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zyafics-recs · 1 day ago

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i know this gonna break my heart... sigh... taking deep breaths... let's go ⬇️

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

first and foremost, i love the characterization of rafe. something about ur interpretation of him feels so lively and real, especially because it relates to his canon. when i was reading thru his thoughts, i was like, woah, rafe would act this way.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

i love the line throwing grenades, waiting for who to blow up first. ur metaphors have always been some of my favorites, so i always love highlighting and pointing it out <3

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty.

i love the turn of internal conflict, that rafe - who has always been loyal as a dog to ward - can have his own conflicting emotions about his father

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. To Rafe, that meant something. Everything

but at the end of the day, rafe recognizes that he has to set his father on a pedestal because that's all he's ever done. all he'll ever do.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

that actually hurts, the idea that you're dissociating, going somewhere where he can't follow u? oh the miseryyy

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that.

i love u pointing out the validation-seeking 🙂‍↕️

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

this is such a bitter moment, but it's also shows how rafe just reverts back to his younger self in the presence of his father. that even if ward's death, he will continue to haunt the narrative. also, "shit, that was something, wasn't it?" was such a bitter realization.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

HE SAW HIS FATHER

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

i love the depiction of seeing rafe as nothing more than a prop, an entertainment for the rest of the kooks. it gives u this zoo-like viewing of rafe rather than human.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

he's so protective over his father

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.”

I LOVE HER FOR THIS SOMETHING ABOUT THIS OWNS MY HEART

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

she's real and she should speak on it

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

i love her but god that must've hurt

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

i love that he only picked up the things that he hears, not the fact that he's blind to see it, but rather accusing him of being "dumb"

he has such self-destructive tendencies omg

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

i love their arguments so much, because it's so bitter, and resentful, and sharp and it cuts so deep. that's one of my favorite things about this series, is when they're talking, they're going all in

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

SOMETHINGS WRONG GO HELP HER

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting?

my favorite line

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

he's hurt too (but he's a dick) but he's hurt too 🥹

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here?

i love the lingering love, especially because i believe rafe to be the type of person who cannot mourn loss whatsoever, he keeps it in his chest forever, when he loves someone, he'll love them forever

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

ONE OF THE BANGER LINES OF THIS PART AHHH

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

oooo i love this, sometimes i be forgetting they're toxic.

💌 — i love love their argument in this one. i love how u manage to capture rafe's essence with this characterization, especially post-ward, because i often don't read a lot of fics with ward being a dead presence but haunting the narrative. and that make rafe's viewpoint so conflicting, especially since he's trying to grieve but come to terms on who his father is. i absolutely love how u build up to their breaking point, because they have all these things festering under the surface that neither are willing to talk about until someone breaks, and that's how their relationship dynamic is. every time we get to see an insider scope of rafe's head, i am amazed, because the way he analyzes things, flowing from one thought to the next, makes sense. he's insecure, he's grieving, he's angry, and all of these emotions are hitting him at full-force and no one is allowing him the proper space to actually deal with them—especially because ward never did. and when their argument was just bitter shots at one another, just to hurt each other, you know it hurt. oh oh, gigi, u amaze and fascinate me so much!!

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours.

Until Ward died.

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect.

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything.

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question.

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around.

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it.

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat.

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that?

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything.

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face.

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.”

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you.

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting?

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights.

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it.

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have.

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her.

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came.

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital.

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system.

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him.

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push.

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm.

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?”

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away, giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.”

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside.

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to.

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t.

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away.

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation.

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.”

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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myunghology · 16 hours ago

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THE LITTLE THINGS.

summary the little things they do for you, just because they love you. part 1/2 !!

pairings riddle, leona, azul, x gender neutral reader (established relationship)

tw none.. i think IDK

a/n — YAYYY I HIT 1.7K give me more clout pls ily all

✧ — RiDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Teaches you even though it's incredibly late at night. His eyes are already telling you that he's tired— and you try your best to tell him to go to bed.

But noooo, he cares too much about you to let you fail your worst subject. He casually waves his hand to dismiss your ideas for him to get sleep, putting you first before anything else. Well, at least he's learning more as well from teaching you.

Your head would be laying on his lap as he explains literal calculus at 4am in the morning, since you woke up in the middle of the night, making HIM wake up as well, why not torment you as well by making you learn with the time?

You give him such attitude early in the morning, saying "I'm sorry calculus sucks so bad, I'm sorry it's boring?" and yet he's completely whipped for you to the point that he's willing to sacrifice his sleeping schedule for you to learn. It's for your own good!

Riddle's possessive.. But in a good way! He just cares too much, not possessive to the point he's controlling, but possessive in a way that he's just overprotective of you.

He's the "Don't let anybody do this to you, unless that somebody's me." type of boyfriend. Can you tell he gets jealous easily? Gets extra snarky whenever someone asks about you, especially when they don't know you two are dating.

The type to pull you closer wherever just from being possessive, and makes an excuse that's basically just "Because you might get lost". Riddle.. The hallway is currently empty?

He will forever be your first and last love. The little things he does for you, it's everything. To you, and to everyone else who sees. The way he ties your shoelaces— which you didn't even notice that was untied.

When you make a mistake and a small "I'm sorry." comes out of your lips while your eyes get blurry, shaking his head as he shushes you and reassures you, everytime without fail.

The way he looks up at your pretty face right after, as smitten as ever and in complete awe, it's not that obvious, but you can see it in his eyes.

The way he's incredibly patient with you, the way you push your luck just to annoy him— luckily not getting beheaded by your own boyfriend. He has always fully believed time has brought you to him, hell, even fate itself maybe.

✧ — LEONA KiNGSCHOLAR

Leona always finds himself ending up with you, one way or another. At the end of the day, he's home. To you. And that's what matters the most to him.

The way he's burying his face in your chest, making a giggle escape out of your lips, a giggle he especially loves, but of course, would never really admit it directly.

This time, it's your turn to tease him for acting like this. But who could blame him? You're so comfortable.. And you're so.. Everything, really.

The soft sighs of relief he lets out when he feels your fingers thread through his long hair, indirectly asking you to not stop, and just keep going.

He compliments you without even realizing. Like it's a natural response to everything you do. From your little "Isn't this bow really cute, Leona?" with a soft smile as he goes, "Yeah. It'd be cuter if you'd wear it, though."

And you're left red and blushing, it honestly depends if he's going to tease you for it or not. But we all know, your blush is never going to get unnoticed by the prince himself.

Gets defensive whenever you bring this topic up. He will NEVER miss a day of complimenting you— even if it's something random. It's either that, or something completely heartwarming.

It ranges from, "You're really short, you know? Could barely even reach the top of the door even if you stand on your tippy-toes. But it's alright. I like it like that." with a smug grin.

To, "What's wrong with you? You're gorgeous. You're gonna be keepin' up with me in terms of persuasion, with those adorable little eyes of yours, are you?" sir this is a wendys

Can NEVER say no to you when you give him that special look. When you look up at him he absolutely melts— and it's painfully obvious it hurts physically (And by that, I mean butterflies.)

"If my significant other thinks they can just bat their cute lil eyes at me and get whatever they want, they're absolutely right." Type of mindset. He'd never admit it or say it out loud, either. We all saw that coming though, let's be honest..

Grits his teeth whenever you look at him with doe eyes, and it makes him weak because he especially loves your eyes, and how much they can say about you and how you're feeling.

✧ — AZUL ASHENGROTTO

Provides you with anything you need, without you needing to ask, almost everytime he notices. For other people, they'd need payment. But for you..? Ah, just forget about the goddamn contract at this point.

Actually, there IS a payment you have to do. Can you guess? It's definitely something cheesy or corny. Kills myself

Everytime you give him kisses all over his face, he's definitely all read. Who could blame him? We know he's not used to affection like this. And the fact that it's coming from you.. I don't know if that makes it worse or better at this point.

But of course, this will always come with a payment. More of a punishment— maybe. Having to wipe all your faint lipstick marks off his face when he has to be in the mostro lounge, making him just a few minutes late.

He picks up your habits. From talking or texting, no matter how different it is, he'll pick it up. From how much time you two spend together, I can't really say anyone's surprised..?

So, don't be surprised when he randomly responds to you with your usual attitude, or even just talking or texting a little bit like you as well.

The best part is, he doesn't even notice himself. When someone brings it up, he raises an eyebrow and acts like he doesn't know what they're talking about at all.

Gets all flustered when someone mentions you. It wouldn't even be about your relationship and he'd still be a blushing mess. Why? Um.. I dunno..

They probably wouldn't even realize you two are dating until they see Azul's wallpaper is you two, and when he opens his phone, most of the widgets there are your little selfies you send to him for fun.

Whether it'll be a literal thirst trap ("He's getting all red, please stop?" - Jade). Or a 0.5 picture of you sent by a mutual friend, or even Floyd who practically towers over you.

note — 𝔹𝕌ℝℕ 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔾𝔸𝕐𝕊 𝓑𝓤𝓡𝓝 𝓣𝓗𝓔 𝓖𝓐𝓨𝓢 𝙱𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙰𝚈𝚂 ꃳ꒤ꋪꋊ ꓄ꁝꏂ ꍌꋬꌦꇙ ฿ɄⱤ₦ ₮ⱧɆ ₲₳Ɏ₴ ᗷᑘᖇᘉ ᖶᕼᘿ ᘜᗩᖻS [̲̅B][̲̅U][̲̅R][̲̅N] [̲̅T][̲̅H][̲̅E] [̲̅G][̲̅A][̲̅Y][̲̅S] BURN THE GAYS ßÚRñ †HÈ GÄ¥§ B̶U̶R̶N̶ T̶H̶E̶ G̶A̶Y̶S̶ вυяη тнє gαуѕ ᏰᏬᏒᏁ ᎿᎻᎬ ᎶᎯᎽᏕ ᴮᵁᴿᴺ ᵀᴴᴱ ᴳᴬʸˢ БҴЯҊ ꚌӉЄ ԌДҰЅ ႦႮჁႶ ႵႹჹ ყმჄႽ B̤̮Ṳ̮R̤̮N̤̮ T̤̮H̤��E̤̮ G̤̮A̤̮Y̤̮S̤̮ B̷U̷R̷N̷ T̷H̷E̷ G̷A̷Y̷S̷ B̲U̲R̲N̲ T̲H̲E̲ G̲̲A̲̲Y̲̲S̲ B̳U̳R̳N̳ T̳H̳E̳ G̳A̳Y̳S̳ B̾U̾R̾N̾ T̾H̾E̾ G̾A̾Y̾S̾ B͎U͎R͎N͎ T͎H͎E͎ G͎A͎Y͎S͎ B͓̽U͓̽R͓̽N͓̽ T͓̽H͓̽E͓̽ G͓̽A͓̽Y͓̽S͓̽ B҈U҈R҈N҈ T҈H҈E҈ G҈A҈Y҈D҈ B͙U͙R͙N͙ T͙H͙E͙ G͙A͙Y͙S͙ B͒U͒R͒N͒ T͒H͒E͒ G͒A͒Y͒S͒ B̻U̻R̻N̻ T̻H̻E̻ G̻A̻Y̻S̻ ḄỤṚṆ ṬḤẸ G̣ẠỴṢ

#jian’s works!#twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst imagines #disney twst #twst x reader #twst headcanons #twst #twst riddle #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingsholar x reader #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst azul

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starrrcane · 2 days ago

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The Underworld Beneath Piltover:The surface

Summery: Sevika x nurse!reader who has graduated from a university in Piltover and has been stationed in the Undercity to provide services to those who cannot afford it, where she meets sevika.

Warning: none for this chapter. But eventual smut

Notes: this is my first multiple chapter fanfiction, if this does well I might actually write multiple parts. This takes place pre-act one season 1

Piltover had always been a city of stark contrasts—gleaming towers of progress, their glass facades reflecting an unyielding sun, while the Underbelly beneath it writhed in shadow. The bustle of innovation and intellect existed above, while violence, desperation, and survival ruled the depths below. But for you, freshly graduated from the prestigious medical university of Piltover, there was only one truth: the city was a place of opportunity. It was a chance to prove your worth, to be a part of something larger, something that would make your parents proud. That is, until your advisors handed you a peculiar assignment.

"Go to the Undercity," they had said, with a sort of dismissive finality. "We have an agreement with a businessman named Silco. He runs some operations down there, and you’ll be helping with whatever injuries his people get into."

Silco. A name you had heard whispered in huddled corners, spoken with a reverence that both intrigued and unsettled you. You had expected it to be just another simple job—work with the injured, make your rounds, keep the peace.

You were wrong.

---

The hum of the city above was a distant murmur as you stepped off the rickety elevator that took you into the depths of Zaun, the Underworld where little sunlight reached, and the air was thick with the smell of chemicals and oil. The people here lived in constant struggle—fighting for their survival, for any scrap of hope in a city that seemed to ignore them.

At first glance, the place was dark, chaotic, and a little terrifying, but the further you ventured, the more you realized it was a world of its own—raw, dangerous, but oddly familiar. A place where only the strongest survived, and in your case, the most skilled healer.

"Welcome to your new home," said a voice from behind you, cool and composed.

You turned to see a woman—tall, with dark hair, and an aura that radiated control and authority. Her eyes, however, were sharp, like knives. Sevika.

She was Silco’s right hand women. You had heard of her, of course, the enforcer, the one who kept things running smoothly in the shadows of Zaun. Her reputation preceded her: cold, efficient, and—at least from what you had gathered—somehow untouchable.

"Silco has assigned me to show you around," Sevika continued, her tone as neutral as ever, though there was a slight edge to it that suggested she wasn’t exactly thrilled by the task. "Don’t expect any luxury here. This isn’t Piltover."

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at you, though there was no clear sign of animosity. Just... wariness. A wariness that somehow felt more personal than professional.

"I don’t need a tour," you said, trying to meet her gaze with equal intensity. You could handle this. You had been trained for this. "Just point me to where I’ll be staying."

"Right down the hall." Sevika gestured toward a door that was far less polished than what you were accustomed to, but you would make do. You had no choice.

"And I assume you’ll be living nearby," you added, though it was more of a statement than a question. You had heard about her proximity to Silco’s operations, and the way people spoke of her hinted at a strange, almost familial bond.

She paused, just for a second, before nodding. "Right next door."

The words hung between you, their meaning ambiguous, like a challenge in disguise.

Sevika turned on her heel and walked away, her heavy boots clicking against the steel floor. You followed her down the hallway, your mind racing. There was something about her—the way she carried herself, the way her eyes lingered for just a fraction of a second too long on your face—that made you uneasy. But there was more to it than that. There was an unspoken tension, a magnetic pull between you that you couldn't quite define.

---

Later that evening, in the solitude of your apartment, you began to unpack your things. The room was sparse, though functional—a bed, a small desk, a few shelves for supplies. You could almost hear the hum of the city outside, the pulse of it echoing in the walls. But it was quieter here than it had been in Piltover. The silence felt almost oppressive.

The window overlooking the dim streets of Zaun cast a pale light over your work, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to think about what you had gotten into. This was no ordinary assignment. Silco wasn’t just a businessman, as your advisors had suggested. He was a kingpin, a figure in the underworld of Zaun who controlled everything from crime to the very air they breathed. And you were here to heal his people—his *henchmen*, as some called them.

A knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You opened it to find Sevika standing in the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest, as if she were weighing whether or not to speak.

"I’ll be going on a supply run tonight," she said, her voice low. "We’re going to need you to patch up some of the boys once we get back. Nothing too severe, but... be ready."

You nodded, still uncertain about the woman who stood before you. She was cold, distant, and appeared to have no interest in making friends with you. But there was something about the way she stood, the way her gaze flicked over you with a strange intensity.

She was trying not to care.

"Sure. I’ll be ready," you replied, though you couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary before she turned away.

"Good," Sevika said, her voice just a little softer than before. "Don’t get too comfortable. The Undercity has a way of breaking people."

And with that, she walked off down the hall, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

---

In the silence that followed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. Sevika was difficult to read, but you could feel the tension between you—subtle, unspoken, yet undeniable. She was trying her best not to like you, to keep her distance, to remain indifferent. But that was fine, you thought. You didn’t need her approval. You had your own mission.

Still, the more time you spent in the Underworld, the more you realized that there were some things—some people—that couldn’t be ignored.

And Sevika... Sevika was definitely one of them.

#sevika x reader #arcane x reader #arcane #sevika arcane x reader #lesbian

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koyagifs · 2 days ago

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𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮

ʚɞ pairing : san x reader ʚɞ au : 9th member | idol ʚɞ summary : who doesn't love a behind a scene recording video ʚɞ word count : 1.259 words ʚɞ what if! if san and yn dated

ATEEZofficial has uploaded! behind the recording Right There

There yn stood in the recording booth, her phone in herhand as Hongjoong and Eden sat in their chairs. San right by their side as he held the headphones in his hands.

" alright ynie, let's give it one run. Add what ever you want alright?" Eden said, spinning back to the computer. Yn took a deep breath, nodding as she readied herself. The weight of the moment settled in her chest, but she knew what she needed to do. With her phone still in hand, she looked over at Hongjoong and San, both watching her intently.

As the melody began once again, she spoke into the microphone. " can we restart it, i want to add a few high notes."

Eden nodded his head, replaying the song again. You began to sing a few high notes, Hongjoong and San in awe as if they are hearing you sing for the first time again.

Yn felt the familiar pulse of the beat in her chest, the melody pulling her in as she prepared to add those high notes. She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing the sound she wanted to create. With each note she hit, it felt like something clicked inside her—a mix of confidence and vulnerability, carried by her voice.

As she ascended into the higher notes, she could feel Hongjoong and San’s eyes on her, their focus intense. The way they watched her, as if they were hearing her for the first time, sent a strange warmth through her. The sound was clear, pure, and full of emotion, the kind of sound she hadn’t realized she was capable of until now.

San turned to the camera, a faint blush on his check as he began to speak, " atiny, we're so lucky to have ynie right?"

Yn couldn't help but chuckle at San's sudden enthusiasm, though it made her heart skip a beat. His words made her feel seen, in a way she hadn’t expected. She was always a little uncertain about her place in all of this, but hearing San speak like that made her feel… important.

Eden, still glued to the computer screen, smirked. "Not wrong, though. Yn's got a way of making us all look good."

San's blush deepened, but his smile never wavered as he looked at Yn. "No, seriously," he said, his voice full of affection, "we're lucky. The way you bring so much emotion into the music... it’s not something you see every day."

Hongjoong, who had been silent up until this point, finally spoke, his voice low but steady. "San’s right. You don’t just sing, Yn. You feel the music. That’s something rare."

Yn felt the weight of his words, her heart fluttering in her chest. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as both Hongjoong and San watched her, their gazes soft but intense. It was as though they were seeing her in a way she hadn’t been seen before.

" let's go over the song again, with the added vocals. I might want to add a few more,"

Yn nodded, trying to steady the fluttering in her chest as she took a deep breath. The intensity of their words still hung in the air, but she knew they were here to work, and she had to focus. She looked at Eden, who had already queued up the song again.

"Alright, let’s give it another shot," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. She adjusted the mic, her hands slightly trembling, though she quickly steadied them.

As the track began to play again, she closed her eyes, letting the music envelop her. She could still feel the presence of Hongjoong and San—both of them so close, watching her with admiration. Their attention wasn’t just on her voice anymore; it felt like they were watching her, really watching her. It made her both nervous and inspired at the same time.

She began to sing once more, weaving in the high notes with a bit more confidence this time. The added vocals felt like a natural extension of what she had already done, and she found herself adding little flourishes here and there, pushing herself further with each line.

As the song played, she could feel the connection between them—the way Hongjoong's quiet focus and San's infectious energy gave her a sense of freedom in her voice. With every note, it felt like they were in sync, like the three of them were creating something bigger than just a song.

When the track ended, Yn paused, breathless, and looked over at Eden. "How’s that?" she asked, her voice still carrying the weight of the emotion she had poured into the song.

Eden, who had been nodding along, leaned back in his chair. "That was it, Yn. You really brought it this time. I think we’re done here—unless you want to add something else?"

Yn glanced at Hongjoong and San, still catching their reactions. Hongjoong gave her a small, approving smile, nodding subtly, while San was practically grinning, looking like he could burst with pride.

"I think we’ve got it," Yn said, her heart still racing but finally feeling like she had done justice to the music—and to the moment.

Eden nodded his head as he spun back around with Hongjoong as they began to discuss your track. San met you at the booth, his hand held out for you to grab.

Yn looked up at San as he extended his hand toward her, a bright smile on his face. For a second, everything felt like it had paused—just the two of them, standing in the quiet booth, the buzz of the studio fading into the background. She could feel her heart still pounding in her chest, but the connection between them, the unspoken encouragement and understanding, made her want to take his hand.

She hesitated for just a moment, then placed her hand in his, feeling the warmth of his touch. The simple gesture, small but meaningful, grounded her. It was a reminder that they were in this together, that she wasn't alone in this moment.

San’s grip was gentle but firm, and he pulled her out of the booth with a grin. "You were amazing, Yn. Honestly, you’re blowing me away," he said, his voice filled with so much affection that it made her heart skip again.

" well, i just so happen to be inspired by my muse," Yn said, smiling brightly as San cheeks began to feel warm.

San’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and he quickly looked away, trying to hide the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "Y-Your muse, huh?" he stammered, his voice a little too soft, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

Yn could tell she’d caught him off guard, and the playful glint in her eyes only grew. She leaned in just a little, teasing him with a smirk. "Yeah, you know," she said, her tone light and full of mischief. " considering he's my boyfriend"

San froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as his blush deepened, almost turning his whole face red. The playful smirk on Yn’s face only made it worse, and he stammered, trying to regain his composure. Yn let out a laugh as she placed a kiss on lips before heading towards Hongjoong and Eden.

San stood there, blushing as he continued to stare at yn in awe.

" the things you do to me women.."

#ateez san x reader #san x reader fluff #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez x y/n #choi san fluff #choi san #9th member ateez #ateez 9th member #9th member of ateez #idol reader #ateez x idol reader #ateez choi san #ateez san

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thedoritodealerofthewoods · 2 days ago

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OooHOOOHOO

Man

Copy pasting my thoughts from my ramble at the friend who showed this post to me because I'm satisfied with the way I put them. Spoiler warning for wof arc 1 below

How does this work? Does she know the prophecy is fake from the moment Morrowseer visits the cave to observe the dragonets? Maybe he wasn’t thinking about it well enough for her to realize he doesn’t believe the prophecy - “hmmm…. This one isn’t good enough. This one will work better. This one will accomplish the need very effectively-” could all be interpreted as someone who doesn’t trust in fate to do it’s own work. Maybe this annoys her, but the truth doesn’t register.

Or does she deny obvious “lol this thing isn’t real” thoughts with the certainty that he’s wrong. And maybe she hates him because of it right off the bat - though she might not tell the others exactly why beyond a potential cryptic “he doesn’t even know what he’s talking about!” To which she gets the average response of “lol alright Sunny. Anyway I want to punt him into the sky because he hates Glory” - !!! Right - iirc, Morrowseer tells the guardians to kill her, but to the side where the dod don’t hear him. (Can’t check atm cause cat on lap). Maybe Sunny gets all bolt-upright-shock at a certain point and starts frantically trying to convince everyone that Glory is in danger the second he leaves, before anything is overheard. They maybe think she’s overreacting, that of course he hates me Sunny I’m a rainwing and yeah but they wouldn’t go that far haha - but eventually the conversation is overheard and they all realize the truth and the escape kicks off (with the difference of Sunny being in on it this time - unless they maybe still think she might accidentally let something slip).

Also - the moment in the tunnel with Morrowseer fits a little too well to change at all. He opens his mouth to gloat, to tell them all the truth, and no, no, no! She’s pleading for him to stop before he speaks a word because she knows, she knows, and maybe she always has, maybe she should have seen it sooner but it’s the only hope the others have, the only reason they’re still trying and she can’t let them lose it. She can’t lose it. She can’t lose them.

Oh! Also - does she tell the rest of the dod? Probably not, I’d guess. Starflight would be crushed. As far as they all know till the last book, she’s just a weird SandWing. Not only did Starflight fail to have any powers, but she got both. Maybe she tried to tell them before it occurred to her that it might hurt him, but no one believed her. She’s just supposedly really good at picking up on stuff. Can’t hide anything from her.

Also - mindreading and foresight would only feed into the hyper-empathy. She’s so worried about everyone all the time because she can hear their pain, she knows what they’re worried about, she can hear their hopes and dreams and she can see the fates everyone tumbles through. When the dod eventually find out about her powers, I can see Tsunami probably saying something along the lines of “hey, if you can see in everyone’s heads, why did you still trust the guardians so much? Why do you still care about them? Why do you still want to help everyone when everyone is trying to KILL US!??” To which she simply responds that that is the reason.

thrice-moonborn sunny :)

#wof sunny #wof au #wof fanart #oooooooo #I don't know if op had a story in mind and don't mean to overrun it if so #will check in a moment #BEAUTIFUL ART THOUGH #also reminds me of my WOF TMA au…#edit: WAIT THIS WAS POSTED ON MY BIRTHDAY??#truly fortuitous

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loveandleases · 17 hours ago

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G's, M's and Isaac's most embarassing memory (for G with and without MC if possible?), most fond, most cherished?

Sure thing! Going to put it under a cut because it got quite long.

💙 G

Most Embarrassing: The first time G's parents came to visit them at Uni, a certain roommate was having sex in the room, and G's parents thought it was G x Chris.

Most Fond: Back in Uni, G, Cam, and MC would pull all-nighters at the cafe. Early on G was following in their parent's footsteps of going to medical school with the end goal of becoming a surgeon. They really struggled and one of their ways of coping was drawing in the margins of their books or even Cam and MC's. The pages would have a little dog or a cat, just dressed in a lab coat.

One late night, after a long cram session, G was exhausted and a bit vulnerable. Cam was listing off random get-rich-quick schemes so that he could drop out and just become a photographer. (Each idea worse than the previous one). MC glanced over at G, noticed one of their doodles, and said, "You'd probably treat patients better if they had fur."

It was such a simple, offhanded comment. But that night, something about it just resonated with G. The thought just lingered, and for the first time, they were considering what they might want. That one little sentence from MC became a catalyst, it planted a seed of doubt about their future - and it threw their plan on its head. Regardless of what happened between them, they can fondly reflect on that moment in time. Because that comment changed their life for the better.

Most Cherished: (Ex) Their first kiss with MC (which was also G's first kiss.) It was unexpected, yet everything they could have hoped for if they allowed themselves to dream big. (Ex/Friend) When G was in the process of figuring out if they wanted to be a Vet, they had gotten Cam to agree to come with them to volunteer at an animal shelter. They were tasked with bathing the animals. Which was fine....at first. About 6 animals in, G had noticed that Cam kept scratching, to the point that he thought he was having an allergic reaction. Nope, Cam just caught fleas. So, every Christmas. G gifts Cam flea shampoo. The tag always says “Just a little something for our favorite shelter stray.”

💛 M

Most Embarrassing: Before M was a writer, they used to work at the cafe. One day a person walked up to them and asked them out.

“Hey, would you maybe want to go out sometime?”

M, as oblivious as ever, misunderstood completely and thought they were being asked if the person wanted their order taken outside. Without missing a beat, M grabbed the person’s coffee, nodded enthusiastically, and said, “Sure, I can take that outside for you.””

The person was so confused as M casually walked to the door, set the order down on the sidewalk, and gave a little wave. “There you go, all set!”

In the person’s eyes, not only did they get turned down for a date, but M had essentially kicked them out while smiling.

Most Fond: M had struggled for years trying to get published. There would be days when they were supposed to be helping in the kitchen of the cafe, but instead, they were jotting down things for their book on stray pieces of paper. They read all the books you will find in the Cafe, leafing through them hoping that each bit of knowledge they gained would help them become a better writer.

It wasn't needed, but M was certain there was just something wrong with their work. Until one day, it just happened. Their manuscript was accepted. The first people they called were their mom's. It was one of the best moments in M's life thus far. Even though they were barely able to afford rent, and the only food in their fridge was a jar of marmalade.

Most Cherished: After their first book was published and it picked up traction, it became quite popular. M was struggling with writer's block, which they tend to do. So they visited the cafe and the first thing they saw on the counter, was a copy of their book. M had thought about giving up so many times, but to be in that place it was a full circle moment for them.

💜 Isaac

Most Embarrassing: Isaac and Ardent used to have a thing. One day the two of them are in the little elevator of Ardent's apartment building. Their hands are roaming one another's bodies, sliding underneath fabric, both of them caught up in the heat of the moment. Now imagine their surprise when the first face and voice they see is Ardent's mother when the elevator door opens.

Most Fond: When they became sober, truly sober. Kara really kept Isaac in check, and reminded him what he was doing it for. Who he was doing it for. It took a lot to get to that point, and Isaac doesn't believe they could have done it without Kara there to support them.

Most Cherished: Spoiler, but I can say it involves their mother.

#love and leases #loveandleases #g #m #isaac

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spookwriter-xo · 2 days ago

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Coppélia

Chapter 3 - The Figure Painter

Chapter Summary - Y/N visits a childhood friend to go over Seonghwa's odd invitation.

Series Masterlist

"And then he gave you a contract... Like from Fifty Shades of Gray?"

"I told you it's not a contract, he said it was an invitation."

"Honey, it literally gives you a place to sign at the bottom."

After Seonghwa had given me the envelope and left, I wasted no time in rushing over to my friend, Mia's, house to tell her everything. Mia and I had known each other since we were seven years old, hanging off of each other like leeches since. Her family was rich too, but unlike mine, they supported her artistic endeavors.

She was a painter, specializing in figure paintings and realism, and was also my voice of reason.

"I seriously don't know what to do," I whine, my head resting on her kitchen countertop.

"Well, what does it say? Like what does he want you to do?" She asks, her fingers twirling a teaspoon around her tea cup.

I glance down at the papers in front of me. So many rules were listed I struggled to even wrap my head around it.

"He wants me to move into their home," I say.

"Their home?" Mia clarifies. "As in other people?"

"I guess so?" I clear my throat as I continue. "I can remain as a dancer for the society as long as I don't practice for any longer than I need to be."

"Well, at least they're offering you some freedom." She mumbles sarcastically, taking a sip of her tea.

"Mia come on!" I cry out rather dramatically.

"I feel like there isn't much up for discussion here? Yes, it's weird and borderline controlling but when was the last time something exciting like this happened in your life?" She argues.

"I don't want to be controlled, Mia. This whole thing, it's just way above my pay grade. I had enough of it living with my parents, I don't need it in a romantic relationship too!" I point out. She lets out a sigh, nodding in understanding.

"You're right, I'm sorry." Mia runs a hand through her hair. "Okay, let's try a different approach. What things in there benefit you?"

"Uhm, I get to live in a big ass mansion free of charge," I say, my finger hovering over the bullet point. It sure would be better than the cheap studio apartment I live in now.

"You can never go wrong with a big ass mansion." She quips before I continue.

"It says... I have to be willing to, share myself?" I tilt my head with furrowed eyebrows.

"Oh, don't tell me they're the type to want a girl to homey hop." She seethes, leaning over the counter to read the paper. "Oh god, they are!" She exclaims.

"Just because you're monogamous doesn't mean you can judge!" I scold.

"I'm not judging, I'm cringing 'cause it's not for me." She says defensively. "If you're into that, I won't judge."

"Sure you won't."

"I might make fun of you a little, but you know I'll get over it!" She laughs. "Besides it's a bonus if they're all cute. I looked up Seonghwa and that Hongjoong guy and woo!" She whistles.

"Poor Mark." I tease, she gasps. "Listen, I don't know if I'm up for that either. I mean I don't even know who the others are, for all I know there could be a serial killer among them."

"Then call him." She states. "Call him and demand him to rewrite it on your terms."

"Would that work?" I ask, placing the papers back into a neat pile.

"He's a businessman, right? Of course, it would! Hell, you might even get to meet the others if you play your cards right." She says confidently. "You like this guy right?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Then fight for your own morals and boundaries, and if he doesn't accept that then move on." She says, moving over slightly to place her mug in the sink. "And if they try something, Mark and I will come over and beat them up for you."

"You and I both know Mark Lee is not going to beat anyone up." I laugh causing her to let out a snort.

"You're right, he could yap their ears off and give us time to escape the country though." She jokes, a wide grin spreading across her face.

I glance back down at the documents, genuinely contemplating for a moment. I hated the idea of being controlled by anyone again, let alone a bunch of men who, aside from 1, I have never had a conversation with in my life. But on top of that, it would be really nice to stay somewhere that didn't charge me almost my entire weekly pay for rent.

Plus Seonghwa was really good-looking, but was I really going to risk my freedom just because a cute guy gave me a second of his time? Mia was right, I needed to call him and set up some kind of meeting and get this document altered to my liking also, not just theirs.

"You're doing that thing again." Mia's voice cuts me out of my thoughts. "You know it's creepy when you stare off into space like that."

"Sorry, was just thinking about everything," I say softly, stuffing the document back into the envelope it came in.

"It's a lot, I know, but once you put your foot down like I know you can it'll all even out. You'll see." Mia was often right about these things, then again she was always the one to come up with the ideas that would get us into trouble growing up. I trusted her with things like this because I knew it would never leave the two of us, but trusting her to convince me to do something that could lead to me signing my life away? I was going to be a little more cautious of that.

"I should probably go, I got another show tonight," I say, hopping off of the seat I was perched on.

"Oh! I'm coming to the show next Monday! Don't mess up for me okay?" She says, skipping around the counter to give me a quick hug before I leave.

"Of course I won't, you're my lucky charm." I joke, pulling away and waving. She waves back, knowing I could find my way out.

I contemplated calling Seonghwa as I walked through the city streets. I let out an annoyed huff at the constant tug-of-war going on in my head. My finger hovered over the call button as I stared down at his contact. He'd probably show up tonight, but did I really want to decline his initial offer in person?

Without thinking I pressed call, holding my phone up to my ear as I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. I felt a sick feeling of nerves in my stomach, the same feeling I felt before I went out on stage.

It rings 4 times before he picks up.

"I thought you'd think about it a while longer." He states, his voice rough. I take a deep breath before I speak.

"I'm declining your 'invitation'," I stated, making sure my voice sounded defiant.

"What?" He asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"You heard me. This... Contract is far too controlling for my liking and I refuse to subject myself to signing my life away for a man who only graced me with his presence last night." I say, earning some looks from passersby.

"Doll-"

"I'm not done! Look, I like you. But the only way this is happening is if we rewrite this to include my own terms. And I want whoever the hell you expect me to share myself with to be there also. No way in hell am I agreeing to something like that without even knowing what they look like." I say, rather rushed. Silence follows, and I look at my phone screen for a moment to make sure the phone call didn't end. As I placed the phone back to my ear I heard laughter.

"My, I really underestimated you didn't I?" Seonghwa chuckles. "A real firecracker you are, so unassuming up until now." I could feel his grin through the screen, and it made my blood boil.

"If you're going to waste my time-"

"Hold on a second, Doll." He says, his voice still laced with amusement. "I'll organize a dinner, how does that sound? You, me, and the others who helped write the original contract. That way you can meet everyone and get your boundaries heard."

I blinked in surprise at his offer. Was it really that easy? "You're serious?"

"Of course I am! Honestly, it's refreshing to talk to someone as pretty as you about business exchanges." He chuckles. "You have a show tonight, yes? Are you free Saturday night?"

I clear my throat. "Uhm, yeah?"

"Excellent, I'll send you the details tonight with your Gardenias." He says, hanging up before I can get another word in.

I gape at the phone, staring at it as I stand frozen in the middle of the street. I look around for a moment before continuing on my way.

I had a sinking feeling that this dinner was not going to be as easy as he made it seem. The others were most definitely businessmen also, co-owners of ATZ Corp. Me, a broke ballerina versus 8 businessmen on their own turf.

Pray for me.

#kpop #ateez ot8 #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fic #hongjoong #wooyoung #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #jongho

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my-eyes-burn · 14 hours ago

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cw: stepcest (stepdad/stepdaughter relationship), dubcon/noncon, fingering, dirty talk, degradation, fucking, P in V. afab reader w gendered language. minors do not interact.

toji's thick fingers roam deep inside of you while you try to squirm away from his touch (to no avail). his fingers keep moving even though you tell him to stop. you're so creamy and sticky and hot that he couldn't take his fingers out even if he wanted to--it's like your greedy little cunt just wants to swallow them up and keep them there forever.

every circle of his rough fingertips over your clit has you practically crying. your legs shake and you beg him to stop--if he keeps going, you're going to cum. and that's wrong, you shouldn't cum on your stepdad's fingers, even if he's making you do it, even if you tell him no... but it feels so good that moans slip past your closed lips. "just give in, baby. you don't have to pretend like it doesn't feel good. i know you want it." his voice is deep and husky, dripping in lust.

the pleasure is going to your head and your body demands more. after a couple minutes, you start to move your hips and grind down, fucking his fingers as deep as they can possibly get, shoving them deeper inside of you. if you're going to give in, then you're doing it wholeheartedly. might as well. and it's not like you initiated it so... you don't have to feel guilty afterwards, right? he had his way with you, not the other way around.

"oh so you want it now?" you can hear toji's grin through his voice. he's standing behind you, leaning over where you're sitting on the couch with your legs spread open. "you were complaining just a second ago. make up your mind, sweetheart. do you like my fingers or not? be honest."

he plunges his thick digits in and out faster. he's never felt someone this wet before, this messy after only a couple minutes. "just tell me how good it feels, baby." he purrs in your ear and you start to convulse again. your cunt feels like its on fire, even hotter with the idea that toji has no business touching you. his hand was shoved under your shorts, caressing your puffy, inflamed folds and slit, taking the advantage of your mom being at work.

he had been waiting for the moment to present itself, and your skimpy little outfit set him off. and you just knew that this would happen. it's not like you hadn't been flirting with him for months, wearing shorter shirts and smaller tops around him deliberately. no doubt he wanted to fuck you, because you looked just like your mom, only younger, sluttier, flirtier, dirtier.

initially, he had cooed in your ear and covered your mouth with his hand. "shhhhh. don't want anyone to hear those pretty sounds, do we?" but eventually he took his hand off your mouth and let you sit there in (mostly) silent agony. now you're whimpering and pathetic, holding in the sounds, or rather, you're trying.

it doesn't take long for him to bring you to the point of orgasm. and every time he says something nasty to you, he notices that your walls pulse and squeeze around his fingers. he didn't know you were so sick and twisted. he thought you'd put up more of a fight, but you're falling apart like putty in his hands. so mushy and sloppy for him, such a slut for him, like you were waiting for him to use you this whole time.

"dirty girl. you like your pussy stuffed with your stepdad's fingers this badly? fuuuhhhhcckkk. can't wait to put my cock in this sweet little pussy."

his fingers rub your juices around your clit, then he presses his middle and ring fingers through your lips, back inside of you. when he bullies your gspot and finally presses down on it, it sends you over the edge. you grab his wrist and hold it so hard that it hurts. you start to cum and can't control your lewd moans.

"wonder what your mom would think of this." toji purrs and you start to squirm even more. his fingers rub you through your orgasm and he overstimulates you afterwards, its just so fun to see your face twisted up like that in pleasure, so fun to feel your spongy gooey cunt writhe on his fingers some more. he can't wait to do it again.

toji's cock twitches as he watches you cum all over his fingers just from a bit of movement and some dirty talk. and god, he knows that you liked it because it was so wrong. he's your stepdad after all, and no matter how sexy he was, it was wrong for him to touch you, lust after you, and fantasize about you. but it seems like you were doing the same.

"now tell me what you want, honey. say it." he commands and you oblige.

"y-your cock," you whine out and he groans.

when toji rounds the couch, he picks you up and carries you to his bed--the bed where he sleeps with your mom. it makes it feel even wronger. there's no way this is happening. there's no way he's gonna fuck you here. it's like... it's like he was imagining that you were her. was he imagining that? or the other way around, when he fucked her?

he slams you down on the bed so your stomach is pressing on the covers. then he gets on top of you and puts all his weight on you, almost knocking the wind out of you. he pushes your thighs apart and fucks his fist a second with his chest pressing on your back.

his cock is inflamed, hot, hard, jumping, girthy and long. the mushroom head is fat and defined, and so much precum is leaking out already that his dick is so slippery you'd think he already put it inside of you.

he listens to your pants for air while he pushes his shaft inside of you slowly. it's like he's splitting you open. his cock is just so huge that it feels like he's stretching you out, it feels like it's your first time again, feels like your pussy is swallowing him up and begging for more.

when he bottoms out he groans in your ear. "mmmmmmmm, fuhhcckkk. dirty fucking girl. so fucking tight and wet for your stepdaddy, huh? fuckin' wanted this the whole time, didn't you?"

you whimper when he starts to slam his hips into yours, his cock is so deep that it hurts, but every thrust is met with sparks of pleasure so intense that you're seeing starts. he doesn't even have to touch your clit, its a couple minutes later and you're already squirming around on the brink of orgasm.

"already? fuck. you really are desperate."

toji slows his pace and you almost cry in frustration. you've been dreaming of him fucking you for months and now he wants to tease you, edge you, make you beg for it.

"tell me what you want, darling. tell me how bad you want your stepdad's cock."

"please," you gasp and your hands claw at the sheets. "need you, please, f-fuck me harder, need it."

"say my name." he growls and stops moving completely until you spit his name out in the most animalistic tone he's ever heard.

"t-toji, please fuck me," you keen and he groans again, deafeningly loud, and starts to slap his cock and balls back into you.

as he rolls his hips, his muscles ripple and his breath gets ragged. your cunt constricts around his girth with every stroke and he's hitting you just right.

you're on the edge of orgasm again and he knows it.

"you gonna cum for your stepdaddy? you gonna cum on my cock in the same place i fuck your mom, huh? god you're so fucking filthy it's crazy. just such, ah, fuck, such a good girl. so, fuchhhhcckkk, so good for me."

you nod and cry and he fucks you harder.

"cum for me. cream all over my cock, baby. let it out. wanna hear how good i make you feel."

after the words leave his mouth you're reeling in ecstasy. your orgasm crashes down on you like a wave, but harder, more crushing, more brutal and drowning. you're heaving breaths and drooling into the covers below, shaking and writhing on his big nasty cock like the nasty thing you are.

and he's right. it's absolutely filthy to get off from this. but that's what makes it so delicious.

your orgasm lasts longer than you thought possible. and when you've come to, he's shuddering on top of you. he came inside you already, and it's leaking out of your slit and drenching his shaft and balls in milky white goop.

it's trickling down onto the bedspread and making a huge stain. he must have been so pent up. the amount of cum is ridiculous.

"pussy so good i couldn't help myself. had to fuck you full."

when he pulls out of you and sees the huge puddle of cum underneath you, he chuckles.

"how're we going to explain this one to your mom?"

#jjk smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #jjk toji smut #dilf toji

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bogleech · 1 day ago

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These replies meant well but they miss the point, we are absolutely dealing with a fanatical hive minded cult here. Zombie and Sheep are completely appropriate euphemisms for people who willingly chose not to think for themselves, and if Trump says the sky is green then his whole barking, flopping gaggle of drunken seals will not only immediately believe the sky is green, they will also believe you're a baby-eating commie satanist if you think it's ever been blue.

I'm just going to copy/paste what I already added before:

"The number of people who seriously didn't know anything other than "he said he'd fix the economy" can't be that common. And if you ever heard him speak, you heard him define "fixing the economy" as "shutting down the border," because his single biggest campaign tool has been the complete and utter lie that "illegals" are a significant drain on the economy or that they're on the rise. Both are false. The vast, vast majority of his supporters, I'd say well over 99%, maybe more like several hundred to one, hold at least one, normally several of the following beliefs:

That there are bloodthirsty foreign devils deliberately invading at all times from the Southern border, and they can be blamed for the financial struggles of the "legal" citizens.

Anyone outside the traditional gender norms is an insatiable pervert and wants to corrupt innocent children.

Those who get abortions or in some cases even use birth control are murderers and filthy whores.

People in poverty are just lazy druggies who didn't care or try hard enough and brought all of their suffering on themselves.

The Disabled and in fact anyone unable to just work, work, work and work for at least some retail shit are a burden to be scorned.

Everyone bombed and killed by the U.S. military or any of its allied countries is always either a terrorist or an acceptable sacrifice in the fight against terrorists.

Police brutality is overstated and most people hurt or killed by cops did something to deserve it, but most especially minorities, who may or may not be genetically predisposed to crime.

An idea that Jewish people secretly control the world through a vast interconnected conspiracy that may also involve demon worship and child trafficking.

Doctors and scientists are liars who drain money from the economy and are wrong about everything that might inconvenience a rich man.

Non-Christians of any kind are degenerate and dangerous.

Trump's entire platform, and that of all other GOP candidates these days, is a deliberately fuzzy promise to act on any or all of these hysterical prejudices. He's most consistent about the first one and made it pretty much the central pillar of his whole campaign, because the paranoia over an imaginary "border crisis" is by far the most popular culture war uniting the right. Which is pretty fucking sad considering just how utterly fabricated it is, and how effortless it is to find that out in only seconds. However, not all conservatives subscribe to all of the same moral panics at the same time, so right wing influencers spend a lot of time weeping and gnashing over "liberalism" or "socialism" or this word that rhymes with "yoke" so that every one of their stupid, angry grovelers can read into it as a promise to defeat whatever it is those words mean in their mushy fucking brains. The single most important thing to understand of all, though, is that the lies are not what make them hate people. They already wanted to hate those people. The lies are concocted after the fact to justify the deeds they want to commit. They are stupid, scared, gullible and weak but they are also willfully spiteful with a massive punishment fetish, so when you get enough of them together they can actually wreak havoc. The point of my original post was that they're not anything as cool or impressive as evil nefarious villains. They're more comparable to a mindless but inexorable flood of sewage.

I will also add: almost all of them categorize other human beings as "illegal aliens," and to them those aren't just words, but an actual demographic label they want to force on anyone who didn't fill out all the right forms, which they want enforced as an unforgivable crime.

Getting upset that I turn around and throw "dehoominizing langwidge" back at them is honestly a little ridiculous and even kind of uncomfortable, like if you saw a guy beating his wife and patted him gently on the back to remind him he matters. No he doesn't! Put a knife in that hand first! Referring to violent xenophobes as zombies or animals or vermin shouldn't bother you any more than calling them shitheads or assholes or even just jerks, because all possible words and language are completely inconsequential compared to their actual efforts at legislative dehumanization.

That's what "dehumanization" actually is. Not calling someone a dog or a ghoul in words, which is merely an expression of how ugly their behavior has become. Dehumanization is the actual treatment, by action, of other people as less worthy of basic rights and that is what they set out to do every single day. Like are some of you seriously that sheltered and naive. Yeesh. If you're personally acquainted with that one-in-a-million kind-hearted well meaning oaf who ignorantly supports the right wing out of innocent childlike ignorance, congrats but it doesn't change a thing and maybe your poor sweet gentle pet maga should have cared enough to know what they were voting for?

Young people have GOT to stop talking about conservatives like they're scary menacing monsters. Yes the policies they back are horrifically destructive but that's entirely because of how individually stupid, fearful, emotionally stunted, weak willed and catastrophically gullible they are. That all is what made them become right wing to begin with. Just the most easily manipulated zombie sheep on earth.

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supernotnatural2005 · 3 days ago

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The Meet Cute

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: 99% of the time drinking leads to nothing but bad decisions and regret in the morning. But, what about the other 1% of the time?

Word count: 1786

Prompt: 'Hugged the wrong person from behind'

AN: Hey guys this is my first submission for @jacklesversebingo 2024 Bingo card. It is my first time doing one of these and I'm super excited to see what my brain comes up with! It's a challenge for sure but I hope you guys can enjoy the ride with me.

Main Masterlist

Bingo Masterlist

You winced a little at the burn of the whisky sliding down your throat. It was very much welcomed though, and so were the other two shots you’d done just before.

Not only was it your sister's wedding, but you were her maid of honour and wedding planner. In her defence, it was your profession, so planning and weddings were two things you did well. But the added pressure of it being your baby sister's day and wanting it to be perfect had given you little room to breathe.

Though, once the initial ceremony had ended and you made sure all the guests had arrived and settled in at the afterparty, you finally took a moment to take that breath, aided by the sweet nectar of alcohol. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t your best idea to drink such a strong beverage on an empty stomach, as it wasn’t long until its side effects commandeered your body, mind, and actions.

As you looked around at everyone enjoying themselves on the dance floor, your sister included, it brought a sense of relief and warmth knowing you made her day special. However, there was one face missing, and that was the face of your best friend, Matty. You’d been busy up to your eyeballs all day with arrangements, making sure people arrived on time and showing them where to go; you hadn’t even been able to see him yet, let alone say hello.

You knew his flight this morning was delayed, so he had to miss the ceremony, but he was on schedule to make the party at least. Though even your sister or family hadn’t seen him. The last text he sent was to tell you that he’d landed, and that was nearing 2 hours ago. You deflated at the thought that he might miss this too. Matty was always the life of the party, ever since you’d met him your freshman year of college. Although you didn’t see each other as often as you’d liked, living in different cities and leading busy lives and all, you were always guaranteed a great time when he was around.

However, as you finished your fourth shot, it was then you spotted someone at the other end of the bar. You had to squint a little through your gradually blurring vision, but you were certain it was him. He had his back to you, and he looked a little more built than when you last saw him, but he was already chatting away to some ridiculously handsome, tall guy you didn’t recognise; who was exactly his type, and was easily someone he’d be distracted by.

Pushing aside the fact he hadn’t come to see you first, with giddy excitement you pushed away from the bar, steadying yourself briefly as your head spun a little, but wasted little time as you wonkily made your way towards your best friend.

Foregoing the formalities and for the sudden need to hold onto something, you hugged him tightly from behind. He was definitely firmer than you remembered, and he smelt amazing, but Matty always did.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” You sighed happily as you snuggled into his back, the effects of the alcohol well and truly in control. “And when did you get so fit?” You exemplified your point by patting his toned stomach with a giggle.

“Y/N? What are you doing?” Your hand paused, and your eyes snapped open at the questioning voice of your best friend. It took you a moment to realise it hadn’t come from the body you were currently clung to, but from your right. Dread suddenly filled you as you slowly turned your head and were met with the amused face of your best friend.

With a gasp, you jumped away from the stranger, losing your footing as you did. Thankfully the stranger grasped your arm before you could go down, not that it would make this situation any less embarrassing if you had. Though what did make it worse was when you finally looked up at said stranger and saw, quite possibly, the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life.

He had the most captivating pair of green eyes you’d ever seen and a smattering of freckles covering his nose and cheeks. A stubbled jawline that could cut glass, and he was staring down at you with much of the same amusement your best friend had.

“So, strangers are getting touched up before me now?” Matt teased as he walked over to you, shattering the little staring contest you and green eyes had gotten into. He let go of your arm quickly and took a polite step back at Matt’s presence, and you had to force yourself to look away from him.

Your cheeks reddened at Matty’s remark, and you only wished for the floor to swallow you whole. Matty slung an arm over your shoulder and hugged you to him, which you half returned in your traumatised state.

“I’m honestly so sorry; I’ve had a bit to drink and really thought you were him,” you jab a thumb in Matt’s direction, to which he bursts out laughing.

“If you were really thinking that, then you must be drunk.” He laughs, and you can’t help but join in on the absurdity of the situation along with the other two men.

“Honestly, don’t sweat it; it’s made my night, that’s for sure.” The handsome stranger waves you off with a chuckle, and his voice is deep and husky and does an array of things to you. ‘Seriously Y/N? Get yourself together’.

You smile thankfully at him, relieved he found the funny side of it despite the crippling embarrassment you were currently feeling.

“So, how do you both know the bride?” Matty speaks up, and you want to smack him so hard. You were hoping to make your escape and hide in the restroom for the rest of the night, not prolong your suffering.

“My brother Sammy here works with the groom.” Green eyes pats the tall one on the back, and you note his tight-lipped smile at the obvious nickname. It makes your lips twitch in amusement.

“We’re junior partners at KS Attorney’s.” Sam adds and you nod in acknowledgment.

“And what about you?” You find yourself asking before you could even stop yourself. Green eyes looks at you, his eyes sparkling as a sly smirk lifts his noticeably plump lips. ‘Or did you just notice that? Focus Y/N!’

“Well, I’m just here to crash the wedding." He grins proudly, “Meet a few of the bridesmaids.” He winks at you, and you scoff.

“Well, I don’t mean to burst your bubble,” you pause for him to give you his name, which he supplies with a smirk. “Dean,” you repeat. “But I’m maid of honour, and this is my sister's wedding.” You cross your arms and arch a brow. It makes his cocky attitude drop instantly, and it’s quite amusing to watch him fumble.

“I, you know. I’m just kidding.” He stumbles with a nervous chuckle, and you narrow your eyes playfully at him until you feel you’ve made him uncomfortable enough.

“Don’t worry about it." You concede your teasing with a chuckle. “Weddings are supposed to be fun, right?” You shrug before waving him closer to you like you’re about to tell him a secret. He easily obliges, and you try to ignore the close proximity and the delicious scent of him again before you speak.

“Just watch out for the brunette; she’s a little on the crazy side.” You nod your head over at Tiffany, one of the bridesmaids and he follows your direction to the dance floor. She was in your sister's circle of friends, but she was well-known for being a little clingy with men.

You’d heard she’d burnt her last boyfriend's clothes when he didn’t return her calls for a few hours, convinced he was cheating on her. He wasn’t. He was visiting his sick grandmother, something he’d told her the night before.

“Noted.” Dean nods seriously as you pull back and looks away thoughtfully, as if he were thinking of something important before his eyes snap to you again. “What about the maid of honour? Is she game?” Your heart flutters a little at the smoothness of his implication, and you can’t stop your shy smile. You had to look away from him, and it was then you noticed the other two were missing. You frown and look around before you spot Matty and Sam further down the bar with a beer each. Matty catches your eye and winks at you before pointing at you and then Dean and making a vulgar gesture with his hand and mouth. You roll your eyes before you look back at Dean.

“I see we’ve been ditched.” You scoff humorously and Dean’s smirk wideness.

“And you haven’t answered my question.” He points out cooly and leans against the bartop; his stare intense, making you squirm a little. Men at this magnitude of hotness never hit on you, and if it wasn’t for the alcohol still running through your veins, you’re certain you would have malfunctioned by now.

“She is not.” You decide to lie and bite your lip as you too lean against the bar. Dean’s brow raises as if he were surprised by your admission, and you try not to look him in the eye too much.

“Oh really? And who’s the lucky guy?” You try to fight your smile, and the blush you’re certain is already staining your cheeks. Instead of answering, your eyes subtly flicker over to Matty, and Dean’s smile broadens, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

“You and him?” He nods his head back in their direction, and you shrug with a confident smile, which soon falters when he leans in close to whisper in your ear. “Sweetheart, if that were true, I’d hate to be the one to tell you that your boyfriend is currently flirting up a storm with my brother.”

He pulls back with a cocky smirk, and you can’t contain yourself much longer. Laughter bubbles out of you uncontrollably because it’s true. You and Dean both watch as an uncomfortable Sam tries to dodge Matty’s obvious advances with tears in your eyes.

“We should probably go save him. Matty’s nothing if not persistent.” You breathe out, still trying to calm yourself as you wipe gently at your under-eyes.

"Nah, Sammy’s a big boy; he can fend for himself.” Dean shrugs off with a smile. "Besides, you still have a question to answer and no more B.S.” He points at you half serious, and you can’t find it in you to lie this time.

AN: There you go guys, my first bingo square complete. Let me know what you guys think. Also I am open to maybe expanding on this story, like a prequel and maybe another chapter... Let me know if you'd be interested to see more of this.

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onboardsorasora · 20 hours ago

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Wanted some soft boys today. Also totally misread an anon ask from months ago lmao, this isn't what our bestie asked for but hopefully this is ok as well. Also, I haven't reread this so hopefully it reads well and there's no mistakes

Part 1 | Part 18

Max woke slowly, overwarm with hot breath puffing onto the crook of his neck. For a microsecond, in what felt like the time between all five red lights going out and the green lights illuminating, Max thought Adult Daniel had returned.

Because Daniel always ran warm, especially since he liked to bundle himself as a burrito in his sheets. But the face pressed into his skin was still small, delicate. It was still Little Daniel.

Max smiled fondly and reached a hand to stroke through wild curls. He frowned however, when he found them to be flattened, soaked with sweat. Max bolted awake, taking in the flush on Little Daniel’s skin and how uncomfortable he looked even while asleep. He pressed his palm to Little Daniel’s forehead and recoiled when his skin felt almost searing. Little Daniel whimpered a little.

Max realized instantly that he was running a fever and he felt the fright bubble up within him.

Grabbing his phone, he did the first thing that came to his mind, call Grace.

She picked up after 3 rings, Max didn’t know what time it was in Perth. To be honest, he didn’t know what time it was right now in Monaco. But he knew that Grace had his number saved as important, so she would always answer his call. Especially now.

Her fond, soft smile melted into worry when she saw his scared face.

“Max what’s wrong?” She asked immediately.

“Daniel has a fever, I think.” Max rushed out, immediately turning his camera to show the miserable ball of child on the bed. Grace cooed.

“Have you taken his temperature? How high is it?” She asked and Max scratched his head sheepishly, he honestly hadn’t thought of that.

“My first thought was to call you, to be honest.”

“You made the right decision Max.” Grace smiled softly at the phone, even though the camera was still pointed towards Little Daniel. Max could see her in the little screen. “Now, do you have a thermometer? They normally put one in those first aid kits you buy in the grocery store.”

Max got to work, following her instruction on how to take Little Daniel’s temperature and what the numbers meant. He was running a fever, but it wasn’t high. Not enough to warrant a hospital visit. Max never felt more relieved.

With Grace’s help, got Little Daniel in more comfortable clothing, and helped him drink some juice while he waited for his rush grocery delivery order to arrive. He might have ordered all of the children’s electrolyte drinks the store had in stock, but that was no one's business.

“Maxshy, I’m tired.” Little Daniel mumbled. He’d been miserable all day but Max counted it as a win that he was alert and seeking comfort. He’d spent some time talking to Grace, letting her know that he didn’t feel nice. Max’s heart clenched the whole time.

Grace let them go when Little Daniel promised to try and take a nap. He had put the phone down and immediately climbed his little body onto the couch and sprawled himself over Max who was definitely not proud of the cooing noise he’d involuntarily let out.

“I know Bub, do you want to watch a race and then take a nap?” Max pressed some hair back from Little Daniel’s forehead and watched as the curls sprung back into place. Little Daniel shook his head and Max raised a brow in surprised confusion. Little Daniel was always asking to watch races, he never declined an opportunity.

“Want to watch da show. Maxshy Show.” Little Daniel clarified and Max’s heart clenched. Recently Max had shown Little Daniel one of the Dutch cartoons he’d grown up with and he’d watched it intently even though Max knew for a fact he didn’t know what they were saying. It was probably clear enough by their actions.

“Ok Bub, we can watch it. Do you want to watch any specific episode?” He reached for the tv remote. Little Daniel shook his head into Max’s chest and watched as Max found the show in question.

They watched two episodes before Max felt Little Daniel go completely lax against him. His soft snores a welcome sound. Max slouched further onto the couch, careful not to jostle his precious cargo and let the background sounds of his childhood lull him to sleep as well.

#maxiel #de aged daniel #de aged daniel au #baby badger and big max #max/daniel

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cripplecharacters · 1 day ago

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Hi! Ok so at one point I remember when answering an ask you said that when making animal based characters to just stay away from making any rat ones because of negative connotations (which I totally get)

So my question is would it be ok to have a whole humanoid race that is mildly based on mice? They look like humans but their ears vaguely look mouse-ish, they have tails, and their feet are sort of like paws. I am considering two different options with the tails in case I should stay away from the mouse thing, one looks like a mouse tail (kind of the main thing making them mice themed) and the other is a similar shape but fluffy especially at the end (A little like some versions of unicorn tails I've seen)

I would like to include disabled characters so if the mouse thing still isn't recommended I'll redesign them

Hello!

Most of the time when we advise that people avoid a certain trope/concept, it isn't a complete ban on it. It's generally more of a "be careful with how you approach this" type thing.

For example, we often advise against making a disabled character that's a villain because of their disability. If your only disabled character is a villain with chronic pain that kills people because their disability stops them from their dream job, that's not great. BUT if you have this same character and you also have a wheelchair user who runs the tech stuff for the hero side (Oracle-style, for my DC folks) and a Deafblind hero who leads the charge against the villains and an autistic sidekick and an amputee henchman for the villain and several able bodied villains and so on, then its less of a problem. It might not be gold medal representation but because you're no longer equating disability with tradegy and hatred and instead showing that villain as part of a cast with diverse stories and, more importantly, as a person with their own unique experiences, it's much better.

This is all a very long way of saying that most tropes that are generally best avoided can still be okay in some contexts.

In this case, having this whole species is completely fine and it's great that you want to include disabled characters! I see nothing wrong with this.

If you had a world where the characters were all anthropomorphic animals and the only rat character was also your own disabled character, that'd be a bit of a problem because it's singling out your disabled character -- presumably to poke at their disability.

In the concept you've presented, though, being part of this species is a trait all (Or most) of your characters share. Which is fine!

As a few final notes of caution:

If you're worried about certain unintended connotations or messaging coming across, it's generally best to spread your cast out as much as possible. By this, I mean that if you have other species in this world, don't have all your disabled characters be part of this one species. Likewise, don't have every member of this species be disabled. Instead, consider having your disabled characters be from different species. For example, have an amputee character be from this species but have a blind character be from another species.

Certain specific disabilities do have individual associations to watch out for. Be careful making associations between a character with a cleft lip and hares/rabbits (Because of the derogatory term "harelip" that has been used). Likewise but to a lesser extent, be careful with associations of blind people and moles, mice, and bats. This is because of the naked mole rat, the Three Blind Mice, and "blind as a bat" respectively. There are a few of these out there.

This is less of a warning and more just something to consider but keep in mind how their animal traits can be impacted by their disability. Would a character that's paralyzed have use of their tail? Would a blind character trip over their tail or would their same "sense of self" extend to the tail like it would an arm or leg? How would a character in a wheelchair adapt their chair to their tail? Etc.

Hopefully some of this is helpful!

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

#mod icarus #anonymous #fantasy tropes

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elfieafterdark · 2 days ago

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Excellent take, thank you for engaging with such interesting analysis. To be clear, I'm not blaming Magnus in universe for having the opinion he does, I'm laughing at him out of universe for how wrong he is in this one very specific case.

Ordinarily? He's 100,000 million percent correct. But this isn't ordinary circumstances. Harrow isn't just talented, she's diet God. John has 5 billion souls sure, but Harrow has 200. That might not seem like much, but it was enough to set off giddy in the first (that's pure speculation by me at this point, I can't recall if we've gotten a real reason why Gideon zero wanted to attack Harrow)

He's correct, that's good advice... For literally anyone else. There's no way he could know though.

And I once again need to point out that Harrow actually succeeded, at least temporarily. Gideon's soul (or at least a significant enough part of it to count as Gideon) was in a living body, separated from Harrow's soul.

When she was having this conversation with Magnus, she had already done it. The thing he said she couldn't do, she's already done the impossible once. And I honestly and earnestly believe she can do it again.

I know a lot of people are expecting a bad or bitter ending for these two, I don't think that's the case. I believe we're getting a decently happy ending for the girls.

Muir has done too much setup, too much work on setting up Gideon and Harrow. The entire story is about them, it's not about how one of them died and the other needs to move on.

It's about how one of them died, then the other brought them back and died, then the first died again, but then was brought back, and then the other was chilling in a dead body for a while but is now back in her own body.

It is significantly more complicated. But if anyone's interested, I can do a full-blown analysis rant on why I am convinced that at very least Griddle and her Gloom Mistress are gonna get to be together in SOME capacity.

I'm still hung up on Magnus, earnestly telling an 18-year-old that she needs to give up her one friend and love because sometimes you strike out.

WHILE HE'S WITH HIS WIFE THAT HE GOT TO MARRY AND BE WITH FOR QUITE A FEW YEARS!!!

B. R. U. H. Incapable of reading the room... er, bubble in the river.

#magnus quinn #abigail pent #harrowhark nonagesimus #tlt #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb #gideon nav #tlt meta

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emmg · 2 days ago

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WIP whenever

because @heylittleriotact uno reverse'd me lmfao

bc grading essays is overrated, so here’s a lil’ something from the ridiculous fic I’m forcing my keyboard to suffer through. Plot? Absolutely none. Just Emmrook going on “dates” (and like also… smutty dates) suggested by the other clowns haunting the Lighthouse. This one’s SUPPOSED to end in a coffee date—because Lucanis—but I haven't written that yet lol

Honestly, it’s like… smut-crackfic with necromancy puns that should be punishable by law. I keep saying I’ll write a serious Emmrich one day, but let’s be real, that day isn’t today

Anyway, title? Don’t have one. I'm just throwing a bunch of dashes and slapping a read-more right before it gets too long so it doesn't invade anyone's dash

--------------

It’s the most absurd scene. Like, truly bonkers.

She hovers in the doorway, conveniently camouflaged by shadows, because though the cringe levels are searing her soul, she simply cannot look away. It’s like watching a runaway cart barreling downhill, if said cart was cobbled together with blissful ignorance and top-tier ineptitude.

There, crammed onto Harding and Neve’s favorite tiny sofa, are Lucanis and Emmrich. And they’re... talking? Sort of? It’s the most agonizing conversation she’s ever been subjected to, and that’s saying something. Lucanis is flailing his hands around, using them more than words, trying to drive home whatever point he’s failing spectacularly to make. Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the dignified one, has one leg crossed so neatly over the other that it creates this little triangle of space that she suddenly wants to crawl into and hide from the embarrassment radiating off both of them.

"You see," Lucanis laments, his fingers forming that universal gesture of the confused and the desperate, “we went for coffee. But she, well, threw it back. Like a shot of spirits. It was not just any brew. This was from the frost-bitten slopes of the Vimmark Mountains. A dark roast with notes of juniper and just a hint of wild honey. You don’t just drink something like that—you experience it.” He shakes his head. “Her focus was all on that new case file, instead. And fish. Fried fish."

Emmrich nods along thoughtfully. “I understand. However, if I may be so bold, Lucanis, have you perhaps thought of discussing something besides coffee? A change of topic might open new avenues.”

"I did offer to sharpen her knives."

“Knives,” Emmrich repeats, as though weighing the term’s philosophical import. “And… Neve is known to possess a significant collection of blades?”

“No,” says Lucanis, flat as a pancake.

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, offering a sage nod. A wise and knowing “ah,” as if that somehow clarified things. "An unusual approach, then."

Desperate to claw himself out of this conversational pit, Lucanis asks, “Well, what is it you and Rook… do?” He stumbles over the words, as though simply asking has exhausted his entire social skill set for the year.

And now, it’s Emmrich’s turn to squirm. She can almost see his moustache twitching, wishing it could detach itself from his face and make a run for the hills. He looks away, frowning slightly, as though consulting some vast internal library.

They don’t go on dates. Please. Not even the hilariously doomed sort that Lucanis somehow subjected Neve to. For one, neither of them has the time for candlelit strolls with the world about to be ripped apart by blighted elven gods strutting around like they own the place.

Usually, she just pops into his room and fucks him while he pontificates about the finer points of romance. Oh, she always lets him go on for a hot minute, but once her lips are on his throat and her hands start wandering further south, he finally gets the hint, and that highbrow nonsense about “dignified courtship” goes straight out the window.

Emmrich, after clearing his throat, finally answers, "We discuss books."

From her shadow, she snorts. He's not wrong, technically. Just the other night, she had perched in his lap while he was reading some dry treatise on Fade energy attunement and the properties of dawnstone. He’d even launched into a detailed explanation while she kissed her way down his jaw and neck, hardly deterred by the lecture. Finally, when her hand wandered beneath his shirt, Emmrich, after a brief struggle to finish his monologue, allowed the tome to tumble from his grip.

So yes, “discussing books” might be accurate, but it’s hardly the whole story. And yet here sits Emmrich, steadfast in his scholarly pride, while Lucanis looks ready to take a long walk off a very short pier. She’s not sure which of them is more tragic.

“Hm,” says Lucanis, apparently having reached the absolute zenith of his conversational abilities.

“Ah,” Emmrich replies, with all the enthusiasm of someone describing mildew yet also, somehow, managing to sound very polite about it.

She saunters over to break this pathetic monotony of wall-staring both are currently engaged in.

“My dear,” Emmrich perks up, relief flooding his face as though she’s just rescued him from the depths of some social hell. His voice is full of that charming lilt he uses when he’s desperate to salvage his dignity.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to stand, all dignified and well-bred, but she waves him off with a lazy hand, signalling him to stay seated. And stay he does. Without missing a beat, she slides into his lap, practically draping herself sideways over him, arms winding around his neck. He tenses for a moment, exhales in resignation, but eventually gives in, one hand resting at the small of her back, fingers just barely grazing the line between respectable and… well, decidedly not.

“I hate when you do that,” Lucanis snarls from across the sofa, jabbing a finger at her.

“Yes, it’s not very proper,” Emmrich says with solemnity, though he’s showing absolutely zero signs of protest about her whole backside pressing against him.

With a serene, mischievous grin, she stretches her legs, casually extending them until they’re firmly invading Lucanis’ personal space.

“Mierda,” he grumbles, swatting at her ankle with all the fervor of a cat being swiped at by an annoying feather. “Rook.”

She just grins that beautifully infuriating grin. “Go back to your pantry, Lucanis,” she says sweetly, her tone one of pure, serene malice. “The gouda is getting lonely.”

Lucanis stalks off, glowering as if he’d chuck a knife at her head if he had one in hand. And she’s fairly sure he would.

She blows him a kiss. He shows her the middle finger. They’ll have coffee in the morning.

Meanwhile, Emmrich, ever the portrait of indulgent patience, looks up at her from his cozy place beneath her with a satisfied hum. “How was your day, darling?”

“Good,” she sighs, stretching further until her legs are practically colonizing whatever’s left of Lucanis’ side of the sofa. “Yours?”

Emmrich raises an eyebrow. Makes a contemplative sound deep in his throat. “Enlightening. Lucanis and I were just having… an intriguing discussion.”

“Oh?” she purrs, eyes glinting. “About what, pray tell?”

“Courtship,” he says, savoring the word as though it were some priceless artifact he’s just dusted off from an ancient shelf.

She smirks. “I’m sure you gave him absolutely riveting advice.”

“I certainly tried.” He heaves a great sigh, even rolls a shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “Though, I fear our preferred methods diverge.”

“‘Preferred methods’?” she echoes, giving his thigh a playful squeeze. “Do enlighten me.”

Emmrich gives her a look that’s half-scholar, half-sufferer. “Well, I fancy a touch of romance, some… sentimentality, if you will. And Lucanis…”

“And Lucanis?” she goads.

“His idea of a grand romantic gesture involves… knives,” he finishes with a sigh of pure exasperation.

She can’t hold back the snort that escapes. “I mean, yeah, it’s Lucanis. Did you expect anything different?” She presses a little closer, trouble dancing in her eyes. “But for what it’s worth, I do love talking about books with you… so very much.”

Emmrich doesn’t miss a beat, a hint of sarcasm curling his lips. “So I’ve gathered.”

“Tell me more about your books, Emmrich,” she coos, batting her eyelashes with all the enthusiasm of a third-rate actress in a chintzy Orlesian play.

“If you’re genuinely interested, I would gladly oblige.”

“Oh, I’m interested,” she purrs, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. “In you talking… while you bend me over your desk.”

Emmrich rolls his eyes, his facade of feigned innocence dissolving in an instant. “There it is,” he says, shaking his head, fully resigned, and yet absolutely, unflinchingly unbothered. “Right on schedule.”

She giggles, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, laughing against his skin as his mouth curves into a smile. His hand moves down her back, rubbing a little more insistently, as if he’s grounding himself—or maybe just unable to resist the urge to keep her right there.

And she doesn’t make it easy for him. She drags her legs back, swings one over his lap, and settles herself down, straddling him. For a moment, she just studies him, tracing her fingers through his hair, brushing little gray strands back, pressing featherlight kisses along his cheekbones. She moves to his jaw, his forehead, then teases at the edge of that absurdly high collar he insists on wearing like he’s hiding some grand secret rather than just a very biteable throat.

He is fine, she muses, is he not? So impossibly precise, so painfully detailed. He’s all sharp angles and sleek lines, with those maddeningly long fingers that look like they could carve through a mountain if they set their mind to it, and legs that seem to go on for days. Tall, lean, graceful, and—she smirks—a touch too verbose for his own good.

There’s a tragic elegance to him, too, a sort of quiet, melancholic dignity wrapped up in age and maturity, like a bottle of rare, finely aged wine that’s only gotten more complex with the years. A shame, really, that he’s about to be thoroughly enjoyed by someone who wouldn’t know a fine vintage from a spoiled ale.

She’ll savor him all the same, every last bit.

When she takes his hands, winding her fingers through his, she feels him smile—a real, soft thing, so she leans down and steals it right off his mouth. She licks along the seam of his lips, teasing, before he finally gives in and parts them, letting her kiss him in earnest.

“I like your rings,” she murmurs as she pulls back, letting their mouths part with a wet pop, a little string of saliva snapping between them. “They make you look expensive.”

“Not too expensive, I hope,” Emmrich teases. “Otherwise, I fear I’ll meet the same fate as every artifact your merry Lords of Fortune collect. Pilfered in the night, sold to the highest bidder. One moment here, the next—poof. Gone.”

She makes a show of sighing, voice deadly serious. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’d rig the auction, slip in a pretty penny or two, then plant an inside man to bid on you. Coin in one hand, you smuggled back to me in the other. All in one night.”

He laughs, that rich, throaty sound she loves, and she can feel it rumbling up through his chest. “All that trouble just for me?”

She leans in, lips brushing his ear. “Consider it my own little courtship ritual,” she whispers, nipping at his earlobe. “Better than dinner and a walk, don’t you think?”

He chuckles, his hands slipping to her hips, holding her close as if he’s half-tempted to test just how well she could pull off that heist. “Dangerously persuasive, as usual.”

For a while, she stays just as she is, savoring the closeness, every slow inhale filled with the scent of him, the warmth of his body against hers. She steals little kisses, grazing his jaw, breathing her laughter against his skin each time he starts to smile. She loves the quiet, the intimacy of it all, though she loves his voice just as much. Sometimes, she asks him to read aloud, not for the content, but for that smooth, careful cadence that rolls through her and makes her feel so, so good. She’ll rest her head in his lap, fingers idly tracing patterns on his hands, kissing his knuckles, his fingertips, watching his face as he reads.

Now, there’s nothing for him to read, but she leans into him all the same, letting his quiet words fill the space. He murmurs, babbles, whispers soft nonsense as he unlaces her hair, fingers brushing through the waves, watching as they fall in gentle cascades over his lap. She exhales, content, her eyes half-closed, perfectly happy just to listen as his voice drifts around her, soothing and familiar.

She simply listens, resting her head on his thigh, gazing up at the ceiling, fingers trailing over his hands, kissing his fingers one by one, lingering on each touch. Her teeth gently scrape along his skin, letting her tongue follow in a slow, winding path. She feels his breath hitch, hears him stumble over his words as she nibbles down each finger, tracing her tongue along the edge before she takes it into her mouth, sucking just enough to leave him squirming. She lets each finger slip from her lips with a wet pop, savoring the way his composure falters, how he tries—and fails—to keep his voice steady as she drags her mouth over the center of his palm, kissing, licking, leaving nothing untouched.

He’s given up on this one-sided dialogue entirely, his gaze drifting from her to the room around them—the door, the table, the empty corners where nothing but dust bunnies, or perhaps a few stray Fade bunnies, lurk in silence.

“Dear,” he murmurs, glancing down at her. “We ought to move.” He gives her a gentle nudge, even tries to rise himself, but she’s not having it.

“Oh, but you look so good here,” she protests, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “They’re all asleep, Emmrich. Even Lucanis, that kitchen rat, is probably curled up in his pantry right now, snuggling his precious wheel of parmesan.”

Emmrich lets out a long, put-upon sigh, like he’s reaching deep into his reserve of patience, maybe for some scolding remark, but he finds none. His shoulders drop as he finally relents, letting her kisses chip away at his restraint. She leans in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, detailing exactly what she wants him to do with those hands of his—where she wants those fingers, how she wants them stroking, filling, plunging, curling…

“Well then,” he manages, and she laughs, a short, wicked little sound, straight into his mouth.

She slips down his body, her hands already at his waist, working his trousers loose with a grin that says she knows exactly how flushed he’s become. She murmurs something obscene, barely a whisper and almost incoherent, her smirk widening as she leans in closer, taunting, “Come on, Emmrich, don’t tell me no bone was ever… poked… in that crypt of yours, right out in the open for all to see.”

“It’s the Grand Necropolis,” he corrects, like that’ll somehow keep his dignity intact, “and we most certainly do not… poke.”

She undoes the last of the many - too many - buttons on his trousers before freeing him just enough to take him in hand. And oh, would you look at that, for all of his posturing he's already hard. All that wriggling on top of him certainly led to something, she thinks.

“Oh?” she hums, tracing her fingertips over his bare skin, savoring the way he stiffens under her touch. She leans forward, her lips brushing against his length as she murmurs, “Not even a quick tumble between the tombs? Not a single bone used for inspiration?”

His restraint crumbles as she flicks her tongue over him, taking her time, drawing out each little shiver, each catch in his breath, making sure he’s utterly undone before she finally lets her mouth close around him, her gaze locked on his as she starts to take him deeper, her mouth warm, wet, greedy. And as she feels him sink back, his hands clenching in her hair, she knows she’s finally broken that perfect composure, and she couldn’t be more pleased.

Then she pulls back just enough to speak. “So, tell me, is this what you meant by reanimation techniques?”

Emmrich sighs, dragging his free hand over his face as if he could somehow block out the utter cringe tumbling out of her mouth, his fingers twitching, though she doesn’t give him a moment’s peace. She lowers her head again, sucking him in, hollowing her cheeks, before releasing him yet again, his cock slipping past her lips with an obscene, wet pop. “You know," she muses, "I’d say you’re looking rather stiff.”

A sharp exhale escapes him, a half-laugh, half-moan that only encourages her further. She picks up her pace, taking him deeper, her hands braced against his hips as she moves with a steady rhythm, doing that little thing with her tongue she knows he likes, she knows that everyone likes, a talent truly, swirling all the way around, pressing it flat on the underside of his cock, only to suck her way up, breathe hot air against him, before swallowing him again.

Between every few breaths, she pulls back just enough to taunt him, her voice syrupy with mock innocence. She can barely hold back the laughter as she watches him react, his hips bucking ever so slightly with each tease, like clockwork, so deliciously predictable. “Come on, love. I thought resurrection was your specialty?”

“Blasphemy,” he mutters above her, though there’s no real heat in his voice.

“No, no.” She rests her cheek against his thigh, stroking him instead with a slow, deliberate touch, her palm warm and slick, her grip firm. “Think of it as… a rather intensive course in raising the dead.”

The absurdity of it hits her right as she says it—her last attempt at an erotic pun officially surpassed—and she breaks, a snort escaping as she buries her face against his leg, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

But then she feels his hands shift, pulling her up by her arms, and she yelps, startled, before giggling as he hauls her up, settling her right back on top of him.

“That’s quite enough of that,” Emmrich whispers.

As he catches his breath, she wipes her mouth, grinning at him with all the smug satisfaction of someone who’s just completely dismantled a man who prides himself on his restraint. She feels his fingers on her chin as he angles her face back towards his so he can kiss her and she's not shy, she tangles her tongue with his immediately, tasting as much of him as she can reach, even tracing the edge of one canine before retreating for breath.

“Think you could, I don’t know…” She waves a hand around aimlessly. “Necromance my pants away?”

He smiles, curling her hair around his fingers where it frames her face. “No, dear. I’m afraid that is not in my skill set.”

#my rook is a chaos goblin in case you haven't noticed #emmrich is emmrich idk what to say #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #wip whenever #the fact that we don't get to make inappropriate necromancy jokes is a tragedy #emmrook

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