the wires of communication getting hopelessly crossed along the way.

But oh man, of course it somehow ended up going down like this between you two. Why would he have expected anything less idiotically convoluted?

You’re chuckling too, the laughter rippling through your body in delightfully unreserved waves as you sway back on your heels. And just like that, the last lingering hint of tension dissolves from the air as you surrender to the hilarity of it all.

“So … I’m just gonna go ahead and take that as a no then,” Lando finally manages to gasp out between wheezing chuckles.

“Well that would depend,” you shoot back, your eyes bright with mischief. You shift forward onto your knees, leaning in close enough for him to feel the teasing rasp of your breath against his lips. “Because according to you, I’m already spoken for.”

Lando’s laughter cuts off with a soft groan as your nose brushes teasingly against his thigh, his palms finding their way to your hips as if by muscle memory. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” He accuses without any real heat.

“Nope,” you agree matter-of-factly before capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

He loses himself in the velvet glide of your mouths for endless minutes, his fingertips tracing maddening patterns across the sliver of exposed skin at your waist. When you finally break apart, you’re both panting softly, gazes locked in a heated stalemate.

“So ...” Lando murmurs at last, his lips brushing deliciously against yours with every word. “If we haven’t actually been dating this whole time, then what would you call … this?” He sweeps one hand up in a languid caress, hinting at the incredible tangle you’ve both willingly stumbled into.

“Hmm ...” You press another series of featherlight kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, leaving him shivering. “How about … badly in need of remedial communication skills?”

Lando bursts out laughing again — because really, is there any more succinct way to sum up the two of you? He tugs you up onto his lap, cupping the back of your head and crushing your lips back to his in a heated clash of teeth and tongues.

You willingly arch against him with a throaty sigh, hands roaming possessively across his chest. The two of you are a whirlwind of tangled limbs and shared laughter and scorching friction.

It’s all so achingly, impossibly right that Lando can hardly stand it. But as you meet his heated gaze, chests heaving and eyes sparking with unspoken promises, Lando finds he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when the payoff is stealing heated moments like these, all tangled up in each other with boundless laughter and blazing passion.

“Y/N ...” he murmurs reverently, tracing the curve of your smiling lips with the pad of his thumb. “I adore you. You incredible, impossible woman.”

You lean into the caress with a soft hum, covering his hand with yours to hold him there. “So what now?” You arch a playful brow. “Are you officially wooed or do you need some more convincing?”

With a low growl, he abruptly flips you both over onto the mattress in one fluid movement. You let out a startled squeak quickly swallowed by his questing mouth as he settles between your parted thighs, pinning you to the sheets.

You arch up to meet him in a slick glide of fevered skin, clutching him close. Through it all, your soft laughter never ceases — bubbling up in breathless peals of delight that Lando hungrily drinks in.

Yeah, he’s pretty damn wooed all right. But from this moment forward, he’s going to spend every second making damn sure you never have to ask again.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Not trying to be rude, genuinely curious, why are metal and wood not just earth?

Assorted Reasons off the top of my head:

Metal in this 5-element cycle accounts for all nonliving solids- metals, rocks, minerals, etc. Wood accounts for all Alive or Dead* solids.

*Dead being "Used to be Alive" Which is a really different thing than "Was never alive in the first place" in terms of physics, biology, and epidemiology.

Wood is neither properly a solid nor liquid. It's liquids trapped by malleable solids under pressure, which is a really different thing than "Solid" in terms of physics.

To Put it in ATLA Terms: Wood is it's own Element because Neither Earthbenders nor the Swamp Water Tribe can bend it. (at least once it's dead, and the Swamp Tribe was using Still-Living Algae, the wettest plant. Deceased Tree might be beyond them).

Also how Neither Earthbenders nor bloodbenders can bend Bone.

Putting Living Tissues solidly within either Water or Earth massively unbalances the Elements IMHO, hence, the separation.

the number 5 is in the Fibonacci sequence, and I can do silly numbers things with that :)

I like drawing Pentagram more than Square

This is actually about Magical Blood typing Hell, and two characters having an insane conversation about whether or not ice is a Mineral while their friend is bleeding out :)

[bogleech]

So yeah MSN posted this overly long clickbait compilation of tweets from across the last ten years(?!) in which someone from another country isn't sure if something from American media is real or not and they all have tons of notes on them indicating that these really are points of confusion. So many of them fascinate me???

I don't even know what this one means. No you wouldn't do that in casual conversation. I do not know where this is being done inappropriately in enough media to raise this question.

Where in the world do people always sleep in all of their clothes. Or do they mean pajamas? In that case, where in the world are pajamas still a thing.

I cannot think of a single film or television show I've ever seen that depicted a deviled egg.

Because it's the cheapest and most filling staple that almost everyone actually likes. Why doesn't your country have it, that's weird

This does not happen in real life, no.

No, this one is a movie trend we also think is weird.

My father is the only person I have ever seen drinking milk with dinner and we all poked fun at him for it. I have never seen it in a piece of media. My theory is that there may be like five or six movies in which this is depicted and those are the only movies this guy ever saw.

Why waste a bowl whether you're sad or otherwise? It's your ice cream. Also, one tub is one serving, duh.

I have personally never seen a movie or television show in which someone just called their dog "pooch"

Meatloaf is in fact considered a more obscure and divisive dinner in modern America. I love it but we think of it as like a weird grandma dinner since the 50's.

No that would be weird and rude.

I have never seen etc.

THE BABY MUSEUM

I only just learned because of this tweet that this actually is not a standard anymore since around 20 years ago

[erwinsvow]

introducing... bitchy reader!

rafe never pays attention to sarah’s friends. new yet similar faces seem to make the rounds through tannyhill every week; the place was a revolving door. the occasional familiar girl would say hi to him, which would of course be ignored since he doesn’t care enough to say hi back.

so naturally, you become the exception to his little rule.

you and sarah are on opposite sides of the counter, flicking through magazines and taking sips from overpriced iced coffees, when he overhears a conversation that makes him stop and listen.

“-and he’s not like topper, like, at all. he’s really nice and actually talks to me instead of at me-”

“wow,” he hears you say, dragging out the syllables and sarcasm dripping from your voice. “such standards you have. no, really.”

“shut up. he’s totally sweet-” sarah says, but you interrupt her.

“he’s, like, totally a dirty pogue.” that catches his attention—not just the fact that there’s something going on between his sister and some pogue, but the way you say the sentence, how the words sound coming from your mouth. 

you nearly sound like rafe.

“that is so rude-”

“what? i’m just being honest. i’d be a bad friend if i didn’t tell you the truth.”

“what truth?” his sister questions.

“that you’re settling for some pogue boy because you’re bored of top. i get it. if i was dating him i’d be bored enough to fuck a pogue too.”

rafe cringes at the topic even though your word choice makes him laugh—topper is boring, though he doesn’t think he’s heard anyone else bring it up until now. he steps back into the doorway, watching the two of you. the crass words are coming from you, dressed in a sunny yellow dress and tapping pretty pink nails against the counter. 

“hey! i’m not bored-”

“you mean, you like hearing about his boat and golf every single day?”

“he has other hobbies! like-”

“like what?” you pause, watching sarah’s expression before giving her a pointed look—a look that says told you so. “who are you really trying to convince right now?” you flip through another magazine, finding something that must have caught your eye. you lift it to show sarah—some pinked striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers on the pages. “don’t i totally need this?”

“shut up.”

“that’s what someone says when they know the other person’s right,” you say with a mocking smile, setting down the magazine. he’s watching the whole thing—you’re funnier than he would have thought. “and if you change your mind just go to country club. top’s dime a dozen there.” the two of you start laughing. 

“i’m not gonna change my mind-”

“that’s what you said when you started dating topper,” you say it deadpan, and rafe holds back a laugh.

“-because he’s really nice. he’s a good guy.”

“ugh, sarah. making out with a dirty pogue at a bonfire is one thing. you’re talking like you’re in love. get a grip.”

“what? what’s so wrong with that?” sarah asks, taking a sip of her drink.

“because you can’t be in love with someone you have to hide your valuables around.” that’s when he decides to walk in—sarah sputtering on her drink while you roll your eyes.

“and what’re you girls talkin’ about?” rafe asks, and two sets of eyes turn to look at him. you look at him a little confused—in all the years you’ve known sarah and times you’ve been at tannyhill, rafe’s never once spoken to you.

“i don’t think it’s any of your business-” his sister says, and then he rolls his eyes. you interrupt right away.

“sarah, it’s okay.” you turn to rafe, looking right at him and leaning in a little like you’re gonna tell in something. “it’s really not any of your business.”

blank face, trying to be annoyed but not actually feeling annoyed, he stares back at you. his sister laughs stupidly, heading into the living room. she leaves you alone with rafe in the kitchen, but as you grab your drink and try to follow sarah, rafe says something.

“y’know i heard that shit you were sayin’. you’re funny, kid.” you turn back to look at rafe.

“thanks. i wasn’t joking.”

“yeah. good. at least one of my sister’s friends has ‘er head screwed straight.” you laugh, but the look on your face says you didn’t think it was funny.

“are you trying to compliment me? by insulting all my other friends?” he wasn’t expected that retort.

“no. no, i-”

“maybe if your friend wasn’t such a shit boyfriend, sarah wouldn’t be talking to some pogue. but hey, what do i know?”

“hey, kid, i-”

“don’t call me that.” you roll your eyes, walking to the living room without even glancing back at rafe. he calls out after you again.

“so have you?” you pause, turning again.

“have i what?” “made out with some pogue at the bonfire.” he shrugs. “that’s what you said to sarah, isn’t it?”

“again, how is that any of your business?” you ask, cocking your head at him.

“that’s not an answer.”

“i don’t owe you an answer. but for the record, no, i haven’t. i actually have standards.” he doesn’t miss the remark and what it says about his sister.

“good,” rafe says, looking at you. his eyes rake over your body before he can stop it—your short hem, the jewelry dangling on your wrists and neck, the heels even though you hadn’t gone anywhere.

“shut up. weirdo.” you walk to the living room where sarah’s waiting for you.

rafe’s gonna have a hard time staying away from you.

[starry-songs-canvas]

Fenton-Proved Kryptonite!

Sorry for the lack of prompt last week, been sick.

——————————————————

Lex Luthor had sent a representative for LexCorp, instead of coming to Vlad Masters himself.

Rude, but smart.

But this imbecile can’t seem to hold a simple business conversation! (No ghostly interference needed) Starring at his most recent attempt of a bust of his dear Madeline, (a good improvement from his previous endeavor, but even Vlad will admit it’s… slight imperfections. If only he could capture her essence as well as he does her idiot husband! At least those give him some stress relief.)

“I apologize for boring you, however I do happen to believe these major details are rather important.” Vlad growls.

“I- I apologize sir, but if I may ask, where did you get so much kryptonite?!” The representative chokes out.

Tl:DR, Vlad’s machines make kryptonite as a byproduct, which he then ice sculpts into Jack Fentons head. Imagine this, if you will.

[ouraniatm]

would you look at that - cora had an extremely wicked, satisfied look on her face. is it because she succeeded in a mission either kafka or elio tossed on her? no. perhaps it's because she managed to find yet another, highly valuable machine for her to tinker with? absolutely not. if so, what else would it be...?

oh, you know ... it's because she managed to outrage the one and only, smug and arrogant member of the IPC's spoiled child, intelligentsia guild , dr. ratio, himself - or as she called him, dr. smartass. seeing the fury in his eyes, be it benign or extremely obvious, was VERY satisfying for the stellaron hunter. she couldn't help it ... especially when she was bored of the missions given to her.

❛ would ya' look at that - those lil' toys got to you. ❜ she begins, her tone snarky, as her icy blue eyes remained blank - though if one looked closely, you could see the viciousness from within. ❛ it's almost like...ya' didn't calculate your time of escape right~ hehe...welp, i'm off. see ya', dr. smartass! ❜

aaaand just like that, off she takes off, fully expecting for her biggest rival to chase after her. man, did she love this chase of cat and mouse.

@stcries ... continued from this.

[byeolyeou]

❝ that's one of 'em questions that requires a fuck-ton of alcohol t'answer . ❞ reno shakes bangs out of his face a little , teeth worrying his lower lip before he clicks his teeth - fingers fidgeting with his goggles out of old habit .

"i could have told you that." there's an edge of amusement to his voice as he leans forward in his chair. "you've done worse, how is this anything worth stopping?"

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I love your writing and so I just had to request something, a reader x azriel one shot. We know that he doesn't talk that much and is more of a listener, but what if it's exactly different with her. He talks to her a lot and about everything. the IC notices this and is like: what? who is this? Is that really Azriel 😂

Speaks volumes

They were all used to Azriel just being there. They could feel his presence. Could see him quietly eating his meals. Nodding along at times. Opening his mouth only if it was necessary. And even then the conversation might have slipped towards work, Rhys’s assignments. Rarely would you find him indulging in a simple chatter. He didn’t waste his breath on it.

And then you come along. Rhys invited you to dinner one night. You have been a huge help with rebuilding the city. Building shelters and help camps for people who had fled to Velaris after the war. It’s his way of saying thank you. And Azriel had seen you around but that night something clicked within him. His body goes rigid when you’re seated beside him. Not that he hates it. He just wasn’t in the mood to talk tonight and now staying silent would appear rude.

“Sorry, could you maybe…”, Azrie quickly turned towards you. You were subtly pointing to the roasted vegetables on the other side of the table. “Sure, yeah, yeah”, he muttered, reaching out for the bowl. “Thank you, got little arms”, you chuckled. “It’s more that Rhys is a show-off”, Azriel pointed out, waiting for you to load up your plate. “You want some of that too?”, you asked so casually as if sharing food with him was second nature. Azriel swallowed thickly, “Yes, please”. His eyes follow your every move.

“Anything else catches your eye?”, he wasn’t even sure what he was asking about but his mouth seemed to be moving on its own accord. “I don’t usually do fancy dinners so I don’t know what’s…”, “Try this”, Azriel cut in, reaching for another bowl, the smell of spices deliciously hitting your nose. “Mom always made this for us growing up”, he carefully scooped up the soused meats. “Childhood favorite?”, you questioned leaning in to smell the different aromas surrounding your plate. “You could say. I’m more a sweet tooth kind of guy”, he shrugged, moving his fork closer to his mouth.

You nodded at his words, “So, I shall trust my sweet treat with you then”, you tried to suppress a smile. “You want me to pick your dessert?”, it was such a genuine surprise on his face. “Suddenly not sure if you are Mr. Sweet tooth?”, you nudged his side making him roll his eyes. “We’ll let the post-dinner tea do the talking”, he shot you a smug look before turning to his plate. You do the same but not before catching a glimpse of Cassian looking all smug at the other side of the table, you shake your head, mouthing a quick, “What?”, but he just continues to grin. Eyes so full of joy as he glances at his brother.

[angelicblondie]

high infidelity ೀ⋆⑅˚

luke x princess!reader

cw: cheating (totally not ok in real life pls dont cheat!), sexual content, a tad toxic (MDNI)

luke hated your boyfriend, and you hated luke.

so it was a pretty simple dynamic.

you and luke had never really gotten along. you werent sure why, at first, but it was the way things were - you hated luke, and luke hated you.

it didnt matter, anyways. luke was nice to everyone but you, so you couldn't even talk to anyone about it, because everyone loved him!

it was unfortunate, but it was reality - nothing could be done about your distaste for each other. it is what it is.

you could admit though, that it was highly unhelpful - your rivalry, that is. as being two of the oldest campers, you tended to be paired up quite often. whether it was co-taught classes, demonstrations, cabin duties - somehow, someway, you were always together.

luckily at this point, you two had matured (at least a little) since your arrival at camp half-blood. when the two of you were younger, it was hard to act professional. you would get in fights very often, needing an older camper or even chiron to break it up. it was too easy for the two of you to dissagree - you were just too different from eachother, you were never going to get along.

as you got older, you were able to learn how to bite you tongue, and pick your battles. even if he made a sly comment, or gave you mocking look, you tried your very best (most of the time) not to engage. he wanted a reaction, and you had learned not to give him one (once again, most of the time).

however, recently, its been harder.

a couple months ago, you started dating alex from demeter cabin. he was sweet, and caring, and easy to get along with.

but...also a bit boring.

you wouldnt mention it to anyone of course, not even your closest friends. you tried to convince yourself that boring wasnt bad, in fact, it was what you needed. boring was good for you!

how come it didnt feel like that though?

anyways, the point is, ever since you and alex started dating, luke has been flaring up the teasing again. making little comments, trying to embarrass alex whenever their in the same group of people - it was relentless.

it became harder and harder for you to not get mad at him. he knew just how to get under your skin, better than anyone. why was he bothering you so much? why couldn't you shake him? the hate for him and his stupid comments, and stupid pretty eyes festered deep in your chest, waiting to be released in the form of curses and harsh words you knew you couldn't take back.

you decided not to stoop to his level, though. you figured that was the best form of revenge - no reaction.

but, like stated - he was relentless.

it admittedly got out of hands this morning though, when you had overheard luke talking to his siblings at breakfast. you were simply minding your business, drinking your iced coffee and eating your breakfast as you unintentionally picked up on their conversation.

"...i mean, we all know she's gonna drop him in...what? a week?" you heard the smug, annoying voice of luke and the laugher from his siblings. you paused you actions, discreetly leaning on your elbow to listen closer.

luke laughed before continuing. "not even to be a dick, but that guys is so boring, gods. what does she even see in him?" hermes cabin was called up to the fire, and you seethed in your seat.

that was it. you had taken lukes snide comments and rude words for too long. you felt the anger you had been haboring rise into your throat, and before you know it, you grab your cup, and walked right up to him.

he turned too late, barely registering you were there as your threw your drink right in his face. gasps were heard around the pavilion as confused and speculated murmurs started to circulate.

his mouth was wide open in shock and his eyes were shut as the coffee driped down his face. your voice was stern as you spoke, your lips formed a pout, and your eyebrows were scrunched up. "next time, say it to my face, castellan."

chiron stood up, appalled, calling out both your names. "this is disgraceful! never would i think that two of the brightest and most gifted half-bloods in todays day and age would show such childish behavior!" he lectured, and you look down at the floor, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed. what were you thinking? "the two of you will spend the day cleaning the camp, and i will not hear a single complaint from either of you! understood?"

luke looked like he wanted to argue but he zipped his mouth shut, clenching his jaw tight as he look at you.

supprisingly, he didnt look like his usual mad. instead, he was...amused? he was almost impressed by your boldness - he didnt think you had it in you. but you had bottled it up for so long, it was bound to happen eventually.

you look away from him and up to chiron. you mouth was drawn in a line, and you nodded, almost robotically. "understood." you stated, voice firm. luke did the same and you both walked back to your tables, not giving the other another look. your siblings immidiately bombarded you with questions, so you briefly explain, not really wanting to talk much longer.

you sent an apologetic look to alex as you went to sit back down, and he gave you a strained smile, before looking away. you sigh softly and bite your lip, playing with your food before undeniable hell started - spending the whole day with luke.

.·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤

after breakfast, you met luke at the stables, where you started your day of torture. the whole hour it was silent, the only time the two of you spoke was relating to the job.

you were mostly joking before, but truly, if someone had asked you what your personal hell was, this was about as close to it as it could get - cleaning up pegasus manure with only the company of luke castellan.

it totally wasnt fair. your hair kept falling out of your ponytail, pretty much all your polished nails were chipped, and you got shit on your sneakers. and of course, nothing of the sort happened to luke. the sweat on his head didnt look like sweat, it just made him shiny, and if possible, better. his eyes scrunching up in focus only made him look more attractive.

you shook the thought away, reasoning that it was totally ok for you to notice beauty, it was practically your job as a child of aphrodite! as long as you didn't dwell on it too much, you should be good.

but, of course, that wasn't the case.

it became a reoccurring theme to notice how effortless luke was at everything. cleaning the dining pavilion, he looked good. cleaning up after the archery class, he looked good. even sweeping the floor he looked hot! it was totally unfair, and all it did was make you angrier. since when was he allowed to be hot???

as it finally reached the later hours in the day, you two had made it to your last task - picking up trash out of the beach. you sighed, finally breaking the silence.

"ok, are we ever gonna talk, or no?"

luke looks up at you from picking an empty bottel from the sand and smiles mischeviously.

"'bout what?" he teases and you purse your lips.

"seriously?" you ask, hands on your hip and an angry pout. "you know what."

he takes a step closer, looking down at you with amusement. this was funny to him? "nah, princess, think y'need to tell me."

you clench your jaw and cross your arms. "your problem with me. look, im not a fan of you either, but at least im mature enough to try and act civil!" you exclaim.

luke chuckles, stepping away to continue to clean the beach. "yeah, civil. it was real civil when you threw you coffee all over me at breakfast." he quips, voice full of amused sarcasm.

you scoff. "yeah, it was only 'cause you were talking shit, though." you mumble. "sure, it wasnt the best idea, but at least it got the point across."

you move away as well, continuing the task, hoping it would be over soon. "tell me, princess. just outta' pure curiosity, how does your little boyfriend feel 'bout me?" he asks, his voice smug and condecending.

you purse your lips as you turn to me. "ok, seriously, whats your problem?" you drop the trash bag to the sand.

luke shrugs. "no problem, just think you could do better, s'all."

you blink, eyes furrowing in confusion. huh?

its silent for a few moments as you process his words. "you....what?"

luke chuckles, dropping his bag and walking a few steps closer to you. "i think you could do better than whats-his-name. i mean, everyone thinks your only using him for the rite of passage, because why else would you date a guy like that?"

your defensively cross you arms. "like what?"

luke scoffs, as if the answer is obvious. "boring."

you fold your lips inwards. got me there, you think to yourself, and he looks at you like he knows what your thinking.

your narrow your eyes. "hes not boring. and im not using him for the rite of passage. hes nice, he cute, and he doesnt make me want to rip my hair out - all things you cannot say about yourself. besides, its really none of your business."

luke holds up his hands in mock surrender, taking a step back. "woah, dont get all fiery on me, princess. just statin' my opinion, which you asked for," he defends, chuckling at your outburst. "y'know, somethings telling me that your only dating this guys 'cause hes the opposite of me."

your lips twist in a sickeningly sweet smile. "i mean, it certainly doesnt hurt."

luke bite his lip, holding back his amusement and stepping closer. "im startin' to think your obsessed w'me, princess." his voice was lower than before, and his eyes twinkled with michief and...something else?

you swallow, trying to maintain eye contact but the intensity was overwhelming. "i think its the other way around." you say, trying to sound strong, but your voice was quiet.

why all of the sudden was he having this effect on you? why were goosebump trailing up your skin, why was your head foggy, and why on earth did you want him to come closer? not only was it out of character, but it wasn't right! no matter how much you weren't into you boyfriend, you couldn't cheat on him, you knew that was wrong. but luke looked far too good right now, and you were feeling things you never felt before.

before you could come to a conclusion on your emotions, luke took a teasing step back, peeling off his shirt.

"i think im done cleaning," he states, tossing his shirt to the sand and unbuttoning his shorts. you turn to look away, fearing a blush would coat your cheeks at seeing his near-naked form.

you can hear the smirk in lukes voice as he talks, and you turn back to see him just in boxers, walking backwards towards the water.

"gonna take a dip, if you wanna join."

his words were enticing, and you still couldn't figure out why. despite yourself, you slowly peel of you clothes, curious as to where this was going. with a new found sense of confidence, you walk towards the water, locking eyes with luke, who was eyeing your body, and the thin, lacy garments covering you privates.

as you decent down into the water, you stand in front of him, water reaching the middle of your ribcage whilst it almost reaches lukes shoulders, since he's further below. if you were honest, it was quite a beautiful scene, the sun was setting below the horizon, the water was calm and still, and the occasional sound of the waves hitting the shore and crickets beginning to chirp was the only thing that could be heard.

you tilt your head, eyeing him curiously. "why do you hate me, castellan?" you ask, your voice devoid of any malice, just pure curiosity.

luke looked a little suprised by your question, and looked back at you with a bit of amusement. "i dont hate you, princess, thats a bit intense," he chuckles.

you scoff a bit. "well you obviously dont like me. so, what is it?"

you werent sure when it happened, but you and luke had waded out further, making the two of you level, only your shoulders up being visible.

it was silent for a moment as luke thought up his answer, and weirdly the void of conversation was comfortable. the sunset illuminated one side of his face, making him look oddly ethereal. you couldn't look away.

"i dont hate you, princess," he says finally, looking into your eyes with a serious expression (one of the few times you had ever seen one on him).

he doesnt hate you? then why is he always such a dick? you think about asking your plethora of questions, but decide against it, being unable to form any coherent words.

he looked really pretty. you couldn't stop noticing how pretty he was.

for once, your head was devoid of any rational thoughts - you weren't telling yourself how bad of an idea this way, how wrong it is - because it felt so right. and things rarely felt right for you.

you weren't sure who did it first, but somehow your lips met, and it felt like nothing else would ever be the same.

you had been kissed before, but gods, never like this. it was like every emotion you had ever made each other feel was being poured into yours lips, being felt again all at once. your hands were all over each other, trailing below and above surface to claw at the others skin. your lips danced so passionately, everything about it felt raw and exhilarating. and as much as you wished you could say they were, your thoughts weren't on alex, or the consequences of your actions - your head was foggy and consumed by him. by luke.

your tongues clashed every now and then, deepening the kiss and you tried every way to feel closer to him - grabbing his skin, pressing your front flush against his - you needed to feel him everywhere. he wasn't far off from your state, in fact, he was just as bad. he panted into your mouth, his rough, calloused hands from all that training gripping at the skin of your waist, your hips, your ass - anywhere he could find, his hands had been there. you had never felt so deliciously exposed before, and you had never expected to like it.

your legs were wrapped around his waist, and your hands were in his semi-wet hair, gripping and pulling, urging him closer, trying to take control of the kiss. no matter how hard you tried though, you couldn't - luke had full control, and you weren't sure you were mad about that.

you suddenly broke away, the both of you breathless and panting hard, not looking away from each others eyes. your eyes raked over his features, and he looked so perfectly ruined. his hair was a tangled mess , his pupils were engorged, his lips were red, and his cheeks were flushed. you were sure you looked the same, feeling the own heat in your cheeks and thunder in your heart, wondering if he could hear it as well. you couldn't stop thinking about how much you wanted to ruin him all day - do something to make him stop looking so perfect all the time. looking at him now, you decided that it didn't matter, that no matter what you did to rough him up, he would still look angelic.

your lips were still inches apart as you observed each other, catching your breaths. you look back up into his eyes, and let out the only words you could manage.

"take me somewhere else."

.·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤·✫·゜·。..·。.·゜✭·❤

as luke opened the door to an empty cabin one, he quickly pulled you in, caging you against the entrance as he slammed it shut. his lips were instantly back on yours, one hand resting above your head and the other on your bare waist. the kiss was just as soul draining as the other, but a bit more slow and sensual. this one wasn't as desperate - it was like you were exploring each other, trying to figure the other out. your hands trailed down his toned chest and his abs, snaking around to grab his waist to pull him closer. you could feel the water dripping down your skin and onto the floor, and as luke removed his lips to attach onto the skin of your neck, you felt droplets from his raven hair run down your back. you shivered, your senses heightened, feeling hyperaware of every small sounds luke made, of every touch his hands left behind, of every noise you could hear - you could feel it all. it was electric.

lukes left little love bites around you neck and chest, pecking them with a surprising softness after he sucked to hard, almost as if he was apologizing for his roughness. his lips started to trail down past your bra, and his knees began to lower to the floor, his head tilted up to look directly into your eyes. your breath hitched, watching in awe and a sense of impatience as you waited for him to make his next move

kneeled in front of you, lukes hands had slid down from you hips to your waist, his fingers teasingly slipping under the hem of your panties, each time causing you to release a shaky breath. his lips hovered over you clothed core, breathing directly onto your clit as you shivered, throwing you head back against the door.

"please," you ask, your so voice quiet, it was almost a whisper.

you look back down to see lukes response, and the intensity in his gaze made your breaths even more harbored than they already were.

"please?" luke repeated, his voice a low murmur, holding the smallest amount of teasing and mockery, pretending as if he didn't know what you were pleading for.

you nod eagerly. "please, luke. want it," you whine, your voice still quiet, almost as if you were a little ashamed at how easy you had given yourself to him.

luke let out a small, pleased smile. "well, since y'asked so nicely..." he remarks, as his finger loop under the sides of you panties and slide them down to your ankles.

you feel the cold air hit you at the wet bottoms were discarded, and you shivered, sliding them to the side. lukes eyes were no longer on yours, instead, they were on your pussy. it was shocking to see how hunger-filled his eyes were, looking like it took everything in him not to suck you dry, and curb his craving.

he looked back up at you, a small, teasing smile making its way onto his lips as he attached them onto your pussy. you let out a breathy gasp, throwing your head back as your hands instantaneously imbedded themselves into his hair. he threw one of your legs over his shoulder to get a deeper angle, and you could've sworn you saw stars. his lips sucked and licked your clit, inhaling up your juices whilst his fingers moved in and out of you hole, curling up into your sweet spot causing you to arch you back off the door and closer to his mouth. you had some idea that he was good (word got around easily at camp), but you had no idea he was this good, or that head could even be this good.

"luke," you whimpered, feeling yourself getting closer as you gripped his hair, pulling him off your pussy. "stop, s'too much." you voice, your tone needy and breathless.

he himself was breathless, panting hard with your juices dripping down his chin, his hair a tangled mess from your greedy fingers.

"want me t'stop?" he asks, his voice serious as a funeral.

you quickly shook your head. "n-no, no, just..." you bite your lip thinking up something, and your next solution was to pull him back in for a kiss, grabbing him by his shoulders. he seemed a bit surprised, but he certainly wasn't mad, cupping your cheeks as he returned the notion. you started to push him forward, leading him to the nearest bed and he got the memo, backing up against it until he sat down, you moving to straddle his waist.

you continued to kiss, everything about it feeling intoxicating. the feeling of your bare center against his clothed cock sent shockwaves into your core every time you moved against him. luke smirked against your lips, mumbling against them. "not too proud now, huh?" despite yourself, you smile, letting out a small laugh. "shut up," your murmur, pressing your self against him as he lowered his back against the mattress, you laying on top of him.

soon enough, his boxers and your bra were discarded, and luke had you on your back, one hand on your waist and another on his shaft, lining himself up against your entrance.

luckily, he keeps a condom in his pocket (bit of a red flag that he always had one on him, but you guessed it was better safe than sorry) and had slid it on, which you were grateful for. mainly because in your current state, you weren't sure if you would be able to say no if he didn't have one, and you'd let him fuck you raw, which would definitely be bad.

you look down, watching as his tip was right about to enter, and then you hear lukes voice, snapping you out of your trance.

"hey," his firm tone voices, "want you lookin' at me when i fuck you, understand?" he directs, and normally you wouldnt stand for being told what to do, especially by a man, but you were too desperate for him to fuck you, so you nodded eagerly, following his instructions.

when he finaly entered you, your eyes widen, lips opeening in pure euphoria. his own lips parted, leting out a small groan, and a string of curses. "fuck, your tight." he marvels, slowing moving further into you.

once his hips meet yours, he pulls all the way back out, and then back in, pulling a sharp moan out of you lips as your fingers grip the sheets below you.

he continues this process a few times, easing the both of you into adjusting to his sheer mass. eventually, luke begins to speed up, finding a steady and pleasurable pace for the both of you. your walls gripped his dick, and luke would swear he had never felt such pleasure. he could feel each clench, hear every crude squelch, and even still taste your wetness from before on his tongue. he never would've thought he'd be lucky enough to see you in this position, but he assumed he must've won the lottery today or been blessed by one of the gods, because in no world would you letting him do this would be reality.

luke grunted as he looked down to see your connection - your wetness on the silicone, the veins on his dick visible underneath, your pussy swallowing up his inches every time he pushed himself in - it was a sight to see.

he let out a breathy, disbelieving chuckle. "god, princess, what do you think your lil'boyfriend would have to say about this, huh?" he looks back to your face, to see your eyes scrunched up in pleasure and your lips dropped in awe, and it only spurred him on further.

"huh? bet he'd understand. even he knows hes not good enough for you," he chuckles darkly, quickening the pace of his thrust, the sound of your skin slapping together audible. "bet he could never make you feel this good, could he?"

you repeatedly shake your head, your words coming out all jumbled together. "no, never, only you, luke," you cry, moaning out as each thrust brings you closer to your high, your hands moving to scratch against his back, nails digging into his skin as pleasure overcomes you.

he didn't seem to mind the mild pain, in fact, it seemed to spur him on further. "s'that right, princess? only me?" you almost regretted your words, seeing how much it seemed to have grown his ego, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care all that much when he was making you feel so good.

you nod, whimpering as your cunt clenched around him, biting your lip to hold back any more sounds.

luke cursed under his breath, speeding up even more. "fuck, 'mclose, baby."

the use of the new nicknames brings you closer, more and more little whines leaving your lips. "same. please, luke."

"yeah? wanna cum all over my dick? gods, go ahead, babe, you can do it." he spurs you on, watching as your face twists with pleasure and your hips splutter, your eyes locked on his as your run over the edged.

you irises are glazed over with pleasure as you release around him, his hips continuing their assault as he chases his own high. your transfixed by the sight of him, not able to look away once he reaches his own high, releasing a low, guttural groan. he throws his head back as his movements slow, a lazy and satisfied smile taking over his features. you mimic his expression, quite pleased yourself with what just transpired.

"fuck me, princess" he lets out a breathy chuckle, pulling himself out of you as you giggle as well. he pulls of the condom and stands up, placing a surprisingly gentle kiss on your forehead.

you lay flat on the bed, eyes on the ceiling as your process what just happened. you just fucked luke, you worst enemy and...really enjoyed it, to say the least. and you also cheated on your boyfriend. you winced at the thought, deciding to deal with that factor later, and instead, try to figure how you now feel about luke. not surprisingly, your opinions on luke had changed drastically in the last hour. you had gotten to see a different side to him, one you hope you'd get to continue to see. but you were weirdly filled with insecurity, wondering if this was just a one and done for him. and then you were filled with even more confusion, wondering why that thought upset you.

your pulled from your spiraling when luke returns from the bathroom, a wet hand towel in his hands as he crawled onto the bed, wiping your fluids off your skin. the gentleness in which he approached it with was shocking, yet filled your stomach with a heavy fluttering. he tossed the rag to the side and looked up at you, a slight, mischievous smile on his face.

"that was fun, huh?"

[giuliettagaltieri]

Lonely Little Thing

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Lovesick!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Jealousy, party, and a tooth fairy

Warning: Angst, swearing, one sided pining, shallow/light writing, you and Rafe are equally stupid in your own ways.

Word Count: 2150

2 of 4

It has been a week since the incident in the Country Club.  You and Rafe are barely talking, well, you are barely talking.  He was never one to start conversations with you.

In the Country Club, you would be ordering more drinks and food to keep your mouth busy so you won’t have to talk, just nodding and smiling along with Kelce and Topper.  The server, Sofia, evaded you like you had something contagious, and you would not blame her, you are aware that you completely lost it with her.

You hated it when she’s your server though.  One, because you can’t trust your food and drinks.  Two, because she was always lingering to ask how Rafe was, her hip leaning on his side of the table, while he entertained her.

Kelce would often start a joke to keep you occupied while Rafe talked with Sofia.  You would try to hold Rafe’s hand under the table but he’d pull away just as quick.

Once Sofia is gone, you’d try to make small talk with him but he responds with nods and shrugs, clearly wanting nothing to do with you at the moment, so you’d give up and try again after a while.

Rafe and you fought before but he always gets better when you stroke his ego or when you bake him cupcakes.  But you sent two batches already and he still does not talk.

The three of them are playing golf, with you sitting under the shade of the golf cart when you overhear them talking about a party.  You look up from your phone and try to listen.

“Hey, Y/N!”  Topper calls and you smile at him, eyebrows raised, as if you weren’t listening the entire time.  “Party at Tanneyhill at eight, you in?”

Rafe looks at you and you meet his eyes.  Does he even want you there?  Well, he doesn’t look displeased, only bored.

You nod at Topper before looking away from all three of them, hastily opening your phone to pretend as if you are doing something.

The boys continue their game, often cheering when they get a ball in while you are scrolling through your phone.  Soft footsteps make you look up and you see Sofia with a small cooler.

“Drinks?”  She asked plainly.

You sit up straighter.  “Uhm yes.  Cherry cola, please.”  You say quietly as you watch her dig through the ice filled cooler and she hands you a can of cherry cola.  “Put it under Cameron.” You see her inhale sharply from her nose before nodding.  She is about to walk away when you call her again.  “On second thought, put it under mine.”  You say softly, eyes now dropped to the ground as you scuff your shoe awkwardly against the mat of the golf cart.

“Okay.”  Sofia says curtly.

“Sofia?”  You call her and she exhales loudly before turning to you.  Biting your cheek, you slip out of the golf cart, as you play with your cherry cola can.  “Look, about last time.  I’m really sorry I yelled at you.  I know that wasn’t nice-”

“Yes, it was rude.”  She says, making you close your eyes tightly.  “I would understand if you’re his girlfriend but…”  She chuckles lightly.  “You’re not.”  You open your mouth to respond but she shakes her head.  “But it’s alright.  Let’s just forget about it.”

You smile at the ground and nod as she walks away to greet the boys with her pretty smile.  You look away quickly when you see Rafe smile at her, putting on your earbuds as soon as they start inviting Sofia to the party.

The party was in full blast the moment you stepped out of your car.  You struggled to get past the crowd to try and find Rafe and the others.  In every party you’re in, you’re always by his side.  He gets pissed when you’re not so it just became your thing but just as you find him, you turn around quickly.  He’s playing beer pong with Topper and Kelce.  But that wasn’t what made you leave.  It was Sofia, standing next to Rafe.  Where you were supposed to be.

You should’ve left home earlier, then this wouldn’t have happened.

Not knowing where to go, you stood there awkwardly, eyes darting around until you found familiar faces.

Choosing to hang out with your other friends, you temporarily forgot about Rafe.  A friend complimented your dress and you giggled, giving her a spin, making them all clap and whistle playfully.  You love being with your girlfriends, they always boost up your confidence.  Too bad you’re always using up all your time to hang out with Rafe.

You chug the content of your cup and you giggle as you nearly lose your footing, luckily, an arm wraps around your waist.  You look down and admire the rings on his fingers but you snap out of it as soon as you catch an unfamiliar scent, turning to face the man.

It was your schoolmate before from Kildare Academy, he’s been trying to get you to date him since forever, but you turn him down every time he asks.  You push his chest lightly but he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Whoa there, had too many drinks?”  He grins playfully.

“Thanks.  You can let go now.”  You stay sternly but he only chuckles.  His head is dipping to whisper in your ear. 

“Why?  You're free game now, aren’t you?”  He draws, making you scoff and sober up pretty quickly. 

“Asshole.”  You mutter as you try to push him off again.  Some of your friends are standing up, ready to interfere. “Let go.”

He laughs.  “Alright.”  He raises his hands in surrender.  “But you are, aren’t you?” 

You fix your dress and you glare at him.  “I’m what?”

“Free game?”  He smirks down at you, stepping closer, prompting you to take one back. 

“No.”  You cross your arms defensively, eyes darting around to try and look for Rafe, he always managed to keep this dude at bay but you know your girlfriends will have your back if he really tried something.

“No?”  He rubs his chin, and he frowns at you with faux concern.  “But your guard dog’s busy sniffing up another bitch, isn’t he?”  He chuckles as he steps to the side to show you Rafe swinging an arm on Sofia’s shoulders as they talk quietly in a corner.

Tears start filling your eyes but you will yourself to hold them.

“Is there a problem here?” 

You are grateful to see Kelce, walking over, his eyes on the guy beside you.

“Nah, man.”  He laughs.  “Just catching up with Y/N.  Isn’t that right?”  He grins at you and you look away, brows furrowed.

“Catching up.”  One of your girlfriends spits.  “You called her ‘free game’ and held her without asking if she was okay with it.”

He groans.  “Oh come on, Y/N likes that shit.  That’s why she hangs out with Rafe Cameron, he’s the scum of Kildare Island but she can’t get enough of him.”

Your friends gasp and start throwing insults at him. 

“What is wrong with you?”  You yell as you push him off and you storm away.

Kelce calls your name but you were too busy wiping your tears.  You just need to get away from this place.  You hear an unmistakable sound of a punch landing on something, followed by gasps but you don’t bother to look nor respond to Kelce’s calls.

You get in your car, hands shaking as you drive all the way home, not even bothering to park properly.  You kick your shoes in the driveway and throw your bag in a fit of rage.  The light in your porch blinks and you hear the muffled voice of your father calling you but you run off to the slipway, bare feet padding on the wood before you hop on your runabout.

Sofia replaced you.  Rafe hates you.  And that asshole of a guy embarrassed you in front of your friends.

Without a single destination in mind, you speed off into the dark waters.  The wind whipping your face, drying the stream of tears that won’t stop coming.

Rafe was chuckling to a story someone was telling animatedly when Kelce comes and sits next to Topper.  He swigs his beer and downs it in one gulp, some of it dribbling on his chin.

“Whoa, Kelce.”  Rafe says, making Sofia giggle, her hand covering her mouth. 

But Kelce just looks at him before sighing.  “You were supposed to look after Y/N.”  He said. 

“Don’t remember signing up as her babysitter.”  Rafe answers while sending a smirk to Sofia.

Kelce chooses not to answer, shaking his head at Rafe. 

“Did something happen?”  Topper asks in concern, his eyes darting from Rafe to Kelce.

“Yes.”  Kelce says, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  Rafe pauses mid-drink and looks at Kelce with sharp eyes.

“What happened?”  Rafe hissed.

“So now you care?”  Kelce looks at him in disbelief.  “Seriously, man.  You act like you don’t give a fuck about her but go ballistic the second she gets in trouble.  Make up your fucking mind.”

“I was keeping an eye on her, she was with her friends.”  Rafe stands abruptly, not willing to sit for any more stalling.  “Just fucking say it, Kelce!”

Sofia scooted away from Rafe, swallowing nervously at his sudden outburst.

“Whoa, calm down, man.”  Topper stands, ready to mediate any second.  Rafe glares at him and steps over to Kelce who sighs in defeat.

“Some dude was holding her, wouldn't let go.”  Kelce started, Rafe immediately clenched his jaw as he paced, the heel of his palm pressing on his forehead.  “He tried to shoot his shot with her, figured he will since you’re…”  Kelce glances at Sofia.  “Busy.”

Rafe stopped in his tracks and stared hard at Kelce.

“He called Y/N “free game” and humiliated her.”  Kelce shrugs.  “Knocked a tooth outta his filthy mouth.”

Rafe pointed a finger at Kelce as he nodded.  “That’s good, Kelce.  But I need to know where Y/N-”  A buzz in his pocket cuts him off.

It was your father.  Of all the times he could call!

Rafe groans as he jogs to his room to muffle the music and chatter of the party.

“Sir.”  Rafe answers, his knuckle lodged between his teeth. 

He screwed up.

“Son, I thought Y/N would be staying over at your place?  For a party?”

Rafe clears his throat as he slumps over his bed, his back hunched.  “Yes, sir.  That’s the plan.”  Does he know?  Did you tell your father what happened?  Of how much he failed in looking after you while you’re in his own party?

“Well, her car’s back here.  So are her shoes and bag.  Did something happen back there?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Rafe rubs his forehead.  “Yeah, some misunderstanding, sir.  But it was taken care of.”

“Good to know.  You let me know when you see her.  I’d go out and find her but my boat’s been having problems, it’s being fixed right now.”

“She went out on her boat?”  Rafe clarified as he stood.  “It’s dark out.”

“I know.  That’s what concerns me.”

Rafe shakes his head, his shaking hands pulling at his drawer haphazardly to look for a flashlight.

“I’ll go out and find her, sir.  Me and the boys.”  Rafe reassures him and he hears your father breathe out a sigh of relief.

“I appreciate it, son.”

Topper and Kelce were already at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for him.  Rafe barely spares them a glance as he pushes past the crowd.

“Rafe, where are you going?”  Topper calls from behind him.

“Y/N’s out at sea.”  Rafe shakes his head.  “She always does that when she’s upset.”

Why did you have to do it now? When it’s nearly midnight?

“I can’t reach her.”  Topper says and Rafe clicks his tongue. 

“No service.”  Rafe swore.  “I fucking hate it when she does this stuff.  Fucking impulsive.”  He mutters.

Just another thing that you both have in common.

Topper and Kelce share a glance. 

“Yeah.  How about we split up?”  Topper asks.  “I can take my boat.  Kelce can take his.  Let’s just spread out.”

Rafe pauses his steps.  “Right, let’s do that.  Let me know the moment you see her, alright?”

Topper nods and leaves with Kelce close behind him.

If he had to be honest with you, Rafe is still pissed off from that stunt you pulled at the Country Club and he was trying to teach you a lesson so you’ll think twice about doing it again.  But the vultures came swooping in the moment he let you out of his sight.

Rafe slammed his fist on the Jet Ski in a fit of rage.  You could be anywhere, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try to find you.

Lovesick Little Thing

[verstappen-cult]

Request for a lestappen image. The reader has a complicated relationship with her mother, and she's upset that her mom doesn't support her career choices. She's an F1 engineer with a master's and her mom think she could be a professor. Both Max and Charles defend her from her mom, after an argument the reader and her mom had. Both Max and Charles comfort and take care of the reader after.

It was going well, too well. You should’ve expected it, but deep down you wanted to believe her intentions were good, that she really missed you. 

It’s always the same thing when your mother invites you to dinner, she’s all smiles and giggles, giving you a sense of comfort only to burst your bubble with her harsh words. 

Today was no different. Not even because you’ve brought Max and Charles with you for the first time. 

She was taking the dessert out of the fridge while you prepared some coffee for your boys when she opened her mouth to discuss the same thing over again. But this time you didn’t have time to argue, to let her know — again — that you’re happy where you are and with what you do, that you don’t need her contacts to give you a place in some fancy university because you’re happy traveling around the world and sharing a passion with your boyfriends. No, she didn’t let you say anything because she knows you’ll never accept anything that comes from her. So, she just kept talking, rude words coming out of her mouth, while you stood there, frozen in place unable to stand up for yourself, you can’t even cry at this point, so used to it—to her.

“What’s happening here?” Max has a frown on his face, blue eyes slightly squinted. “Are you okay, schatje?” His right hand finds your lower back, and you can, finally, breathe again.

“We are in the middle of a private conversation.” Your mother says in a warning tone, but Max doesn’t even flinch, he keeps looking at you.

“Conversation?” You didn’t notice when Charles joined you in the kitchen too, but you’re glad he’s there. “I’ve been listening to you for the past ten minutes and you haven’t let her speak once.” 

“It’s none of your business.” She simply says, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Oh, but it is.” Max turns around to face your mother but you grab his wrist to stop him from moving away from you. 

He looks at you for a brief second and you whisper, “It’s not worth it.”

“We’re leaving.” He says, leaning to place a kiss on your forehead. Then, without leaving your side, he turns his head to look directly into your mother’s eyes. “You should be ashamed of yourself, acting like this at your age instead of being proud of how smart and amazing your daughter is.”

“Don’t bother calling, she won’t pick up.” You hear Charles saying from the kitchen as Max guides you out of the house, a huge combination of emotions making you want to cry. 

Only when you’re outside do you let the tears fall Max and Charles are right there by your side, holding you and whispering comforting words in your ears. 

“I’m not crying because of her,” You say, breathing out. “I’m so glad to have you with me.”

“I’ll defend you with my life.” Max says, his soft smile making the butterflies in your tummy go crazy. 

“I’ll fight anyone who dares disrespect you.” Charles looks so innocent while saying it that you can’t help the giggle that leaves your mouth, and their faces light up at hearing you.

“I’m gonna call that place we love so much to pick some Tiramisu on our way home.” Max takes his phone you of his back pocket.

“Can you order some vanilla ice cream too?” Charles asks with a pout and even though Max rolls his eyes you know he’ll have them add extra of everything.

“Oh, we can watch that romcom I've been dying to see all week!”

Max and Charles share a look before smiling at you, “Anything for you, baby.”