#I was committed to how it looked from the moment I started the line art unfortunately lol

[kindfrog]

insatiable

inspired by the song Abbey by Mitski

I am hungry / I have been hungry / I was born hungry / What do I need?

as well as various scenes from the manga; in particular this one:

I really love Laios and the winged lions weird dynamic. I think they’re really interesting parallels. Hooray for cannibalism metaphors and religious undertones :D

anyway I also wanted to add some close ups as well as a version of the main drawing without the other bits covering it (apologies if tumblr has made the picture quality trash) -

[hoshifighting]

It appeared on my twitter, that tiktok of the 95 line and hoshi and I swear I can't get out of my mind the way Hoshi mouthed "fuck like a p*rnstar". I feel dizzy 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

this video rents free in my mind, with that...

part 1 | part 2 (coming soon)

pornstar!hoshi who’s built a reputation as the guy who’s charming AND talented. he’s fully committed to—not just for the cameras, but because he’s having the time of his life.

pornstar!hoshi who’s playful but knows how to be professional on set. he cracks jokes while the lighting gets adjusted, his smile disarming everyone around him. “does this angle make my abs look good, or should I flex a little more?” he teases, winking at the camera crew. but the second they call action, he’s on. his expressions, his movements—it’s all so natural that you can’t help but admire him, even when you’re the one underneath him.

pornstar!hoshi who’s supposed to be acting, but the moment he’s buried inside you, all of that goes out the window. the cameras are rolling, the director is calling soft cues, but he doesn’t hear any of it. all he can focus on is you. the way your back arches, the way your lips part on a gasp that sounds so real it makes his head spin. he’s moving, sure, but it’s not for the cameras—he NEEDS to see you cumming for real.

pornstar!hoshi who treats his co-stars with the utmost respect, always checking in between takes. “you good?” he’d whisper in your ear, his hand resting lightly on your thigh as he made sure you were comfortable. “need water? a break?”

pornstar!hoshi who has this uncanny ability to make everything look so effortless. the way he moves on camera, the way he adjusts to your rhythm, the way he looks at you as if no one else is even there—even though there are six people holding boom mics and lights around you.

“fuck, y/n,” he groans during a particularly heated scene, his voice low and rough enough to make you moan louder. it’s not just for show—it’s genuine.

pornstar!hoshi who’s known for his hips—not just how he moves them, but how he controls them. he’ll start slow, teasing, just to make his partner wetter, and then speed up in a way that has you clutching at his shoulders, your mind going blank. “there it is,” he’d murmur, only you could hear it. “does it feels good huh? such a perfect pussy.”

pornstar!hoshi who isn’t afraid to improvise, pulling off moves that make directors and crew stop and whisper, “how the fuck does he do that?” he’s the guy who can make a simple grind look like art and who knows exactly how to make you arch, moan, forget that youre supposed to be acting—both on and off-camera.

pornstar!hoshi behind the scenes is somehow even more dangerous. why? he’s soft, attentive, and domestic in a way that takes you by surprise. he’ll sit beside you during breaks, sharing snacks and laughing about how awkward some angles feel.

“did you see how they wanted me to hold you earlier?” he says, mock pouting as he mimics an exaggerated pose. “i looked like a pretzel.”

“You always look like a pretzel,” you tease, stealing one of his chips.

when the other take starts, no difference, real fuck to real eyes. the makeup artist is standing off to the side, brush frozen in her hand, glances at the lighting tech, watching hoshi fully sweat, who’s wide-eyed and whispering, “uh… is this still part of the scene?”

it’s not, and everyone knows it. hoshi’s thrusts is too personal, the way his fingers circle your clit with too much enthusiasm, care even, like he’s memorized every little thing that makes you squeak or roll your hips harder against him. the room is quiet except for the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking into you and the soft, desperate noises spilling from your lips.

pornstar!hoshi who’s dizzy from the sight of you. your face is flushed, your chest rising and falling with every poor breath, and the way you gasp his name—so full of need—has him gone.

“come on, baby,” he murmurs urgently, his fingers speeding up on your clit as his cock angles just right, brushing that spot inside you that makes you roll your eyes. “you gonna cum for me? huh? let me feel it. let everyone fucking see it.”

your hand shoots out, grasping his wrist as you sob, “hoshi, I—fuck, I can’t—” but the words die on your lips, replaced by a moan so loud and needy that his hips stutter. he leans down, his forehead pressing against yours, his forehead and hair starting to get wet.

“you can,” he whispers, his voice breaking like he’s barely holding himself together. “you’re gonna. i need you to. please, y/n.” his body working overtime to bring you just to see you cumming because he needs to see it, needs to feel it.

“look at me,” he says, his voice cracking as his free hand tilts your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. “look at me when you cum. let me see you.”

and when you finally do, your body tightening around him, his vision blurs. “that’s it, good girl, good girl—hm—fuckkk!” he groans.

the camera focuses tightly on where pornstar!hoshi is buried inside you, each thrust making you twitch as overstimulation sets in. you’re trembling now, gasping out broken noises that makes everyone confused its pleasure or exhaustion, your body convulsing around him. his hips falter for just a second before he hisses sharply, his head tipping back, a pained frown creasing his face.

he’s cumming, pumping into you like he’s helpless against the feeling of your wet cunt wrapping his tightly. even he looks surprised, glancing down at where you’re wrapped around him like he can’t believe it. when he finally slows, he pulls out just enough for the camera to capture the cum spilling from you, thick and unreal.

the director calls for a close-up, but hoshi’s already moving, his hand brushing against your thigh in a subtle, tender caress that’s out of sight from the cameras. his thumb rubs a slow circle into your skin, grounding you as the scene comes to a close.

“cut!” the director calls out. “that’s a wrap!”

hoshi doesn’t react immediately. he leans down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that catches you off guard. his tongue slides against yours, wet and warm, moving with a craving that feels almost private.

your eyes widen for a moment, but you give in, your fingers clutching weakly at his arm. when the director announces again that the shoot is officially over, hoshi pulls back, his lips brushing yours one last time before he closes his eyes. he plants a quick peck on your lips before shifting back to help you sit up.

as you adjust yourself on the edge of the bed, his assistant rushes over with a robe, but hoshi waves them off and takes it himself. instead of covering his own body, he wraps it around you, his hands careful not to disturb you too much.

“there,” he murmurs, tying the sash loosely around your waist. “better?”

you nod, sipping on the juice box that someone from the crew had handed you, looking strangely unbothered by the fact that you’d been riding him like your life depended on it just minutes ago.

hoshi, now half-dressed, stands nearby talking to his assistant, his hand absently twirling a strand of your hair. the motion is lazy, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

you can’t quite make out what they’re discussing—something about scheduling and timing—but when his assistant walks off, you glance up at him curiously.

“what was that about?” you ask, your voice hoarse from all the moaning earlier.

hoshi smirks, running a hand through his messy hair. “nothing big. just checking my schedule.” he pauses, leaning down a little closer to you. “i heard it’s your first time in town, though.”

“yeah?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. “so… i was wondering if i could take you out. show you the town... like… on a date.”

you blink at him, caught off guard. “a date?”

“yeah,” he repeats, his grin softening into something almost shy. “off-camera. no scripts, no director yelling cut. just you and me.”

you sip your juice, feigning nonchalance even though your heart’s doing cartwheels. “i guess i could fit you into my schedule,” you tease.

hoshi chuckles, his hand brushing against your cheek before he straightens up. “good. because I wasn’t gonna take no for an answer.”

[burreauxwrites]

“TIGER” - (joe burrow x reader)

description: while taking a bath with joe, you made an important discovery. he has stretch marks! (i wrote this after discovering that joe has stretch marks 🥹 he’s so lovely)

word count: 708

warnings: fluff, sharing a bath, joe is kind of touched deprived.

it had been a busy day for both you and joe. you had some work you had to get done, and joe had practice. there really wasn’t anything the both of you wanted more than to enjoy a relaxing bath and chat about your day together.

the both of you liked to call it your “nightly debriefing”. joe would talk about how practice went and any funny moments, while you shared some gossip and what your day was like at work.

joe started the water, running his hands beneath the rapid stream to check it’s temperature for the both of you. one the temperature was what you both desired, he put in the stopper, letting you add the body soap. you opted for a warm vanilla scent, compared to lavender.

the both of you stepped into the tub once the water finished filling it up, sinking into the warm, soapy water. joe looked at you fondly, shuffling over to you a bit.

“y/n, babe,” he asks, looking at you with a slight pleading look, “could you massage my back, please?”

“of course, joey.” you answered, nodding and beckoning joe to come closer and turn around.

when he does, your delicate hands run over his frame, kneading and working out any knots. a soft grin formed onto your lips as you heard him relax; he was always one of the most hardest working people you’ve ever known, and he deserved to have time to be calm and not feel stressed.

as you continue massaging him, you stop, a faint gasp escaping your lips.

joe had stretch marks. the most beautiful ones you’d ever seen, really. all of the lines on his back and shoulders stood out against his skin, soft and uneven, like ripples in sand after a wave. you figured they were from him working out a lot and bulking up quickly.

“what…?” joe questioned, noticing your gasp and the pause in your movement.

“you…you have stretch marks…” you murmured fondly.

joe chuckled, the sound rumbling his body a bit underneath your hands. “yeah, i do. it’s no biggie,” he shrugs, relaxing as you begin massaging him again, “when you gain muscle really quickly, that kind of thing tends to happen.”

you smiled, nodding as a soft hum came from you. your hands drew gentle circles around the scars as you stared at them lovingly. they’re so beautiful. he’s beautiful. you loved every single inch of joe, and the fact that he had stretch marks made him imperfectly perfect.

“they’re cute,” you cooed softly, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss onto his shoulder where the marks were, “they’re like…tiger stripes,” you giggled as you traced over the marks with your finger softly.

“tiger stripes, huh?” joe laughed, partially due to the ticklish sensation of your finger, and your words, “what, so i’m a tiger now?”

“mhm,” you agreed, continuing to pepper his shoulders and back in kisses. you pulled back for a moment, taking a warm look at his skin and making it your mission to commit it to memory, “you’re big, strong, kind of intimidating, and beautiful.”

joe shook his head at your words, sighing as you continued massaging his body. you always praised joe, both for his skills and physical traits. he found it sweet; he could have the most mundane mole or scar, and you treated it like a piece of art.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a small moment in relaxation. with a smile, leans back, putting a decent bit of weight on you, but not too much; he didn’t want to crush you.

you could tell he was feeling a bit touch deprived, but you didn’t mind. it was easy for you to tell that he was having a moment where he just wanted to be held. so, you leaned back against the tub, wrapping your arms around him with a smile.

“y/n?” joe asked, opening his eyes as he felt you rest your head onto his shoulder.

you perk up a little, “mhm?” you ask, looking at him warmly.

“i love you.” he sighed.

with a softened gaze, you run a thumb against his scarred skin with admiration and profound care.

“i love you too, tiger.”

[artdcnaldson]

Want religious virgin art to grind his dick between my pussy lips he says it’s practice for the real thing and it doesn’t count/isn’t a sin bc his dick isn’t inside of me (yet)

VIRGIN X VIRGIN YES GOD!!!!! This became longer than I expected so here have a gif

Both of you are so devout that your parents don't even feel like they should be worried about you two fooling around. You aren't even on birth control, and art would keel over and die before he walked into a store and bought a pack of condoms. You blush and fast forward movie scenes with anything beyond a chaste little kiss.

But you and Art are overcome with this intense, desperate need for each other that you can't really understand. You were never given the words to understand or describe it. You just know when you're on a date with Art and you move into the backseat of his car to make out (the one goddamn place in the world that you can get a hint of privacy), you get this ache between your legs, and gets a tent in his pants, and it feels like heaven when he moves his hips against yours.

You've both cum that way multiple times, blushing and panting and looking at each other in a strange mix of abject horror and absolute delight. You're both worried that it's a sin... at first. But you don't think you've really committed any horrible sin by just kissing. You haven't actually slept together, you know that's a line you can't cross... but the grey area...

You start by just... slipping off layers of clothing during each make out session. Testing the waters each time to see if it'll really eternally damn you. Your top, his shirt, his pants, your skirt. You leave on your bra and panties, but he can take off his boxer, if he wants. Its like adding rules of what you can and can't do makes it okay, like if you slowly increase the temperature, God won't notice by the time the water is boiling.

He fumbles with a bottle of lube he got from a red-faced trip to walgreens, slicking up his cock to rut over the sweet white cotton of your panties. Getting it so wet with lube that he can see your pussy through it. He hardly lasts, seeing the way the slick panties cling to your cunt, how your clit puffs up and you cry out when his tip nudges it. He finishes with a whimper and coats your panties in thick ropes of his cum.

By the next time, your panties are on the floor of his Jeep, and your cunt is slick with lube and your own arousal and he promises over and over that it doesn't count, that he's not inside of you, that God doesn't even (can't even) notice. His ruddy tip bumping your clit each time he slides through your folds makes you cry out, moaning in a way you hadn't known you were capable of. His hot breath against your neck as he buries his face there and whimpers, kissing along your shoulder and throat.

When his tip catches at your entrance you both freeze, just for a moment, considering how wrong it would be if it just... happened. If he just slipped in, like his body was made to. Like you were both created for. Just the thought is enough to make Art glaze your sticky folds with cum, practically sobbing from how good the release feels.

Maybe if god hasn't noticed yet, he never will.

[kichiyosh1]

"I made it with you in mind"

wanderer x reader

to think he'd end up finding joy in such a childish activity

✧: he ends up being mean at the beginning but he apologizes in his own special way, slight hurt/comfort but nothing major

(I'm back ig? idk :3)

He couldn't believe the absurdity to which you and the young archon were subjecting him to.

The sins committed by the former harbinger are things he won't refute or deny. Indeed such actions musn't go unpunished, but perhaps he's underestimated the extent of the dendro archon's mercy.

Mind explaining what all of this is supposed to be?" he knows, with just a single glance, he grasped what was about to unfold, he just couldn't believe it. There displayed before his very eyes, a colorful assortment of beads lay scattered across a wooden table.

"You've dabbled in arts and crafts before, haven't you? You could say I proposed the idea to Lord kusanali as a way to keep that evil little brain of yours occupied"

'What evil is there to be done in bracelet crafting of all things, huh?' he deadpanned while simultaneously picking up a bead, examining how it reflects the light that's passing through the crystalline windows.

He let out a scoff.

"Have you forgotten who I am? A being of celestial creation, lessened to do recreational activities such as these? how amusing." Pathetic was the word he was looking for. Seriously, do you really expect him to just sit down quietly and start passing beads on a string without complaint to how this is a hit on his pride? It'd be more fitting if you locked him up for all of eternity, but this, this was just mockery.

It was the warmth of your hand that snapped him out of his thoughts. Eyes widened before squinting, but he dared not move, curious to what it was you were doing. You had started to fasten a piece of string to his wrist, gentle with your touch, measuring it so that it'd fit securely, but not too tight to be uncomfortable.

"Who gave you permission to lay your hands on me?" The warmth of your touch was strangely starting to get to him. He swatted your hand away, any more of that and he wouldn't know how to react.

Both of you were now glaring at each other. "Is it that hard for you to accept someone's act of kindness? I'm just trying to help." You could've sworn there was a slight change in his eyes when you said that, but was quickly replaced by an irritated smirk on his face. "I don't recall ever asking for your help, go give it to someone who actually needs it." He waved you off before plopping himself down on one of the stools before suddenly picking out random beads and charms like he wasn't against the idea a moment ago.

With furrowed brows and your mouth left slightly agape by his rude behavior, your face settled on a frown. You were used to the wanderer's arrogance and unpleasant attitude towards people, but there are times where even you are left puzzled. You went out of your way to make sure the activities kusanali planned out wouldn't overwhelm him, she'd ask you if you were doing this out of pity for him. You firmly shook your head.

You simply cared for him, that's all there was to it, but it didn't seem like he reciprocated the motion. The last he's heard from you was a sigh, before the sound of your footsteps slowly leaving faded.

You haven't visited him since. I mean how could you? if he was going to act like a brat while you spent your time there then might as well steer clear out of his way. No, you weren't being petty, and even if you were, you most certainly had every right to be. You nodded to yourself, justifying your actions as wanderer just being an asshat and you being the more mature one in this situation.

It wasn't easy. There were times where you would cross paths when he was on break from his duties (and bracelet crafting), or times where he himself is actively seeking you out, and before he could even call out your name, you're already making a bee line towards the exit.

You sat yourself down, exhausted from all this running around. Another successful day of not coming into contact with the wanderer.

"Doesn't he have other businesses to attend to?" If he had time to be going around looking for you then surely he was slacking off, right?

"As far as I'm concerned, you are my business." Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"So how long do you plan on avoiding me?" he was standing behind you, face leaning down above your head as you met his gaze from your position on the bench.

You put on an air of annoyance before flicking his forehead, causing him to hiss and reel back from your attack as he rubbed the spot. "Hey! you deprive me of your company for days and now you dare assault my face? you-" you were already walking away, with the esteemed wanderer quickly following closely behind you.

"Hey", he reached for your hand, but you batted it away. It was definitely worth it to see the offended look on his face, but there was a small pang in your heart when you saw how his face faltered. "Who gave you permission to lay your hands on me? don't go acting all buddy buddy with me now." you crossed your arms, throwing back what he had said to you a few days ago.

"ah, you're upset with me about last time." You kept a stern look on your face, expecting for more, but if he failed to deliver then you'd have no trouble turning away from him again.

His mouth kept opening and closing similar to that of a goldfish, but no words came out. He looks conflicted. It took him a whole minute to sort out his thoughts, and with a deep sigh he spoke.

"The way I reacted, it was uncalled for. Like you said, you were only trying to help and I should have, I, it's just the way you held my hand, it made me feel weird." his gaze turned downcast feeling a little embarrassed by getting riled up by something so minor as physical contact.

you don't know that of course, you'd just assume he was really really ticklish in some areas

Would you mind closing your eyes for a moment? I promise It'll only take a second", the soft spoken tone he's taken on is foreign to you, but not unwelcome. You were hesitant but complied. And if he does anything funny you'll make sure to write a full on report about it to kusanali.

You could only feel how he softly held your hand, how he delicately glided his dainty finger in order to tie what you assumed was a,

a bracelet?

You opened your eyes and that's when he leaned in, his soft breath near your ear "It was supposed to be a surprise gift, but an apology gift works too." your face felt warm, and your hand did too (to which he was still holding). Was this the weird feeling he was talking about.

A moment after, you examined the accessory on your wrist.

and my was it beautiful.

The main colors of the bracelet were your favorite colors, accompanied by beautiful white pearl beads and crystal flowers and cute charms. Truly something you wouldn't expect the wanderer himself to make.

You released a small laugh, happiness spreading throughout your system. "Did you really make this?" You were starting to look too happy for his liking, but of course you always looked more beautiful with a smile on your face. He scoffed in order to hide the ever creeping happiness that was also starting to spread across his face.

"Is it that hard to believe? I had you in mind when I made it after all, so if you're going to complain about its design then the person used as reference is at fault." You were just about to complain to him about him complaining that you'd not dare complain about it when he added on.

"again, I'm sorry for disregarding your help. Whether I needed it or not, I wanted to make the bracelet solely on my own so that it'd be more meaningful of a gift to give to you." This time he held your gaze, determined and truthful about what he said.

It seems you had judged him wrong, well not entirely. True he had a unique character, but that's just what made him, him. You held his hand, and the colors from earlier are returning to both of your faces. You held it there before pointing to his wrist, "It's only right I make you one as well, right? that way we'll be matching." You then intertwined your fingers. He was gonna combust.

EXTRA:

"I didn't think wanderer would be that into bracelet making" Kusanali peaked from the corner of the room. He was deeply concentrating on what he was doing and she did not want to disturb. "A little peek into that mind of his wouldn't hurt". After using her skill, a flurry of thoughts from wanderer flood her mind.

'Is this too much? or maybe too little? is [y/n] a minimalist or a maximalist?'

'This reminds me of you, this one too, and this one.'

'This charm is cute, like you. Wait no you're most definitely more cuter'

'this bracelet should be honored to be worn by you'

'maybe i'll make you a necklace next'

'I hope you'll like it'

[thevillainswhore]

Hello, my lovelies! Welcome to my masterlist! I’m so happy to have you here. I hope you enjoy your time and I encourage any questions or requests. Happy reading, love Mollie 🤍

Fic Key:

☁️ fluff, 🔥 smut, 💔 angst, 🖤 dark

Please take care to read all warnings on my fics — they have been labelled for a reason. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

Bucky Barnes

Oneshots:

Dancing With The Devil | Part Two 🔥

You were always a sensible girl — an angel some would say. But how quickly are you willing to shred your wings when the devil himself is so damn tempting? (5.2k)

Loverboy ☁️

Bucky, a lovesick, pining super soldier, vows to keep his feelings for you a secret — no matter how obvious his crush may seem. Those plans are ruined between a meddling Sam, an embarrassing fall, and a visit to the medbay with you. (4.3k)

Revenge Sweeter Than Honey 🔥

When Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious? (9.2k)

A Forbidden Invitation 🔥

You think a one night stand from the summer, the best fuck of your life, is a done deal — a single, heated encounter that now lives vividly in your memories. But you learn that your actions have consequences when you befriend a new student, starting in the new term, and she invites you over to meet her Dad. (11.5k)

You Look Good On Camera, Baby 🔥

Bucky’s not letting you leave the photobooth, not until he’s had his way with you. (2.8k)

The Ties That Bind Us 🔥

Even though Bucky is your ex-husband, you still have to see him often because of your shared son. But the heated tension, the spark that is still very much alive after your divorce, finally reaches its peak when you come home from your date. (5.7k words)

Read Between The Lines ☁️

There shouldn’t have been anything unusual about your routine visit to the local bookstore. Your life was simple and mundane, even if you were a daydreamer at heart. But you were pleasantly surprised when this time you met a handsome stranger between the shelves. (6.6k words)

Spoiled And Stuffed 🔥

Bucky surprises you with a gift on your birthday. (2.6k words)

Tension 🔥

You’re devastated when your usual massage therapist becomes unavailable at the last minute, but an unexpected trainee is more than happy to handle you. (4.2k words)

Perverse Desires 🔥

Assigned an undercover mission, you’re partnered up with the bane of your existence, Bucky, to pay a visit to a sex club. What could go wrong? (4k words)

Anywhere Away With You ☁️🔥💔

Old ghosts from your past threaten to disturb the peace you’ve made with your new life. Will temptation steer you away? (11k words)

Series:

The Love In The Woods Collection ☁️🔥

After years apart, Bucky, a small town lumberjack, and Dolly, his best girl, find their way back to each other as adults.

A series of oneshots, drabbles and snippets following the course of two old school friends and their blossoming relationship.

The New Tricks Collection ☁️🔥

An alternate universe starring two college students; Bucky, the star football player and Buttercup, his best friend’s little sister. Follow their main journey together as they learn their mutual pining isn’t one sided after all through an array of firsts. (30k)

Can’t Take My Eyes Off You 🖤🔥

Bucky, the IT and technology expert of your office, has been secretly obsessed since the moment he set his sights on sensitive, naive, little you. But, your only fault is your repetitive ability to get your heartbroken by fuck boys. So, naturally, he has to do whatever it takes to make you see he’s perfect for you… Right?

Steve Kemp

Oneshots:

A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing 🖤

It was an art - one that took many years and many sacrifices to perfect, and Steve had managed to become a master at it. There was just one thing he would not fully commit to sacrificing, at least not the important parts that kept life essence flowing: you. (2.6k words)

[amilovesworld]

Checkered Hearts ||3||

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2| Chapter 4| Chapter 5|

Summery: Y/n, a young journalist chasing her dream in the world of sports, never imagined her path would lead her to F1—or to Carlos Sainz Jr., a driver whose charm and sarcasm quickly blur the lines between professional rivalry and something more. As they clash, argue, and share unexpected moments, Y/n's life is turned upside down, forcing her to make choices she never saw coming. But in a world of speed, fame, and pressure, can she hold on to everything she’s worked for, or will she find herself racing toward something—someone—she never planned for?

Genre: Fluff/ Enemies to lovers/ Slow burn

Pairing: Carlos Sainz jr. x Indian reader

Warnings: looonnng Chapters, long series, slow burn, eventual smut.

Chapter: 3

Three weeks had passed since the training camp, and the world had resumed its usual pace. Y/N was buried in work, her days consumed with meetings, edits, and deadlines. The documentary she had documented during the camp was in its final stages, and the constant back-and-forth with the editors left her little time to process everything that had happened with Carlos. She was proud of her work, but her mind often wandered back to the playful tension between them, the moments that were both electrifying and confusing.

Carlos, on the other hand, was caught up in his own whirlwind of sponsor dinners, brand deals, and other commitments. The life of a Formula 1 driver was always busy, always demanding, but amid all the glamorous events, he couldn't stop thinking about Y/N. It was frustrating, in a way. He hadn't expected this. What had started as a casual, flirtatious game during the camp had now settled into something that both excited and unsettled him.

Both of them knew they had to keep their distance. The camp was over. He was back to his racing world, and she was back to hers. But still, every now and then, their phones would buzz with a message that made them stop and think.

First message came just a few days after the camp

Carlos: Did you make sure to edit out all the times you caught me looking perfect? I don’t want to embarrass anyone.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips.

Y/N: Don’t worry, Sainz. I made sure to include all your perfect moments. The world needs to know how humble you are.

It became a routine after that. Carlos would send her a message at the most random times, sometimes teasing, sometimes simply checking in. And while she tried to keep her responses neutral, the way her heart skipped every time his name lit up her screen was far from professional.

One night, as she sat with the editors going through footage, her phone buzzed again.

Carlos: Do you ever stop working, Y/N?

She glanced at the clock—it was nearly midnight.

Y/N: Do you ever stop texting?

Carlos: Touché. But seriously, do you ever take a break?

Y/N: I’m busy turning your life into art, Sainz. You’re welcome.

Carlos: Ah, so I’m your muse now?

Y/N: Don’t flatter yourself.

But she was smiling as she put her phone down, the exhaustion from the long hours momentarily forgotten.

Soon their texts became more frequent but just as playful, making both their hearts race. They’d fallen into an odd pattern of exchanging messages—snarky, teasing, sometimes bordering on personal. It had become her guilty pleasure, though she’d never admit it out loud.

Carlos: You know what I hate more than PR dinners? 

Carlos: PR dinners where the food is actually terrible. You’d think fancy restaurants would know how to make decent pasta.

Y/N: Oh no. The mighty Carlos Sainz, suffering through subpar carbs.

Y/n: How will you ever recover?

Carlos: Laugh all you want, but I thought of you. 

Carlos: Your reaction would’ve been dramatic—“Is this what millions in sponsorships get you?”

Y/N: You’re not wrong. I’d probably demand a refund.

Carlos: Exactly what I thought. You’ve rubbed off on me, Y/N.

Y/N: That sounds like a “you” problem, not mine.

The banter made her grin, her editing temporarily forgotten. She fired off another reply, but her phone buzzed again before she could finish typing.

Carlos: By the way, I saw something today that reminded me of you.

Y/N: Oh? Let me guess. A stubborn goat? A cactus?

Carlos: Ha. Ha. Very funny.

Carlos: It was actually this street artist painting a mountain landscape. It looked like... peace. And for some reason, it reminded me of you.

Y/N stared at the message, her fingers hovering over the screen. This was new. Carlos being... sincere? She wasn’t sure how to respond.

Y/N: Wow, you’re getting poetic now. Should I be worried?

Carlos: Hey, don’t ruin it. I’m trying to be nice.

Y/N: It’s unsettling, honestly.

Carlos: Unsettling or sweet?

Y/N: Definitely unsettling.

Carlos: Liar.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed all the same. She couldn’t help but tease him back.

Y/N: Fine, it’s sweet. But don’t get used to me admitting that.

Carlos: Noted. But you’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?

Y/N: Not even a little.

Carlos: Liar.

The next evening Carlos was stuck in traffic in Madrid, his car crawling at a snail’s pace. He leaned his head back against the seat, his fingers itching to text her. He gave in.

Carlos: Tell me something random about you. Something no one else knows.

Y/N: What is this, 20 Questions?

Carlos: Humor me. Traffic is killing me.

Y/N: Alright... I once tried to convince my parents to name our dog Messi.

Carlos: Messi? As in Lionel Messi?

Y/N: Yes. My dad refused because we’re cricket fans, and he thought naming a dog after a footballer was blasphemy.

Carlos: Your dad is a man of principle. I respect that. But you were right. Messi’s a great name for a dog.

Y/N: Thank you. My dad still doesn’t agree.

Carlos: Your turn. Ask me something.

Y/N: Alright. What’s something you’re really bad at?

Carlos: Singing. Terrible. I tried karaoke once and cleared the room.

Y/N: Now I need to witness this.

Carlos: Not happening. Ever.

Y/N was at her desk in the newsroom when her phone buzzed again. Carlos. She unlocked her phone, already smirking.

Carlos: I did something stupid today.

Y/N: What else is new?

Carlos: I tripped during a photoshoot and knocked over a lighting rig. The photographers weren’t happy.

Y/N: Carlos Sainz: Destroyer of Equipment. Should I add that to your list of titles?

Carlos: Go ahead. Add it right under “Fastest Man Alive.”

Y/N: Pfft. Modest as always.

Carlos: It’s part of my charm.

Y/N: Is that what we’re calling it now?

Their exchanges became a constant, a thread woven through their busy days. It wasn’t just teasing anymore—there were moments of honesty, of connection, that made Y/N pause and wonder.

A week later It was late at night when Carlos texted her again, his message catching her off guard.

Carlos: Do you miss it? The mountains? Your home?

Y/N: Every day.

Carlos: Why did you leave, then?

Y/N stared at the question, her chest tightening. She debated whether to answer. Finally, she did.

Y/N: Because I wanted more. I wanted to see the world, to tell stories that mattered. But sometimes, I wonder if I left a part of myself behind.

Carlos: You didn’t. It’s still with you. I see it every time you talk about home.

Y/N blinked at the screen, her heart doing an odd little flip. Before she could reply, he sent another message.

Carlos: For what it’s worth, I think you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Y/N: And where is that?

Carlos: Right here, driving me crazy.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head, but the warmth in her chest didn’t fade.

Next day as she wrapped up her work for the day, her phone buzzed again.

Carlos: One of the guys at training asked if I was dating someone.

Y/N: And what did you say?

Carlos: I said no. But it made me think of you.

Y/N: Carlos…

Her heart almost did a somersault

Carlos: Relax, Y/N. I’m just saying. You’re hard to forget.

Y/N: You’re impossible, Sainz.

Carlos: And you love it.

They both knew they were toeing a line, but neither seemed willing to stop. The game was still on, but the stakes were getting higher.

_________________________________________________________________________

The 2026 F1 season had kicked off, and the paddock buzzed with its usual energy. The teams were preparing, the drivers were in full swing, and the media was capturing every moment. But for Y/N, this season felt different. It wasn’t just the intensity of the work or the weight of her responsibilities. No, it was him—Carlos Sainz.

Things had undeniably shifted since the previous season. Y/N was no longer the rookie journalist learning the ropes. She was now well-respected in the paddock, known for her sharp questions, her impeccable work ethic, and, surprisingly, her interactions with certain drivers. She had earned the trust and camaraderie of several drivers—Max, Charles, Lando, and Alex, to name a few. But among all the drivers, one made her heart race in ways she couldn’t fully explain: Carlos Sainz.

The subtle flirtations that had begun last year had only grown more intense as time passed. Carlos, always known for his charm, had begun to turn it up a notch. It was as if he was always in the back of her mind, his smirks and comments lingering in her thoughts long after the cameras were turned off. And it wasn’t just private moments anymore. No, Carlos was letting his flirtation spill into the public eye, on camera during interviews, in front of fans and colleagues alike.

It started small. An innocent compliment here, a lingering look there. But by the time the season was in full swing, it was clear to everyone in the paddock—and to anyone paying attention—that Carlos was acting differently around Y/N.

During a particularly tense race weekend, Y/N found herself conducting a routine interview with Carlos. She was as professional as always, keeping the conversation on track. But Carlos had a way of making even the most casual questions feel intimate. As she asked about his approach to the race, his eyes never left hers. He leaned in just a little closer, his voice low and smooth as he responded.

Carlos: “Well, I’m always ready for a challenge, but you know... having the right company makes everything a little more exciting, don't you think?"

Y/N tried to maintain her composure, but the heat in his gaze sent an unexpected rush of warmth to her cheeks. The crew behind the cameras exchanged amused glances. It wasn’t lost on anyone that Carlos was flirting—openly—and that his attention was solely on Y/N.

Max, standing off to the side, raised an eyebrow and whispered to Lando, who smirked in response.

Lando (playfully): “You see that? Carlos is really laying it on thick this season.”

Max chuckled, crossing his arms.

Max (mockingly): “If only Y/N would admit it, we wouldn’t have to keep pretending they’re just ‘friends.’”

Meanwhile, Charles, who had become a good friend to Y/N over the last year, shot her a knowing glance, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Charles (teasing): “You know, you’re not fooling anyone, Y/N. We all see it. Even the fans are starting to catch on.”

Y/N shot him a look, trying to hide the slight blush creeping up her neck. She had learned how to handle teasing by now, especially from her friends in the paddock. But this—this was different. There was something in Carlos’s gaze that made her heart race, something that was far more than just friendly teasing.

Y/N (with a forced laugh): “Please, guys. We’re just doing our jobs. I’m here to report, not to be part of some... fanfic.”

But despite her words, she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was different this season. Carlos had made it clear that he was still playing the game, but this time, it wasn’t just playful banter—it felt like something more.

And the fans had noticed. Social media was ablaze with speculation about the two. Fans posted gifs, clips, and memes, comparing Carlos's flirtatious demeanor with Y/N to how he interacted with other interviewers. It was clear to anyone paying attention that there was something between them.

Fan Tweet: "Did anyone else notice the way Carlos looks at Y/N during interviews? It's different. WAY different. 👀 #TeamCarlos #Y/N"

Another Fan Tweet: "I’m not saying Y/N and Carlos are dating, but I’m definitely shipping them. You can see the chemistry! #F1LoveStory"

As the comments and speculations piled up, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. She had never been one to entertain rumors, but this... this felt too real to ignore.

Her friends, especially Lando and Charles, teased her endlessly, poking fun at her every chance they got.

Lando (laughing): “Y/N, you’re not fooling anyone. Carlos is practically writing love letters on live TV.”

Charles (mock-seriously): “Come on, Y/N, we all know what’s happening here. You can’t hide it much longer.”

Y/N, ever the professional, kept her cool. She refused to acknowledge anything more than a playful friendship between her and Carlos, even if her heart didn’t always agree.

But as much as she tried to ignore it, the tension between them was undeniable. Carlos’s subtle flirting was becoming harder to ignore. Every interaction, every casual touch or lingering smile, felt charged with something more. And as the season wore on, it became clear to Y/N that their relationship—whatever it was—was on the verge of something bigger, something neither of them was ready to confront.

In the paddock, surrounded by her colleagues, the teasing continued. But the unspoken truth remained: Carlos Sainz and Y/N were playing a game that neither of them seemed ready to end.

_____________________________________________

Y/N had barely managed to contain her frustration by the time she arrived at the karting track. Her boss's words still echoed in her ears: “Isn’t this what you wanted? It’s temporary.”

She had worked tirelessly to adapt to the world of Formula 1, immersing herself in the sport, the drivers, the drama, and the sheer speed of it all. And now, just as she had started to find her rhythm and establish herself, they were pulling her out. The anger coursed through her as she donned her helmet and got behind the wheel of the kart.

She took off, each lap a way to release the frustration building inside her. The whine of the engine and the feeling of control over the kart were her only solace. She pushed harder, cornering aggressively, her mind replaying every dismissive word her boss had said and the gossip circulating in the office. The sting of disappointment mixed with an unfamiliar ache she couldn't quite name.

When she was done, her arms ached, her legs were sore, and sweat dripped down her back. But it hadn’t really helped. She still felt like screaming. She grabbed her bag and was ready to storm out when she bumped into three familiar figures by the entrance: Charles, Lando, and Carlos. Of course.

Charles was the first to spot her. “Y/N! What are you doing here?” he asked, his face lighting up with a smile.

Y/N plastered on her best neutral expression. “Just blowing off some steam,” she said, shrugging.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You? Blowing off steam? That doesn’t sound like you,” he teased, though his tone was light.

Carlos, standing a little behind them, tilted his head slightly as he studied her. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes narrowed as if he could see right through her nonchalant act.

“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it,” she said quickly, trying to edge past them.

“Wait,” Carlos finally spoke, stepping forward. “You don’t look okay. What happened?”

Y/N hesitated. She didn’t want to spill her frustrations in front of everyone, especially Carlos. “Nothing. Just a bad day at work,” she said, brushing it off.

Charles looked concerned, but Lando smirked. “You know what’s the best cure for a bad day? Racing us,” he said, gesturing to the karts.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but I’m done for the day.”

Carlos crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “Scared you’ll lose?” he challenged, a playful lilt in his voice.

She glared at him. “I’m not scared of losing.”

“Prove it,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

It was the perfect bait, and Y/N knew it. She hated losing to Carlos in anything, even if it was just playful banter. “Fine,” she snapped. “But don’t cry when I beat you.”

Charles and Lando exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying the brewing competition.

As they geared up and got into their karts, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way Carlos glanced at her, his eyes flicking between playful and concerned. But she pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the race.

When the race started, Y/N put everything she had into it, determined to channel her anger into something productive. But Carlos wasn’t going to make it easy. They battled for position, overtaking each other at every opportunity. Charles and Lando were somewhere behind them, laughing and enjoying the chaos.

By the time they finished, Y/N was breathless, her frustration momentarily replaced by the thrill of competition. Carlos had beaten her by a hair, and he was grinning smugly as they pulled off their helmets.

“Looks like I still have the upper hand,” he teased, walking over to her.

Y/N groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“But you’re smiling,” he pointed out, his tone softer now. “So I must be doing something right.”

She realized he was right—despite everything, she was smiling. The anger and sting from earlier hadn’t completely disappeared, but they didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore.

As the group left the track, Charles glanced at her as they walked to the parking lot. “You’re really upset about something. Is it just work?” he asked, his tone unusually serious.

She hesitated. Her instincts told her to brush it off and keep walking, but the genuine concern in his voice softened her resolve. She glanced at Carlos, who was standing a little behind the others, his arms crossed, studying her with a furrowed brow. His presence only fueled her frustration.

Y/N (with a forced smile): “It’s nothing. Just work stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

Lando: “Work stuff? Doesn’t sound like nothing. Come on, spill. We’re great listeners.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I doubt you’d care about the politics of journalism.”

Carlos: “Try us.”

Her eyes snapped to his, and for a moment, she felt like he could see right through her. It annoyed her even more. She didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with him there, but the anger bubbling inside her needed an outlet.

Y/N (sharply): “Fine. My boss just told me I’m being reassigned. Cricket."

The three drivers exchanged looks, but before they could say anything, she continued, her words spilling out in a rush.

Y/N: “Do you know how hard I worked to fit in here? To learn everything about F1 from scratch? To prove to everyone that I belonged here, despite what they might think? And now, just like that, I’m being pulled out because ‘it’s temporary’ and ‘wasn’t this what I wanted?’” She paused, her voice shaking with frustration. “And as if that’s not enough, I get to hear my colleagues whispering behind my back about how I’m only close to the drivers because I’m... I don’t know, using you all or something.”

The last part slipped out before she could stop herself, and she instantly regretted it. The looks on their faces—sympathy from Charles, a mix of concern and guilt from Lando, and something unreadable from Carlos—made her want to disappear.

Charles: “Y/N... that’s not fair. You’ve earned your place here. Anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

Lando (nodding): “Yeah, and honestly? Screw them. They’re probably just jealous. You’re great at what you do.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered.

Carlos finally spoke. “Y/N, listen to me. You’re one of the best journalists I’ve ever worked with. If they’re too blind to see that, it’s their loss. But I know you—you’re not the type to give up. You’ll figure this out.”

She gave them a small, grateful smile, as he continued.

Carlos: “You’re mad because it feels like all your work doesn’t matter, right? Like they’re taking it away from you without thinking about what it means to you.”

She nodded, surprised at how accurately he’d nailed it.

Carlos: “Then don’t let them take it away. You’re not leaving forever, right? Just... make sure they see what they’re losing. Be so good at covering cricket that they’ll have no choice but to bring you back here. And as for the whispers...” He stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. “They don’t matter. You know the truth, and so do we.”

His words hit her harder than she expected, and for the first time that day, the sting in her chest felt a little less sharp. She looked up at him, her anger softening into something more vulnerable.

Y/N (quietly): “Thanks.”

Carlos smiled. “Anytime. Just remember, I’m always here to remind you how amazing you are... and to beat you at karting when you need it.”

She laughed. “I’ll take you up on that,” she said, the weight on her shoulders feeling a little lighter.

As they headed toward the parking lot, Carlos fell into step beside her. He didn’t say anything, but the occasional brush of his arm against hers spoke volumes. And for the first time all day, she felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

[raven-ovs]

On This Night Of Ritual | Papa IV x f!Reader

Summary: On Lust, and Love, and all the sweet emotions in between. Copia and his partner choose to spend their night in a special way, expressing their devotion to Satan and to each other through the pleasures of the flesh.

Content: ~6.5 words, 18+ MDNI, established relationship, religious imagery, ritual sex, body workship, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, soft, they're in love love

Ao3 link - Full art

🥀

You shiver in anticipation, pulling the robe tighter over your chest, your eyes flitting around the bedroom. Your shared bedroom, you remind yourself, little bits of your own style scattered around, mingling with his, a quiet reminder of how your lives have intertwined since he asked you to move in with him.

The fabric feels soft against your bare skin, reassuring. He gifted it to you for this occasion specifically.

You glance down at your bare legs framed by the rich blue silk, a sigh escaping your lips.

Faint sounds of him getting ready reach your ears from the en-suite bathroom. A thud followed by a muttered curse makes you smile. He must be just as nervous as you, even though you've both agreed to this. You've talked about it so many times, fantasised about it, dipped your toes into it without fully committing.

But now... You're ready. Or at least, you want to be.

The bathroom door creaking open snaps you out of your thought, and you look up to find a very flustered Copia making his way to you.

He looks stunning, to say the least.

Divine.

He's wearing a silk robe as well, matching yours. His is in a deeper blue, though, and has golden embroideries all around its lapels and cuffs. It fits him.

A familiar warmth settles low in your belly at the sight of him, all your anxieties starting to melt, replaced by a much more intense eagerness.

You can spot a few lines of his tattoo, barely hidden by the robe tied loosely around his waist. His facepaint is pristine as always.

"Hey," you smile tentatively, searching his eyes. The white one almost seems to glow in the faint candle light of the room, and its magnetic pull only gets stronger as he steps closer. It's mesmerising.

"Amore," he whispers back as greeting, the mattress dipping when he sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Everything's ready." You gesture vaguely around you, a shiver of anticipation running down your spine as he looks around as well.

The crimson red sheets underneath you, the candles burning on every free surface of the room, the little bowl of red paint waiting on your nightstand.

He nods in approval, and you see that flicker of excitement in his gaze that always makes you swoon, until he jolts up, genuinely scaring the shit out of you.

"Copia, che cazzo!" you exclaim, only getting a dismissive "sorry" in return before he's padding off to the other side of the room, mumbling to himself.

"Shit, how could I forget? Eh... Just gotta... Where the hell did I put it?"

You raise an eyebrow in his direction, but don't comment further. Silly rat man.

How you love him.

A pleased little "ha!" follows, and before you know it, soft notes are filling the room, coming from his record player.

Oh... Right.

He's back at your side in an instant, and his grin tells you that he's waiting for a reaction from you. And that this is meaningful to him.

You listen carefully to what sounds like religious music at first, the sort of solemn hymns that you used to hear echoing in Catholic churches, a long, long time ago.

You're confused, until you begin to make out the words of this first song. They're definitely not Catholic.

It sounds like a Ghost song, but not quite... It's softer, more intimate in way, despite still having a grandiose feeling to it. A bit of an oxymoron, just like the man in front of you.

"Unreleased," he chimes in, filling the gaps in your thought process.

"Hm?"

"I... wrote this. Some time ago. Never released it." he explains, a vulnerable note to his voice that you don't fail to notice.

"Oh." You take another moment to listen in silence, feeling goosebumps raise on your skin as his rich voice reaches your ears from the recording. *Oh.*

"Copia... It's beautiful. Why didn't you release it?"

A shrug, dismissive. You nod, realising that it'll be a story for another time.

You both have a plan now, and you want to get through with it.

The music is just an unexpected, yet perfectly fitting addition.

“So…”

“So.” He gives you one of his lovely smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his cheeks, you assume, turning pink under his facepaint. You melt on the spot.

You've come up with it together, this… ritual you're about to do, if one might even call it that. It's a mix of you two, really. Your beliefs, your journeys, your shared faith. A manifestation of your devotion, for each other, and for your Lord, Satan.

You return his smile, and adjust your posture, sitting cross legged in front of him, a silent confirmation that you're ready, that you want this.

He mirrors you, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it and then folding his hands in his lap. The gray strands at his temples stand out in this light, and you love it.

So… There you are. First step. Soul gazing.

You scoot a little closer, trying to get comfortable before your eyes meet his. You sigh. Focus.

This part is all about building connection, stating your intentions, tapping into the right mindset.

“Our Father who art in Hell…” You hear him whisper, his low voice taking on that edge he has when delivering a sermon during Mass, but more muted, just for the two of you. You glance down when his inverted cross catches the light, shimmering in the middle of his sternum, then your eyes return to his as soon as he starts speaking again. “Guide us through this journey. Let the worship of our bodies be a token of our devotion to You. Watch us sin, and rejoice.” A pause, a breath escaping his painted lips. “Nema."

“Nema.” you repeat, your voice small compared to his, but no less firm.

You already feel the hypnotic nature of this exercise, your breathing slowing down the longer you look into his eyes, trying to sync to his. The mismatched green and white of his irises draws you in, and you can see every emotion playing out on his face, just as he can do with yours, you think.

His soul… Can you really see a person's soul, through their eyes? What does it even mean, soul? As a child, you were taught that your soul would be damned and cast to Hell if you sinned, but you don't believe in any of that anymore. It's not you, and it's definitely not him.

What you can see in his eyes is an energy, burning bright. It's the same energy you see when he's singing to his fans, when he's eating his favorite dish, when he’s petting his rats, when he's making love to you. Now that energy is focused, though, and it's all on you.

It makes your breath hitch, but you immediately school it back into the slow rhythm you two have built. In… Out… Again. Again.

His pupils are dilated, be it from the darkness or from arousal, you cannot tell. Most likely both.

You're not sure how many minutes pass like this, but it doesn't matter. Not when his hands reach forward, nimble fingers gently tugging your robe open. You do the same to him.

Step two.

You break eye contact to take in his revealed torso, the brown and gray dusting of hair on his chest that turns into a darker trail from his belly button down. So beautiful. Yours.

His gaze almost burns your skin in its intensity, and you imagine him already painting symbols on your body, his fingertips tinged red, making you shiver and sigh with every brush. Not yet.

“Still good?” You hear him ask, his voice barely above a whisper, an hopeful light in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, of course.” You smile.

The music has already faded in the background of your mind by now, but you're still grateful for its presence, for the way it fills your silences between one breath and the next. With measured movements, you each bring your right hand to the other's chest, over the heart, and then cover that hand with your own left one. A deep breath, and then you’re gazing into each other's eyes again.

There's a part of you that wonders at the single minded focus he shows in this moment. He's usually easily distracted, his thoughts scattered between his endless tasks and nerdy interests, fluttering from here to there like a moth at a lights fest. But not now.

The more you breathe, the clearer you can hear his heart thrumming under your fingertips, your pinky finger barely grazing his nipple. If he feels it, he doesn't let you see his reaction. When he's thoroughly fucked you, and lets you rest with your head on his chest, that's when you feel his heartbeat the strongest. That, or when he gets really anxious, and comes to you for reassurance. When he looks at you with eyes wide, a little lost, and you place your hands on his chest, guiding him to breathe until the darkness dissipates enough to keep going.

Now it feels just as strong, a steady, reassuring rhythm that proves to you that he's actually there, in front of you. The man of your dreams. Not a figment of your imagination, but real, solid, human.

You wish you could read his thoughts right now. Is he thinking about you the way you’re thinking about him? You almost want to ask him, whisper a “penny for your thoughts” just to see one of those smiles that light up the whole room, but no… No, this is about something else. This is about laying yourselves bare for the other to see, and to love. Words are not needed for that.

You breathe in his love for you, and breathe out your love for him. An exchange. Again and again. Time passes, but again… It doesn't matter.

For the next step, you need to be bare. Literally.

You're not sure who reaches out first, who switches position first, but your next breath is taken on your knees, his hands on your shoulders, sliding the robe off of you. You let it fall somewhere behind you, and watch him kneel as well, his own robe open, splayed out from his back down to his feet like a wedding veil.

He almost looks too good to take it off, but you know it's part of the process. Both of you naked. Vulnerable.

“Sei bellissimo,” you find yourself whispering as your hands find his sides, sliding up his torso and towards his arms to start guiding the robe off. The blush you earn in response is enough to make your heart stutter, the red so vivid that it's visible even under the layers of white paint.

Copia averts his gaze, but you know he's silently preening at your words. Always a sucker for praise.

He shimmies out of the embroidered sleeves, and then the robe falls behind him just like yours did, discarded. It almost feels like unwrapping a gift.

“I can feel Him,” he mumbles, making you look at his face again.

“Who?”

“Satan. Watching us…”

“Oh.” You blink, finding that notion a bit foreign, but not unpleasant. You can't deny the buzz in the air around you, the almost palpable promise of what's coming. Your Papa knows what he's talking about, that much you're sure of.

“Is He pleased?”

He lets out a quiet huff of laughter, his shoulders raising a bit. Cute. “Think so. But… He, eh… He's waiting for the next bit.”

That makes you chuckle, and you find it reassuring that now, now that should be the most ritualistic phase, you’re acting more casual, connecting in the way that you're used to, that's familiar to you.

“Right, yeah.” As if on cue, you turn around to grab the little bowl you had left on your nightstand, bringing it between you two and placing it on the covers. Strategically red, yes, but alluring too. Red paint on red sheets. That will look good.

You discussed which symbols to draw and on whom. You remember his words distinctly. The way his rich voice explained to you the meanings and differences between each one, the fervour of his belief as he spoke to you of his life’s work. That had ended in a very intense, unforgettable night of sex. But tonight will be different, in a way.

“Should I, uh… Should I start?” you ask tentatively, seeking his approval.

He nods, laying his hands back against the mattress, leaving his whole front open to your view and to your touch. You know he'd trust you with his life.

Trying to rein in your trembling, you dip your fingers into the bowl, shivering at the feeling of the cold, burgundy liquid. Not blood, of course, but it does look like it. You take in a shaky breath, and let it out, and then your clean hand is cradling his jaw, tilting his head up as you lean closer.

As precisely as possible, you draw a small, inverted pentagram on his forehead. The first symbol of your faith. The stark contrast between the red and his black and white face paint is striking. Gorgeous.

Next, you draw an inverted cross on his left arm. The design matches that of your own makeup, a gothic feel to it that reminds you of the tapestries and stained glass artworks you always admire around the Ministry. He simply kneels there, watching you, embracing the solemnity of this moment.

One last symbol for him. The Sigil of Lucifer.

You take your time drawing it, your index finger sliding along the curves of his stomach. His abs tense as you pass over them, and you have to bite your lip at the noise he makes when you draw the little swirls at the bottom, framing his happy trail. Framing his cock.

You've tried not to focus on it, but it's near impossible now, knowing that you’ll be touching him soon. He's been hard since the moment you started all this, but now… Oh, by now he's leaking, his head flushed a deep red, the vein on the underside evident as his cock twitches against his belly, almost smearing the paint you've just placed there. You barely stifle a giggle.

“Don't be so smug about it,” he grumbles, his brow furrowing as he glances down at himself. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a few moments, his lipstick fading in that spot, but as soon as you're done painting he lifts his head again, an air of confidence about him that makes your cunt throb. “Your turn.” he declares, reaching down to grab the bowl and slide it closer to himself.

You brace yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his fingers dipped in red tracing lines around your nipple, drawing a pentagram of his own. You clench your thighs together, and you know he notices, but he doesn't say anything. Only smirks.

“Turn around, tesoro,” he instructs in that seductive voice of his, a voice that could bring a nation to its knees if he only ever asked. He doesn't need to, though. He has you on your knees for him, almost every night.

You do as told, and present your back to him. Your ass, actually, as you shift to place your hands on the mattress, on all fours. He actually groans at the sight, the little bastard.

You huff in reply, your head hanging low between your shoulders to hide your blush. “Don't get distracted…”

“Never, piccola.” You can practically hear his shit-eating grin in his voice, but you press your lips together, silencing yourself from further remarks. Not the time for banter, as much as you love it.

Without another word, his fingers meet your skin again. He starts at your hip bone and makes his way along your ass, drawing another pentagram. This time, though, he adds more strokes, tracing lines with practiced ease to form the Sigil of Baphomet.

He hums once done, sounding pleased with himself. You turn around again, careful not to sit on your heels any longer, not wanting to mess up the paint before it has dried. A small penance for the ineffable amount of pleasure that you're going to experience soon.

“Last one.” He reminds you with a smile, his expression softer now, more caring. You wonder what came over him. “You're being so good, baby.”

That really makes you blush, hard. You're not sure who likes praise more in your relationship.

“Ah… Grazie.” you mutter, your gaze falling to the bowl in front of you, unable to sustain his stare.

He laughs fondly and shakes his head before dipping his fingers in the paint one last time. You did his belly, so it's only fair that he should do yours too. Satan's Cross. Right in the middle of your stomach. All goes well until he draws the infinite under your belly button, his finger scorching like fire on your already over sensitised skin. You moan, unable to stop it. He winces, his hand trembling as he pulls away.

“Amore… If you keep making sounds like that, this will be over much sooner than we want.”

You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. You're both more worked up than you've probably ever been, and you can't help but wonder how exactly you're going to last as long as you're meant to, edging each other to ecstasy. Satan will guide you in that, you hope silently.

You take a moment to appreciate how perfect he looks with all those symbols painted on his skin. A fallen angel, worthy to stand beside Lucifer himself.

You wipe your fingers on the sheets below you, and watch him do the same. The paint is sex friendly, sure, but you don't want to stain his whole body with it. Neither does he.

“I want you, Copia… I want you so bad.” You search his eyes, finding that same desire reflected in them.

“I'm all yours.”

That's all it takes for you to move forward, still on your knees, and cup his face in both hands. Is this what they mean when they talk about holding the world in your hands? The thought makes you grin.

“What?”

“Uh? Nothing.”

“What?”

You can't deny him when he's looking at you like that.

“I love you,” you whisper simply, hoping it can somehow convey the depth of your feelings. You're not sure, but if his smile is any indicator, at least part of that sentiment reached him.

You brush your thumbs over his temples and at the corners of his eyes as he whispers an “I love you” in return. You must have heard those words coming from his lips thousands of times, but they still make your heart flutter like the very first.

“May I kiss you?” As if you even need to ask. He hums, pretending to think about it, that mischievous twinkle crossing his gaze as he leans closer, your lips now mere inches apart.

Copia looks up at you through his lashes, in a way that looks almost coquettish, and you're unsure whether to slap him or kiss him stupid.

“Ti prego…” he murmurs, his breath fanning your lips.

Fuck, this man.

Before you can stop yourself, you've closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. You don't know if it was the synced breathing, the symbols, or just staring into each other's eyes for so long, but this kiss feels so powerful, so meaningful that it makes you swoon, and you have to grab his face tighter, ground yourself. He moans in response, feeling that same intensity.

Heat pools in your core as you feel his tongue swiping along your lower lip, asking for entrance. His arms snake around your waist to pull you closer, and could almost swear you heard a muffled “please” against your lips. You’re powerless.

The kiss turns messy the moment you part your lips and let him in, your tongues pressing against each other, lips fusing together as if you can't get close enough fast enough. You swallow each other's moans, licking and nipping until you're both panting.

You pull back just enough to breathe, your gaze falling to his kiss-swollen lips. Fuck.

“Amore…” he starts, but goes silent again when you wipe the spit off his bottom lip with your thumb, your fingers grasping his chin.

It shouldn't be like this. You should go slow, keep that energy going. But dammit, it's hard.

“Sorry, sorry… I know.” Your hands leave his face, and you breathe harshly. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like before. Kinda.

“I can't get enough of you.” you admit, your fingers trailing down his chest, following the contours of his tattoo. Focus. Focus.

You always knew there was something about you, a craving that you never seemed to satisfy. You deemed it wrong for so long that it almost felt like second nature to chastise yourself. He's taught you to indulge, though. He has embraced that part of you, and that flame has grown, threatening to consume you both. What a way to die, that would be.

Still, he looks hopeful now, and his eyes are burning, yes, but so soft. So soft that it makes you think you would do anything to make him proud. Suddenly you feel calmer, and reverence replaces hunger. After all, works of art should be admired quietly, carefully, taking your time. And he's the ultimate masterpiece.

“That's it, sì…” He nods down at your hands on his torso, and soon reaches out to touch you as well. Slow. Gentle. Light as if touching the most delicate porcelain. It's almost funny, when you know that he can fuck you hard enough to make you cry. And that you can do the same to him.

Your hands wander, fingertips still stained red, even though the paint has dried by now. You do nothing to suppress the sighs and gasps that his touch elicits, knowing it emboldens him, lets him know it's okay to make noise. Knees parted, you both lean closer, breathing each other in as fingers graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He mirrors you, you mirror him. Like a dance. A slow… Slow dance.

You let your nails scrape lightly at the juncture of his pelvis, and he groans, a deep, needy sound. You love it.

He spreads his legs some more, encouraging you, and you take in on his offer. Of course you do. You reach his taint, your touch so light that it's almost ticklish, and you can hear the thought forming in his head even before looking at his face. He's grinning like an idiot.

“You're impossible.” You shake your head, unable to suppress a smirk of your own, and then press harder on the spot, your thumb massaging his skin until-

“Oh! Fuck…” His eyes widen, the noise coming out of his mouth sounding positively sinful.

You won't be going into a full prostate massage, but you know what it does to him. Indulge, no? That's the whole point.

You keep rubbing there until he goes a little cross-eyed, and you have to stop then, worried that he'll come right then and there. You can't have that.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to regain his bearings. “Cazzo, amore… You can't just do… That.” He pouts, and it's the most adorable look he's given you all night, with his lips still puffy from your kiss and his lipstick smeared into a dark gray around the edges.

You giggle, but retreat your hand, resorting to stroking the top of his thigh in soothing motions. Copia huffs, running a hand through his hair to brush some unruly strands out of his forehead.

“Better?” you ask with a small, self-satisfied smile which earns you a glare from him.

His hands find your waist again, and he pulls you closer, one of your knees going between his. He leans back with one hand on the bed, exposing himself to your gaze in an almost challenging manner, his eyes roving over your body, almost as if trying to commit it all to memory. Then, his hand reaches between your legs for the first time tonight, and you're done for. You're drenched. So drenched that it actually draws a gasp from him as he dips his fingers between your folds. Satan below, how are you meant to last?

His thumb finds your clit as his eyes meet yours again, your lips parting in anticipation. “What a sight you make, piccolina…”

“Copia…” You close your eyes, trying to maintain at least a semblance of control even as he starts rubbing tiny circles around your clit, his moves practiced and precise.

He's grown confident with it. Not that he wasn't great to begin with, but oh, now he knows just how to play your body, how to make you gasp, and moan, and whimper, and scream until your throat feels raw.

You try to focus on your breath, as you're meant to, and let your hand slither back towards his crotch. It needs to be mutual.

You cradle his balls in your palm, feeling them hot and heavy in your hold, ready to burst. His lips part in a silent moan, so close to you that he could kiss you if only he leaned forward a little bit. He doesn't. So instead, you slide your fingers up and wrap them around his cock.

“Ahh-” His eyes widen, and he does brush his lips against yours then, his tongue barely peeking out. He slides a finger inside you, another step in your dance.

A stroke, all the way up to his tip, and his finger pushes further in. Your thumb swipes over his slit, slicking him up with his own precum, and his finger curls inside you, the pad of it pressing against your front wall just right. You're staring at each other through half-lidded eyes, and it doesn't feel like you're fighting anymore. You’re both breaking in front of each other, bit by bit, unashamed.

“Copia…”

“Mmmm…” He leans in properly, and your mouth finds his. It's wet, and just as messy as before, with him licking past your lips, and you sucking on his tongue. That makes him growl. The sort of noise that you sometimes beg him to make. Deep, and feral, and so fucking hot.

You clench around his finger, desperate for more, and he seems to sense your need, sliding a second one inside you with almost no effort at all. Your left arm rests on his shoulder, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull back to look into his eyes again. They're almost pitch black now. Two pools of pure Lust, surrounded by thin crowns of green and white.

You stroke him faster, the slide made easier by his own arousal. “Cazzo, ahh…”

“I'm… I need you. Fuck, I need you. Please…”

Your words snap him out of his pleasure fueled haze, and he blinks at you before glancing down between your bodies. So connected and yet so distant. It's not enough. His fingers pull out of you with a sloppy sound, making you whine at the sudden emptiness.

“Shhh… I know.” He reaches down to grasp your hand, stilling it with your palm against his tip. Your fingers intertwine with his, and for a few precious moments, you move together, your thumb rubbing along his frenulum as he guides your palm back and forth, your slick on his fingers mingling with his own. He whimpers, actually whimpers, resting his forehead against yours. And then he's pulling your hands away, to your disappointment.

“Amore, please…” You watch him pull away, and rearrange himself so that he's sitting with his legs in front of himself instead of kneeling.

“Come here, piccola.”

You scramble towards him, eager, and straddle his firm, perfect thighs. “Like this?” you ask. He shakes his head.

Last step.

He reaches for your hips, squeezing affectionately, and guides you up. “Oh…” You know what he wants. What you both want. Yes. Oh, yes.

You reach down, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. The way he twitches against you is almost enough to make you come.

“Breathe, yeah?” he reminds you, even though he's pretty far gone himself.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He waits for eye contact, for your nod of consent, and then slowly, slowly pulls you down, breaching you.

“Ah- Fuck… Fuck…” It's agonising, almost, how good it feels.

You have no idea how much time has passed since you started, but it feels like hours. Hours in a constant state of arousal, each sense heightened, bringing you higher, until every touch feels like pure bliss. Pure, damned bliss.

“A-amore… Mmmm.” He holds your hips in a death grip, and you can almost feel the bruises forming, knowing you’ll smile at your reflection tomorrow when they'll remind you of the night you had, of the pleasure you shared.

He bottoms out, your ass meeting his thighs, and you've never felt so full. Physically, yes. But not only that. You're in tune with him, your chests rising and falling in sync, even as your breaths grow laboured. You can't look away from his eyes, not for an instant. You're one.

No more words are needed then. There's just him, and you, an “us” that feels more genuine than it ever has.

You breathe, and breathe, feeling the pleasure building despite you both staying still. A thought strikes you then, that Satan actually is watching, and that he's letting that energy build more and more. How could it feel so good otherwise?

You shift forward, angling your hips so that his tip can press against that perfect spot inside you, your arms circling his neck. His hands unclench from your hips, and he hugs you. Properly hugs you. His arms around your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. You close your eyes, sighing. You can practically feel his heartbeat inside you.

It's intimate, more than you think you can bear. But it's with him. Him, whom you've loved for years. Him, whom you've admired for even longer, silently, from afar. Him, who’s yours. Your Papa. Your Copia.

It's intimate, and raw, and a little scary. And perfect.

You stay like that for as long as your bodies allow, your walls clenching around him in a vain attempt to get some friction. You hug, and breathe, your nose buried in the crook of his neck. And then, you start moving. A slow roll of your hips, a timid rock up of his. You gasp in unison, stars sparkling under your closed eyelids.

It wouldn't be so bad, dying like this, so wrapped up in each other. And if you did things right, you will die soon. A wonderful little death, or a few, maybe.

The rocking of his hips soon grows more purposeful, and you feel him pressing deeper, where he belongs. You moan against his neck, your lips parting to mouth at his earlobe.

“Ohh… Oh, please…” He squeezes you tighter against himself, snapping his hips up until you feel like you're going to pass out from the pleasure.

“S-shit. Slow down. Oh, Satan… Slow down.” you pant into his ear, not wanting this to end yet.

Not yet. You're greedy like that.

He groans in frustration, but eventually stops moving, just in time. You pull your head back to look into his eyes, finding him with his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed. It reminds you of when he's trying to poke the straw into one of his juice boxes. You giggle.

“I love you… So damn much, you know?” you whisper, your voice rough from all the moaning, and shaking with the effort of still holding back.

“And I love you. Ti amo.” he whispers back, just as wrecked at you.

“Ti amo.”

And with that you're moving again.

It builds much faster this time. It's exhilarating, and it goes straight to your head. You're both overstimulated, your bodies quivering. And yet… More. More, more. Satan, please, more.

You don't want to stop. And that fire spreading in your core tells you that you can't stop. Not now.

“Amore- I can't… So close…” He seems to voice your own thoughts, and you nod desperately, struggling to keep looking at him with your eyes rolling back at his every thrust.

You brace your hands on his shoulders, and ride him as you've done countless times before, but with more purpose now, more focus, and with hours, fuck, hours of buildup. You start out slow, lifting yourself up almost all the way, and sinking back down, your thighs burning.

He's holding on for dear life, and you can see it clearly. His chest is heaving, his eyes unfocused, his lips parted, a flush spreading from his ears and cheeks all the way down to his chest. Debauched. And yours. You're sure you're not doing much better.

He grabs your hips again, and makes you speed up, the litany of moans escaping his lips telling you that he's past reason. Like a destructive tsunami, it can't be stopped.

You cling to each other, and it builds, and builds, and builds. And oh, the edging worked, because the more you move, the surer you are that you’re going to touch Heaven, only to fall down past the crust of the earth after, down right into the pits of Hell. You'd be welcome there.

His moans and yours mingle in a symphony of your own, and an outsider could almost think that they're in time with the music still playing in the background. That you're part of that music now.

You climb higher and higher, and wonder for an instant if that is how the people of Babel felt, as they got closer and closer to God. But you're not looking for God. You have your own piece of divinity right in front of your eyes. The love of your life.

“Ahh- Ah!” your love cries out, and you feel him tense beneath you, rocking his hips as far up as they'll go, burying himself fully inside you as his eyes roll back into his head, and his orgasm hits him. You feel his cock kicking inside you, his familiar warmth flooding your core, and you hold him tighter, hoping to prolong his high.

You're right on the edge yourself, and he's still twitching in you when he reaches his hand between you two to rub your clit. Just a few strokes, and you're joining him.

You press your mouth against his still open one, muffling your scream, and clamp down around him, your walls, your whole body really, pulsating with ecstasy. It's all consuming.

He gasps sharply when your climax seems to trigger another one from him. Unlikely, but even if it is just one, it lasts an ungodly amount of time. Thank Satan.

You keep grinding down on him until every last ounce of pleasure has been pulled from your body, and you're left drained, completely. You don't really know how many orgasms those were. Maybe one, maybe five. Who cares, when you're practically about to pass out on top of him.

Copia pants against your shoulder, sounding pretty close to hyperventilating. But then it dies down, the euphoria, leaving just buzzing static in your minds, your ears ringing, your hearts still racing.

“That was-”

“I think-”

Your voices clash, and you end up laughing, his cute little chuckle in your ear making your heart do a somersault.

“You first, amore,” you prompt, pulling back a bit to meet his gaze. He's a whole damn mess, but you know you look the same.

“Eh, just… That was… One of the most intense experiences I've ever had.” he mutters, sounding back to his usual self, not the agent of Satan on earth, just Copia.

“Yeah. It was… A lot.”

“Mmm.”

You smile at him, but then that smile splits into a full on-grin when you watch him making a face and shifting his legs under you. You know what that means, yet you ask anyway. “What?”

“‘M sticky…”

It's true, you can feel his seed dripping down your inner thighs as he goes soft inside you, but it doesn't bother you, it never does.

You roll your eyes, but still gently lift yourself off of him, wincing when he slips fully out. You miss him already. He flops down on his back over the mattress, and you join him, draping yourself against his side, your arm around his waist and your head resting on his shoulder.

Sometimes he likes it too, staying inside you, letting the feeling linger. Sometimes that turns him on again, and he fucks his seed deeper into you, until you’re both completely exhausted. Other times, he just wants this, and you love it just as much.

“Shower?” you offer.

“Hmm, in a bit.”

“Alright.” You tilt your head up to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. It always makes him shiver. “I think He liked it.”

“Huh?”

“Satan, He liked it. I could feel it, I think, near the end…”

That makes him peek down at you, a hint of a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “He likes you.” he tells you in that rumbly, sultry voice that never fails to make you weak.

“Well…” You avert your gaze, blushing, and fix it onto the inverted cross resting over his chest, your fingers coming up to toy with it. A reminder of the power that this man holds. Your man.

He hums, clearly not pleased that you looked away from him, and you feel his hand cupping your cheek, covering half of your face, really.

“Your Papa still demands your attention, topina.” He pulls you up to him, guiding your face towards his so that he can kiss you, nice and slow, almost languid, the way he kisses you when his mind is still floating in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Want me to wash your back, Papa?” you whisper against his lips, and he smirks, making your stomach flutter. Maybe the night is not quite over yet.

“If you'll indulge me…”

“I always do.”

The moment after, he’s dragging you to the bathroom, his eyes sparkling with teenage-like excitement. As if you didn't just go through a whole damn sex ritual.

But you do indulge him. You always do.

You'll just have to remember to put off all the candles before collapsing back into bed, loved like only he can love you.

[watchingblsnowandforever]

Hello.

Listen, I'm still not over ep 11 yet. AND THEN THEY GIVE ME THIS I- *muffled screaming*

Anyways, welcome to my crack posts. =D

Warning: long post 😊😅 (I somehow took even more screenshots than last time 😭)

I knew something like this would happen hehe

Also-

Don't lie, Peem, he'd already won your heart the moment he said "Na, krab" with those puppy eyes

I love how despite thinking they're enemies up till this point, Tan immediately jumps on the ship the moment he learns it exists.

Fang: cute. <3

Q: cutee. <33

Shy babygirl Peem has my whole heart 🥺🫶🏼

Yeah? Anyone specific you want to draw a portrait of, Peem? Someone from Engineering, maybe? Someone who confessed to you in front of all your combined friends just last night? No? 👀

This smile. This goddamn smile. I get you, Peem, I totally get you.

Q peeking in small into the bag is so accurate 😭

As I'd said in my previous post: "Right in front of my salad?!" and "Something very LGBT just happened to me o.o"

NOSE BOOP

I love nose boops hehe

[Phum: I have to go to class.]

You actually go to class?! *pikachu meme face*

Q's face perfectly expresses my feeling, and I'm definitely saving these as meme pics

Peem's plan to be hit on backfired so fast so hard 😭

Poor boy went into shock 😭

Peem is never hearing the end of this from Q. Never.

I love their friendship though. Besties forever. <3

Toey looks so excited here 😭🫶🏼

He's definitely over the moon that his two beloved hias finally realized they like each other (and of course he manifested this wdyem)

Throwing stones from inside a glass house, huh Q?

You're just as bad as, if not worse than Peem.

*shaking my head fondly* these boys are so whipped for their baes

This ep gave me a lot of meme pic ehehe

Why so surprised, Peem? You were the one telling Phum to flirt on you, why so shy now huh?

Oh, Aunt Pui knows. She's just trying to help her nephew get a nice boyfriend hehe

Also- learning the family business early on? Nice move, Phum.

I'm pretty sure Aunt Pui will accept Phum as family the very instant they start dating.

Actually- she probably already has.

What will you be tying next? The knot?? (I am so so happy I can make that joke and actually mean it now.)

Oh, and I love love love their dynamics. I'm always looking for verse because I don't like active power dynamics, but this show really delivered on it. There's always a push and pull, but throughout, they're equals. Yes, even through that slave era (remember how exactly Peem came to be his slave?). It did start off with a slight imbalance, but it evened out pretty fast (because Phum is incapable of not being the cutest clingy little puppy for more than ten minutes and Peem is weak for it).

PhumPeem/PeemPhum is giving me so much that I'd thought I'd almost never get from BLs (there are a few other examples, I think, but this is probably my topmost).

I don't know if y'all have noticed, but Phum is deliberately soft and is often using polite pronouns for the last two episodes.

It's just... they're so pretty 😭

This scene is just >>>

He-

HE LEARNED LATTE ART JUST TO USE THIS LINE WITH PEEM I'M DYING OH GODS

Phum is 200% committed. Other upcoming BL romantic interests, please take notes.

Jokes aside, what started out as a potential red flag (even two years ago, this relationship would have been very very different) turned into the greenest flag (with a side of childhood trauma).

Did he just-

He almost confessed!!! So close!!

Also- please give me them as boyfriends already, I'm on my hands and knees. But can you imagine what they'll be like when they actually start dating...?

...

I CAN'T WAIT. GIMME NOW. *grabby hands*

This scene made me speechless. Ep 12 was full of beautiful, absolutely stunning scenes, but this was what took my breath - his cute smile that lights up his whole face, his "Pai, krab" and the sheer relief when Peem asks him if he wants to go.

For a moment there, he thought Peem would leave, just like all the people in his life. He knows it wouldn't be permanent, but it's hard to get rid of such an old, deep-rooted fear.

But Peem, unknowingly, immediately waves it away by asking him if he wanted to come with. The only thing is... I don't think it was that unknowing.

I'll end part 1 on this note. Part 2 will be posted soon!

If you've reached this far, thank you so much for reading! 😊

Here, have a doughnut 🍩

And here are my previous We Are posts.

[thebirdsareafterme]

only if you want to, would you like to share a director’s commentary about your gorgeous enjoy the butterflies art? it’s so stunning and i cant begin to tell you how many times I’ve come back to gaze loving at your masterpiece

OMG ABSOLUTELY!! Thank you for the ask, Em 🫶💜

I love talking about the process and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate all the love you have shown this piece!

It all started with this reference pic:

The moment I saw it, I knewwww I had to draw him. The purpley light on the side of his face had me hooked, and it began as a lighting study. It turned out to be one of the pieces that has taken me the longest ever, because I was working on it randomly whenever I had a break from school or work.

Since it was a study to begin with, I first did some sketching to try to capture his features. The screenshot is super blurry because it’s actually just one tiny corner of a canvas.

At this point, I was fully committed to making this into a full blown piece. Gone were the days of this ending up as a quick little study, so of course I made it bigger and refined the sketch.

The next step was to block in my colours. I started very saturated colours, since I wanted to capture the undertones in his skin and play with the lighting.

For the shadows, I played with some colour theory for a bit and added in my blues and purples to counteract the bright yellow and corals. Once blended out, it started to look a little less crazy and more realistic.

I blocked in the hair and the clothing next, which was pretty boring but necessary. Since they are both super dark colours, it was harder to play around with the tones, but I was able to put some purple undertones in the hair. Also, I changed his facial features a couple of times in between, which is why he looks completely different from one picture to another.

The next step was to finish all the rendering for the skin, clothes and hair. This took me about a week to finally be happy with, since I’m a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to things like that. I worked on it sporadically as well, so it definitely took longer than it should.

The eyes were the absolute best part of the drawing. They started out purple, because it was my shadow colour of the time and eventually shifted around the colour wheel to be multicoloured but still dark.

Now for the background. I had a lot of options and ideas for it, so deciding on just one was difficult. I knew I wanted the butterflies in there somewhere, so that was done first. Filling in the wings with very light pencil strokes took a considerable amount of time as well, but I loved the final effect.

From all the options that I put together, I liked the look of the textured lines the best.

I decided to take out the darker blue box in the end, because I thought it was quite busy already. Finally, to end it all off, I finished the details on the suit and added those little details. The FEA moved around a few times before I decided on keeping it small on the the collar.

Here's what the final piece looks like!

I'm pretty happy with how it turned out stylistically, and I think getting this done helped me deal with the overwhelming grief of losing Daniel to the Red Bull guillotine. It was hard for a while to find the motivation to finish it, as I started this in June and finished it in October after Singapore. The #thankyoudanielfest kept me motivated to get it done, and I was able to think a lot about how much Daniel means to me and how he has changed my life in the process.

Anyways, if this was too long to read, here's a short little process video I made for my TikTok a while back.

I'm so grateful to everyone who has enjoyed my art and engaged with it! The Tumblr community just feels like family, and I'm glad I've been able to make some friends in the time that I've been in the F1 fandom. Y'all are amazing.

Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, if you celebrate and a restful holidays!

[haoboutyou]

taking it slow | xu minghao

angst | 1.1k words | warnings: y/n gets a panic attack

an: and if i told you this was based off a dream i had a whole year ago?

These past few months had been an absolute mess for you. Missed deadlines, cracked phone, broken bag straps; you thought the world had already thrown its all at you. Clearly, you didn’t take into account your soulmate throwing himself at you too.

Ever since the day you bumped into Minghao at the train station– ever since the moment the offending red string materialised on your pinkies– it was like he was following you everywhere. The cafe? He was in line behind you. The grocery store? Minghao’s in the baking aisle, checking out a new brand of flour. In every encounter, he would try to approach you. The florist you work at? He was buying flowers for his mom (your heart melted a little at this- he was buying them just because). And in every encounter, you would try to run away.

Which was why you’re frustrated as to how he’s managed to corner you here: in an art gallery, in the middle of an exhibition. You were caged against the wall by Minghao as you were walking, hidden right behind a pair of potted plants.

(You find out later that he worked there. And that it was his exhibition that you were walking through. Of course, he works at the art gallery, you think.)

“Y/n, look at me.” Minghao’s hands grasped you by your shoulders. Head tilted, he tried to make eye contact, but your lowered head wasn’t doing much for him. He sighed. “Y/n, stop running away. You know you’ll have to face me sooner or later. Come on.”

You couldn’t. Looking at him meant you were accepting the fate that was destined for both of you. Soulmates?! The very thought of the universe forcing two strangers together for the rest of their lives made you feel queasy. Your commitment issues or lack thereof were quaking in their boots.

“Y/n,” his voice was softer this time. Gently, Minghao’s fingers cupped your chin in the warm embrace of his hand, his thumb caressing the soft curve beneath. With a tender touch, he lifted your chin, guiding your gaze upward. Your eyes met, yours already brimming with tears threatening to roll down anytime. It was a gesture so intimate and reassuring, as if he held not just your chin but also a delicate moment suspended in time.

He sighed as his thumb delicately swiped across your cheek. His touch, so warm and comforting that you had to fight the urge to lean into his palm. “Y/n,” he started once more.

“You’re important to me. I need you to know that.”

“You don’t even know me, Xu Minghao.”

“I know you like vanilla lattes. I know you prefer cats over dogs, and how you like lily of the valleys because they’re your birth flower.” The deadpan look on your face despite the dried streaks of tears elicited a small laugh from him. “I’ll take all the time in the world to get to know you. Please, Y/n. Can’t you see the red string on our hands?”

As if doused by cold water, you tore yourself away from his touch. Your eyes drifted down to where Minghao was referring to. Yes, that stupid red string was still connected to your hands. It had never disappeared, ever since you had first met Minghao all those months ago.

Of course, everyone has a soulmate; it wasn’t rare for people to meet their destined partner at all. However, that didn’t mean that all relationships the red string had helped to bind were happy ones. You’ve seen your fair share of people perpetually had their trust in their red strings of fate torn apart and broken. You didn’t want to put your all in a ‘destined’ relationship only for it to fall apart and ruin your life, just like all of theirs.

Anxiety gripped you like a relentless tide, each wave threatening to pull you under. Your breaths quickened, shallow and erratic, and your chest tightened with an overwhelming sense of dread. The world around you blurred as a suffocating sense of panic took hold.

“Hey, hey…” you didn’t notice when Minghao approached you again, but this time you let yourself melt in the comfort of his arms. His protective grip around you tightened as you felt yourself let go, slumping into his chest as sobs shook through your whole body. He continued holding you firmly, palms rubbing slow circles on your back as he whispered words of comfort in your ears.

Your fists clenched up against his chest, tears staining his carefully pressed shirt. Not that it mattered to him- comforting you was his top priority now. Minghao, ever loving, patted your hair, gentle whispers of “I’m right here,” and “it’s going to be okay,” every once in a while. It took you a while, but eventually, your sobs subsided into little hiccups and pants. Minghao looks down at you, using his sleeves to wipe away any more tears on your face. He couldn’t help himself; he chuckled a little upon seeing your pout. Even during a mental breakdown, you’re still the most precious thing in his eyes.

“S-sorry… I didn’t mean to…” Your hands betrayed your inner turmoil, fingers restlessly intertwining and then pulling away as if unable to find solace in each other's company. Minghao took it upon himself to separate them by intertwining his slender fingers with yours. “It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m right here.”

His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, a silent language of comfort and connection. Each gentle brush carried a whisper of comfort that was beyond words. The world outside vanished in that little instant, and the simple, tender gesture spoke volumes about the unspoken bond you clearly shared.

Minghao cleared his throat, catching your attention once again. “I’m aware… that you don’t like the whole idea of soulmates. I’m still interested in you, and I’d love to get to know you more. As friends! We don’t have to date if you don’t want to.

“I’m glad the red string brought you to me. I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if I let you go.” He chuckled, a pained expression despite the loving smile on his face. “What I’m trying to say is: I’ll take responsibility for everything. Please, Y/n. Trust me. Give me a chance. Don’t just push me away like this.”

Your silence was deafening to him. Still, Minghao waited patiently for you, rubbing slow circles on the back of your hands. You couldn’t phantom how someone could have so much love for a person they barely knew, yet Xu Minghao exceeded your expectations over and over again. You sighed, finally giving in to his puppy-dog eyes.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Friends first.”

He heaved a sigh of relief, heart already swelling with affection for you. He nodded.

“Friends first.”

[animeomegas]

What if the alpha in MHA isn't a hero or famous person in general? And they met their omega when they already are an adult. How would the omega show their alpha to the paparazzi? OR MAYBE they try to hide their private life?

Oooh, interesting!

Keeps his alpha as far away from the paparazzi as possible. Never mentions anything in interviews, only picks dates at home or places you won't be disturbed, either no or heavily edited social media

Bakugou, for sure. The world knows he has an alpha that he's committed to, and they probably know what the alpha looks like, but that's it. It's his business, no one else's.

Shinsou. He's an underground hero, so he doesn't mess with paparazzi at all. For his and his alpha's safety, they both keep a very low profile.

Aizawa for much the same reasons as above.

Toshinori (post-retirement) loves to keep his relationship and family as lowkey as possible. He doesn't want any media outlet to know he's even mated. It's too risky for their safety, but also, he thrives being Toshinori, not All Might, in his own home and he doesn't want those lines to start blending.

Tamaki clams up when the public start prying into his personal life.

Finds a happy medium. Likes to brag about and post photos of their alpha sometimes, but still enjoys the privacy that comes come keeping strict boundaries.

Midoriya falls into this category, for sure. As number one, keeping his alpha a secret would be near impossible, so instead he tries to maintain healthy boundaries. He enjoys gushing over his partner in interview and getting fan art with his alpha in it, so he likes this balance.

Mic. I know it might seem like he should go in the 'no privacy' category, but I actually think that Mic is really good at saying a lot, but also not saying anything at all. Like he gushes about his partner all the time on the radio, but when you go to the partner section of his wiki, it's surprisingly empty, because he keeps a lot of information to his chest. It helps that he doesn't get recognised much when he's out of costume too.

I think Iida falls here too. His whole family are famous heroes and I think his PR team at the very least would play on that a lot with an active (but well curated) social media about Iida's life. Fancy events, birthdays, family gatherings, things like that, so his alpha would definitely pop up. He like to keep interviews on his heroics though.

Never stops talking about their alpha for even a moment. Constant pictures, videos, social media all the time, interviewers kind of end up hating their alpha because they can't get the hero in question to tal about anything else.

Denki, of course, is anyone surprised? His relationship is only one step away from being a YouTube couple lmaoo. He gushes and talks about his alpha, he gets caught with hickeys, he posts lovey dovey photos of lazy mornings and fancy dinners. The world is very invested in the 'couple goals'.

Kirishima slips into this category because he thanks his alpha for their support in every interview and lavishes them with praise about how supportive and amazing they are. He's also the kind of person to give out relationship advice to his fans lol. It's not as non-stop as Denki, but everyone knows about his alpha.

Mirio would 100% have the 'golden couple' image attached to him. Him and his partner are couple goals, but in a different way to Denki. Denki and his alpha are relatable, but Mirio's relationship is perfect (to outsiders.) I'm talking charity appearances together, pictures of their elaborate proposal and wedding, wholesome pet pictures, the whole works.

[laurark]

2023 Wrap Up

A strange year that was both long and short. The main lesson to learn from 2023 is the same lesson I have been learning every year since I was 6 years old: Things happen if you try!

 I spent a lot of time this year hitting my head against a wall, or rather healing from an RSI that caused making art to become really fraught. I could bear the wrist pain in order to do my favorite thing (drawing!!!) but then the pain stuck around after I had clocked out for the day and was making dinner. It would go like this: I want to make pasta sauce using canned tomatoes, but using a can opener is so painful now that maybe I should just do something else. The onions and garlic are already cooking in the pan though, what can I pivot that to? I felt like the biggest dunce in the world. I worked my way into being cursed, I deserved it.

I have this craving to just commit to a big art project, like a graphic novel, and keep my head down working on it. Having all my time devoted to work feels a bit like doing penance, like earning my bread. But I look at the world and I know I cannot draw my way out of this. I can’t write my way out of this. I can’t post my way out of this. I am unprepared for what I need to do to earn a better tomorrow. But I am prepared to learn.

I changed up my desk ergonomics and my wrist healed. Thank you to the huge desk easel that I stole from my parents’ house. It’s ugly, heavy, stained, and I keep banging my elbows on its sharp corners. It sucks but it saved my life. Do not resist making your workspace uglier if it might help you! 

Making The Influence and participating in the ShortBox Comics Fair was a huge work highlight this year. I’m so grateful I can make a work with dark themes and have it be understood and appreciated. The encouraging response to The Influence did a lot to kill the bad faith reviewer in my mind. Things are possible if you try!

I started painting again and I really love it. I’m trying to just follow the image-making. Painting is play to me and I want it to remain so. I feel myself itch to turn it into some kind of profitable thing, to make it palatable, but I’m trying to resist so it remains a place of experimentation. 

I also wrote a short novel. It’s awful. I just re-read it and it’s so bad, but reading it makes me happy. It needs serious reworking to be a proper novel, but I did technically cross the finish line and write the whole story. It was very refreshing and informative to branch out like this, even if I don’t think this particular example is fit for human consumption. Earlier in my life I was so stubborn about ONLY working in comics but now I’d like to pursue whatever path I can to have a creative career. If you try!

I had a great time tabling at Short Run this year. Two different people came to my table and told me they came to the show specifically to see my table. One person said Bug Boys was responsible for facilitating “many special moments” with them and their niece. I don’t want to forget about moments like this. It means a lot to me. 

It occurs to me as I type out this year’s accomplishments, they’re mostly things I did at home alone. I haven’t rejoined the world after COVID in a meaningful way, the way I hoped I would during lockdown. It comes naturally to me to make up excuses to stay home, keep my head down, watch how things play out before joining in. That attitude does me a disservice. It isolates me. When other people are only in the screen, they become hypothetical. It’s not right to live this way, but it’s comfortable to me. It feels “safe” after COVID, even though it’s not safe. I know I need to change this. 

It feels sick and strange to be blogging in my safe little apartment during a time of bloodshed. To flip through my planner and think of my future while others starve is obscene. My entire life was obscene in this fashion. It’s my responsibility to sit with this feeling and do something with it.

Here’s to a better 2024. We can do it, we can try. 

In love and solidarity, 

Laura K.

[bloomingpresent]

FERRO ROSSO Chapter IX

Pairing: Charles Leclerc/Female reader digital artist older woman

Summary: in your mid 30’s you never imagined you’d be divorced. To help with the healing process you decide to return to your first love: digital illustration. Posting videos of your art online leads you to work for Ferrari. But you never thought it’d lead you to find somebody who’s going to bring you back to trust again in love.

Warnings: NSFW! 18+, swearing mention of sexual words, consensual sex, penetration, cheating, sexually themed. IT’S ALL ABOUT REVERSE AGE GAP HERE. Older woman with a younger man. They are both adults, don’t be judgemental. 

Disclaimer: I don’t mean any offense to Mr. Leclerc. 

English isn’t my first language so all mistakes are my own.

All the previous chapters are here

Charles POV:

Charles watches you leave for the briefing, your back straight, your steps brisk. He's stuck in place, his jaw tight, his mind churning with guilt and determination. It’s not supposed to be this way, he thinks. He had dragged you into his world—one that’s all speed, noise, and constant scrutiny—without considering the consequences.

But he couldn’t deny what he felt, even if the timing was terrible. Seeing you with your guarded eyes and sharp wit had been a breath of fresh air. You were different from everyone else in the paddock: you saw beyond the shiny facade and asked him questions that cut straight to the heart. It’s no wonder he was hooked from the start.

The problem was the mess he created. He had been careless. Bringing his girlfriend to that party after things had gotten intense between the two of you was reckless and cruel. It wasn’t fair to anyone, least of all to you. Now he’s left with the fallout: a tangled mess of desire, regret, and a desperate need to fix things.

As the media commitments continue, Charles finds himself half-listening to questions, his focus elsewhere. Every time you enter his line of sight, there’s a tug at his chest. He’s reminded of the stolen moments you’ve shared, both fiery and tender, and how they’ve been tainted by his mistakes.

When there’s a brief pause in the chaos, he seizes the chance to corner you in a quiet alcove of the paddock. You look wary as he approaches, arms crossed as if to shield yourself from whatever he might say.

“I need to talk to you,” he starts, his voice low but urgent.

“Now?” You raise an eyebrow, not backing down. “I’m trying to do my job, Charles.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I need you to hear me out, please.”

You glance around, making sure no one is watching. “This better be good.”

He lets out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “I screwed up. I know that. I never meant for you to get hurt, but I can’t change what happened.”

“Then what’s the point of this conversation?” you ask, your tone icy.

“I want you to understand why I pushed for this role for you. It wasn’t just for me—it was because I believe in you, in your talent. You deserve this opportunity.”

“You can’t just manipulate my career because you feel guilty,” you snap, eyes blazing. “This isn’t some twisted form of compensation, Charles.”

“It’s not about guilt,” he insists, taking a step closer. “It’s about what’s real between us. I know it’s a mess, but I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

There it is, raw and exposed. He watches you process his words, your defenses visibly wavering for a moment before snapping back into place.

“Caring isn’t enough,” you say quietly. “I need to protect myself, and I can’t do that if I’m constantly trying to decipher your feelings or your motives.”

He feels a pang of helplessness, a sense that he’s losing you before he ever truly had you. “I don’t want to lose you,” he admits, his voice breaking slightly. “I know I have no right to ask for another chance, but I’m asking anyway.”

You take a deep breath, looking conflicted. “I don’t know if I can trust you, Charles. Not after everything.”

The vulnerability in your eyes is like a punch to his gut. He reaches out, but you instinctively pull back, as if afraid to let him get too close.

“I get it,” he says softly, dropping his hand. “But I won’t give up. Not on you, not on us—whatever ‘us’ even means right now.”

“Why does this matter so much to you?” you demand, voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness.

“Because you matter to me,” he answers simply. “And I know I’m not good at this—I mess things up, and I’m scared as hell of making it worse. But I want to try, if you’ll let me.”

There’s a long silence, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. He waits, hoping you’ll find a way to meet him halfway. But as you look at him, he sees the walls you’ve built and knows it’ll take more than words to break them down.

“Right now,” you finally say, your voice steady, “I just need space to figure things out. If you really care, you’ll respect that.”

It’s not the answer he wants, but it’s something. He nods slowly, accepting your terms even as it tears at him.

“Okay,” he agrees. “But I’m not giving up. Not yet.”

You don’t respond, your eyes lingering on him for a second longer before you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the narrow corridor. The weight of his mistakes hangs heavy, but for the first time, he feels a glimmer of hope. It’s fragile and uncertain, but it’s there.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough—for now.

Later at Y/N’s hotel room.

You toss and turn in bed, sleep eluding you. You replay the heated conversation with Charles in your head, dissecting every word, every emotion. You feel trapped between two opposing desires: the need to protect your heart and the undeniable pull he has on you. By the time dawn breaks, you’re no closer to a decision. 

“Ugh,” you groan into your pillow, realizing that in just a few hours you’ll have to face him again.

The morning sun streams through the curtains of your hotel room, reminding you that it’s already practice day. You gather your things, determined to maintain your professionalism despite the swirling emotions inside. You quickly get dressed and head to the paddock, hoping that the chaos of race weekend will distract you.

The paddock is buzzing with activity as you arrive. Engines roar, media scramble for interviews, and teams rush around in a flurry of preparation. You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the day ahead.

Charles is already at the Ferrari garage, his focus seemingly on the upcoming session. You try to keep your distance, but as the team starts gathering for a quick briefing, you have no choice but to join him.

“Morning,” he greets, his voice casual but his eyes searching yours.

“Morning,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as the rest of the team begins discussing logistics. You scribble notes furiously, trying to keep your mind from wandering to the way his jaw tenses when he concentrates, or the faint stubble lining his chin.

During the session, you’re forced to work side by side, monitoring media requests and planning interviews. The close proximity makes your skin tingle, but you do your best to stay focused. At one point, Charles leans closer to look at the list on your tablet, his arm brushing against yours.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but there’s a hint of something more in his voice—something that makes your breath hitch.

“It’s fine,” you manage to say, though your voice is tighter than you’d like.

Just as things start to feel overwhelmingly intense, Carlos Sainz appears, grinning like he’s in on a private joke.

“Hola, Y/N!” he exclaims, his energy infectious. “You seem stressed. Charles giving you a hard time, huh?”

You laugh, relieved for the distraction. “He’s always a handful.”

Carlos chuckles, playfully nudging Charles with his elbow. “Don’t worry. I can be your new assistant if he gets too annoying. I make excellent coffee, you know.”

Charles shoots Carlos a look, trying to play it off, but you see the tension in his posture. He’s not used to seeing you this relaxed with someone else, and it clearly bothers him.

“Careful, Carlos,” Charles warns with a smirk, though his eyes flash with something darker. “She might actually take you up on that.”

“Oh, really?” you tease, enjoying the game. “Maybe I will. I could use someone more reliable.”

Carlos laughs loudly, enjoying the banter. “I am always at your service, Y/N. Anything to make Charles squirm a little.”

It’s meant to be a lighthearted jab, but it has a different effect. You see Charles’s jaw clench, his gaze narrowing as he watches the interaction between you and Carlos. He’s not amused anymore—he’s irritated, maybe even jealous. 

As the conversation continues, Carlos’s playful demeanor makes you feel seen in a way that doesn’t involve the heavy tension you’ve had with Charles. For a moment, you let yourself forget the drama, laughing at Carlos’s jokes and enjoying the easy chemistry.

But then you catch Charles’s gaze, and the intensity in his eyes nearly takes your breath away. It’s as if he’s silently telling you that this playful game with Carlos isn’t going to change anything between you and him. You feel a rush of heat at the thought, a reminder of the magnetic pull you’ve been trying to resist.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. Charles is distant but focused, and you sense a simmering frustration beneath his calm exterior. You wonder if he’s regretting pushing you into this role, or if he’s more determined than ever to keep you close.

As the day winds down, you retreat to your hotel room, hoping for a moment of clarity. But all you feel is confusion. Your body hums with the memory of Charles’s touch, your mind replaying the way he looked at you earlier—like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or fight you.

You’re just starting to unwind when there’s a knock at your door.

Your heart leaps, and you instinctively know who it is.

You pause at the door, your hand hovering above the handle. You know who’s on the other side, and the weight of the moment makes your breath catch. When you finally gather the courage to open it, Charles stands there, the dim lighting from the hallway casting shadows on his face.

His expression is conflicted—equal parts desire and hesitation. “Can I come in?” he asks softly, his voice almost uncertain for the first time.

You nod silently, stepping aside to let him in. The room feels charged, the air thick with unspoken words. As he steps closer, you see the storm of emotions swirling in his eyes. You can’t hold back any longer; whatever this is, it’s real and it’s right here in front of you.

“I tried to stay away,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “But I can’t. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

You swallow hard, the vulnerability in his words breaking down the last of your defenses. “I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, voice shaky.

“Then let’s figure it out together,” he says, his gaze intense as he takes your hand, slowly pulling you closer.

There’s a moment of stillness before he dips his head, his lips brushing softly against yours. It’s tentative at first, as if he’s testing your response. But the second you kiss him back, something snaps—like a dam breaking, releasing a flood of suppressed longing. His kiss deepens, urgent yet tender, as if he’s trying to convey everything he can’t say in words.

His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, and the tenderness of the gesture makes your heart swell. You can feel his need for you, but it’s laced with a kind of reverence that makes your body shiver. You respond in kind, letting your hands find their way to his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

Charles’s lips trail down to your neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your skin, the words raw and reverent.

The world outside ceases to exist. All that matters is the warmth of his touch, the way he seems to worship every part of you with his mouth and hands. His fingers are gentle, tracing your skin as if he’s savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed as if you’re something precious. When he lays you down, there’s a moment where he just looks at you, his eyes filled with an unspoken promise. 

You undress each other. Words are replaced by caresses and kisses. This is not just sex, this is intimacy.

“I want to make you feel good,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with need but tinged with a softness that takes you by surprise.

And he does. He’s slow, deliberate, taking his time to explore you with a kind of devotion you’ve never felt before. His mouth trails down your body, and every kiss, every touch, feels like a silent vow. He’s attentive, reading every gasp, every arch of your back, as he finds the rhythm that makes you tremble beneath him.

You're still tense, you know this isn't just sex, and you don't want to let go.

“Let go,” he urges, his voice low and coaxing as he moves in a way that’s both commanding and tender. “I want this for you.”

And you do. You let yourself fall into the moment, giving in to the waves of pleasure that crash over you, raw and overwhelming. Charles watches you with an intensity that makes you feel cherished, his eyes locked on yours even as you lose yourself completely.

The way his tongue plays with your nipples, the way his fingers caress your clit. It's all designed to give you pleasure. Maybe he's not thinking about it, maybe he's acting on instinct, you can't figure it out right now.

When he finally takes you fully, it’s slow and gentle at first, as if he’s savoring every second. He’s careful, almost reverent, but as the tension builds, the urgency grows. His thrusts become more insistent, matching the rising heat between you. You meet each other in a perfect rhythm, bodies moving together in a way that feels both primal and achingly intimate.

He is also vulnerable now, he is not thinking about himself, he is thinking about giving you pleasure, seeing and feeling the way your body responds, fills him with pleasure too.

He whispers your name like a prayer, his voice husky and filled with desire. “I don’t want this to end,” he admits between ragged breaths, his forehead pressed against yours.

You cling to him, the intensity of the moment making your heart feel raw. “Then don’t,” you whisper back, your voice filled with emotion.

It’s a feverish kind of passion, but beneath it all, there’s a softness, a tenderness that wraps around you like a warm embrace. It’s not just about the physical—it’s about something deeper, something that’s been simmering between you for too long.

You moan his name as he brings you to climax. The feeling of your orgasms around him and the way you moan his name brings him to climax as well. He doesn't take his eyes off of you as he finishes. The connection.

He kisses your neck after a few moments of sliding out of you. He goes to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. You're staring at the ceiling savoring the pleasure.

When he comes back, you lie together, tangled in sheets and each other’s warmth. Charles’s fingers trace patterns on your skin, his breath still uneven. You’re both quiet, the silence filled with a kind of contentment you hadn’t expected.

But you know he can’t stay. It’s clear in the way he holds you a little tighter, as if trying to imprint the memory of this moment before reality intrudes.

“Stay,” you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

He lifts his head, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead. “I wish I could,” he says honestly, regret etched in his voice. “But I have to be up early.”

The thought of him leaving makes your chest tighten, but you nod, understanding. He carefully untangles himself from you, pulling on his clothes with quiet efficiency. Before he leaves, he sits on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to gently stroke your hair.

“I’m not walking away,” he promises, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure this out.”

You manage a small smile, your heart aching even as hope flares. “I know.”

He leans down for one last kiss, soft and lingering, as if he’s trying to hold onto this moment for as long as he can. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispers against your lips.

Then he’s gone, the door clicking softly behind him. You’re left lying in the dark, feeling a mix of fulfillment and longing that you can’t quite put into words. It’s the start of something, but what that ‘something’ is, you’re not sure yet.

All you know is that you’re willing to find out.

P.S: I'd love your here your feedback! Or if you have any suggestions. I had a bit of a emotional brake downwriting that last part. And please! Oh please listen to that song in the story. Love ya!

Tags: @janeh22 @elenizacharop @h-jpg

[yeliuxi]

Fic Writer Q&A

Tagged by @dragongirlg-fics :") Thank you ahh

How many wips do you have currently?

I think 5. Though all having various degrees of actually aiming to finish and post haha

For Qi Ye - The longer Ming Hua fic. Ming Hua's impressions of Jing Beiyuan and his bullshit throughout the years

Also for Qi Ye - My main fic. The genderbend modern organized crime AU that I have been working on for years now with femme-but-also-kind-of-becoming-butch-at-the-end Jing Beiyuan + butch Wuxi. But I ended up drawing a lot of it to procrastinate the writing... so now I have a lot of art (including first attempts to draw NSFW art), and not even a complete outline

& another for Qi Ye - Just straight porn featuring Jing Beiyuan domming Wuxi. Also topping like Jing Beiyuan initially wanted to do in the novel. But that's a separate sex scene. That's all

For MDZS - modern AU inspired by my RBB prompt. Lan Wangji has feelings for Wei Wuxian & when helping him out Lan Xichen accidentally ends up dealing with his own problems

For Locked Tomb - Palamedes/Camilla gender thesis fic. Where they fuck (? Masturbate? What happens when you share a body) and cope in unhealthy ways and Pyrrah is there going "wow yeah that's fucked up. Do you feel fucked up about this" and having an uno-reverse moment about her in Gideon 1's body

Still in brainstorming phase but The Double femslash where jealous Situ Jiuyue indeed "knocks up" Xue Fangfei. They blow off steam and the fake pregnancy drug is administered in sexy way lolol. The two lines of ":0 Whose baby is it" "Jiuyue's" live rent free in my head

More of the Q&A below

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish?

#2... It keeps growing... I thought I would end with an AU equivalent of Jing Beiyuan faking her death but then I started writing post-fake death... and now it's 90% ex-criminal-but-still-committing-a-continuous-crime Jing Beiyuan relearning how to be a normal person and Wuxi fitting herself back into a normal life 🤦🏻‍♀️Also did I mention the procrastination with my drawings?

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

Unfortunately I think when I am most inspired it prevents me from writing haha. I get all excited and then stare off imagining the scenes... and do not write them. But there is a moderate amount of inspiration where I go onto 4thewords co-op writing battles and write out 10k in a day. I had several of these days in July and then have not since...

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

No... I feel too much pressure to have songs that "relate" to the fic and I don't like doing that because it's time consuming and burns my energy that could be spent writing lol. Also I don't usually do any creative things with music because it's distracting to me

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organized?

I am a pantser mostly (tragic result of often having more vibes than plot thought out haha) but for certain long fics I will put together a detailed outline

Tagging: @difeisheng @geneticcatalyst @minnarr and whoever else wants to :D Yes this includes anyone reading this. Even if we aren't mutuals haven't talked etc. Just say I tagged you because I did and I am nosy and want to read it

[biscuitblinkeu]

Cards and the Sony Handcam [3]

Park Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

Word count: 4111

A/n: The slow build up is killing me, and it’s probably killing you readers more since I didn’t even give y’all a summary… Why does the word count get bigger every chapter 🗿

Chapter not proofread yet

……………………………………………………………………

“You really like coffee, don’t you,” you muse, having watched Roseanne the moment she got her drink inhale the aroma like it was a lifeline; your lips quirked into a fond smile.

In fact, she had made a beeline towards the café table closest to the entrance where she sat and promptly fell into the cushioned chair with a heavy sigh, as though all the energy was draining from her body in that instant. She gave you her exact order as you offered to get it for her, and stayed slumped there while you got the drinks.

She takes a sip of her coffee, sighing contentedly. “Yes, but I like it even more when I actually need it.”

“Tiring day?”

She nods, “And it’s not even over yet. I might need an iced coffee to-go.”

“Or, you could take a nap. I don’t think that much coffee is healthy.” 

Roseanne gives you a look, as to say, ‘caffeine is what every college student functions on.’ She sighs, “I wish I could be able to, naps don’t exist for me.” 

“You can’t sleep?” You ask, and Roseanne confirms with a nod. “Have you tried melatonin? That usually helps me.”

“Yes I have, it doesn’t work.”

“You're an insomniac?”

“Afraid so,” she says. You talk a little more. And despite being insomniac, she still gets that iced coffee. (And as she’s walking out of the café with it, she thinks everyone makes poor choices every once in a while. In hindsight, she shouldn’t be drinking another cup.)

You and Roseanne went your separate ways for now, as you would see eachother again in a few hours when you were moving in. Lisa had committed to the task of helping you move your things from your current room to Roseanne’s, along with the help of some of the Dance majors. 

“I’ll be out of your hair in less than an hour, so stop the whining, please.” You say, irritated. Your roommate has been nagging in your ear about all the garbage bags with your clothes, shoes, and other things all in front of the door. Krystal huffs in response, rolling her eyes and smacking her gum as she plugs her AirPod back into her ears. You wish it stayed in her ear and she would stop taking the thing out just to bitch about something else.

It's not long before a pattern of knocks sound at your door; a familiar series of taps and you open your door to Lisa, Hyunjin, and Yeji. 

“Hey!” Lisa greets, hugging you briefly before sliding past you as she whispers, “Ready to get out of this hellhole?” You make a dramatic roll of your eyes before looking at the man and woman in front of you, smiling mischievously. “How are my favorite twins?” Simultaneously, they groan and start a rant about how they only look similar and have the same last name but aren’t related in any way.

You laugh, letting them in and they make quick work of taking the bags and items you had lined by the doorway and putting them into a cart provided by the University. All your stuff is in the cart in fourty or so minutes, and you’re given a half-assed goodbye from Krystal as the door shuts behind you with a click.

“Thank you all for helping,” you say, trailing behind the Hwangs who push the cart, Lisa at your side.

“It’s no problem,” the Hwangs voiced at the same time. 

“Why do you keep copying me?” Yeji, whined. 

“I’m not!” Hyunjin shouted, irritated that they’re not really fighting the stereotype of twins. You and Lisa laughed, watching them babble on.

Lisa nudged you in the side, “Roseanne’s dorm is near the English Arts building, and it’s on one of the higher floors so we have to take the elevator.” Lisa tells you as you turn another hallway.

“That’s pretty convenient for her then, being next to the building most of her classes are all in. I usually have to take a short subway trip or walk across campus.”

“I know right? But if you think about it, after you move in, you won’t have to go out of your way for transportation since the Arts buildings are close together.” You hum.

After wheeling the cart through multiple hallways, walking across parking lots, and through a few doors you were in Roseanne’s residence hall. Like Lisa informed, you did have to take an elevator to the higher floors. When you got out on the fourth floor, you all walked along the numerous doors till you reached the end of the hallway.

It was one door, with no others adjacent to it, confirming that Roseanne had one of the bigger dorms. The bigger dorms were available for the top students who got in with their academics or accomplishments, the university even held raffles for the nicer dorms whenever a spot opened to the general population of students. (In short, if you were smart you had a higher chance of getting a bigger dorm.)

You and the two Hwangs jumped when Lisa started knocking very aggressively on Roseanne’s door. It was a succession of sharp blows, slaps, and thunks. The door was thrown open a few moments later by an agitated Roseanne. A few hairs were out of place and she looked very humorless, staring at Lisa with narrowed eyes and a tight smile. 

“You totally ran all the way here,” Lisa stated, pointing a finger at Roseanne as a sly smile painted her lips. The blonde huffed, eyes drifting to the cart behind Lisa, to you, and then back to Lisa lazily. 

“Yes, I ran. But do you have to do that every time?” She grumbled. Lisa grinned widely, nodding her head. She turned around and gestured to you. “Ready to have a new roomie?” 

Roseanne smiled before nodding her head in the direction of the room and said, “I am. Come on then.”

Upon walking in, you observed, if anything, that your university definitely had a large portion of its budget go into the dorms. Roseanne’s dorm was very nice, almost the size of a small apartment or studio. And that’s not to say your previous dorm wasn’t nice, because it was, but right off the bat there were significant differences between yours and Roseanne’s.

Her dorm was like a suite, it was very clean and minimal. She had enough space for a small living room, and across from that there was a small kitchen, which she had extra appliances and things. There was a hallway, with a room on each side and at the beginning of it, a bathroom. 

Roseanne led you to what would be your bedroom. “Here it is, there’s a closet over there, and then you can decide if you want to move that dresser or not…” she informed. “Let me know if you need any help, but I’ll be in my room doing assignments.” 

“Thanks, Roseanne.” You tell her as she disappears into her room and you enter your own room, taking in its appearance. It was smaller than your shared dorm room with Krystal obviously; it had a bed (no sheets or anything), the dresser Roseanne spoke about before she left, and a closet. it was perfect, though, because you had your own space.

(Little did you know that that “own space” of yours would be almost nonexistent in the untold future.)

It was a team effort taking your stuff out the cart, out the bags and into its respective spot. You decided to use the dresser still in the room as you had a lot of clothes. You helped with the lightweight things and planned to help with your heavy items like your I-Mac and clothing bags, but got shooed away. Now you’ve just been observing. (Observing the rippling arm muscles and hard earned bodies of the dancers, that is.)

“Are you okay?” Lisa approaches with a laugh, eyeing you. She’s detected your perverse notions, you thought, that’s the reason she came over here. You pull your bottom lip from where it was caught between your teeth and look away from the dancers, smiling at Lisa innocently. “Just fine, but I can’t get over how attractive they are, like, it should be a sin.”

Lisa gasps, “Am I included? You know I’m the hottest, right?”

(I’m the hottest, okay?)

“Yes, you too,” you roll your eyes playfully, poking her in the rib. Half an hour later, they finished up and you were walking them out the door. You smiled at them. “Thank you guys so much, I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

“Of course.”

“See you soon,” Lisa said last, walking with the twins down the hallway. You closed the door with a sigh. What to do now?

…

Roseanne has left you to your devices for a few hours, and you’ve been somewhat quiet, so she flinches when she hears a knock on her door.

On the other hand, you, having reached the point of borderline boredom, caved in and decided to bother your new roommate. You had shuffled down the hallway to her open door and stood in her door frame, dressed similar to earlier except now wearing a baggy tee. “Hey, wanna watch a movie?”

Roseanne looks at the mess of papers in front of her, then back to you. “Sure, I could use a break.” 

It’s funny that you fell asleep during the movie despite being the one that asked to watch it. Roseanne can’t even watch it though because your snores are snatching her attention from the movie every few seconds.

She bites the inside of her cheek, deciding to lightly tap on your shoulder. “(Y/n), hey, you’re snoring and I can’t hear the movie.” 

You turn your head slightly, eyes still closed. “Then turn it up…” you murmur, pulling the cover over your shoulder.

“So you can yell at me for waking you because of the volume?”

You huff, dragging yourself upwards and throwing her an unamused look. “You woke me up anyway, so I don’t think that matters.”

Roseanne hums to herself, looking to the clock on the wall before turning her gaze to you again. “You look tired, why don’t we call it a night? You can take a shower.”

“Yeah, sure, that’d be great.” You agreed tiredly, hoping that when you’re under the shower water you don’t fall asleep. You take a quick shower, change, and brush your teeth before waking down the hallway to your room. Roseanne’s door was open so you yelled goodnight before shutting your own. Once in your room, you plop onto your bed face first, burying your nose deep in the pillow. Sleep comes quickly.

…

beep! beep! beep!

beep! beep! beep!

Roseanne’s eyes snap open in alarm at the screeching sound. Her body stilled, and she waited maybe seven seconds before she allowed herself to calm down. She remembered now; she had a roommate; someone living with her, and just in the room a little ways down and across the hallway. 

beep! beep! beep!

She assumed that horrid noise was just your alarm going off— really loudly, at seven in the morning on a Sunday. Roseanne tossed around to lay on her stomach, pressing her pillow to her head. She screwed her eyes shut, planning to fall asleep again, knowing you’re probably awake now to turn it off.

“…”

beep! beep! beep!

Any second now, she tells herself, you’re going to turn it off.

beep! beep! beep!

“Are you serious…” Roseanne murmurs, sliding out of bed groggily. The beep!..beep!..beep! was harsh on her ears, as was the sunlight seeping through her half-open curtains. She runs a hand through her tangled hair, knowing if she were to come across a mirror it’d resemble a lion’s mane. Bedhead wasn’t kind to her, she liked to toss and turn in her sleep.

Roseanne shivered as she stepped into the hallway, the draft of the air conditioner creeping across her skin. She padded to your door, her pajama pants which were pooling at her feet slid against the carpet with each step. She knocked thrice, and when you didn’t answer she knocked twice before coming in, and just as she thought, you were still asleep, oblivious to your alarm going off and still dead to the world.

You weren’t even all the way on your bed, she noticed, you had one leg hanging over the side with one fuzzy sock on the foot outside of the covers, the other leg bent, and your arms sprawled out in different directions. 

She has to feel around your bed for your phone, and the task was harder than she’d like to admit. You would roll over and toss and turn, shifting your phone’s position multiple times or burying it underneath your back or covers. 

How can someone sleep like this? 

Finally, Roseanne managed to find the damn phone and turned off the annoying alarm. You mumbled something incoherently  before turning over in your bed. She put your cover back on you before leaving the room, deciding to “fake sleep” for a few more hours since she didn’t want to face the responsibilities of the day yet.

Unsurprisingly, you woke up half an hour later, completely aware you didn’t wake up with your timer. You yawned, stretching pleasurably before leaving the bedroom. It was quiet as a mouse, the only sounds coming from outside the dorm and the air conditioning. You tiptoed to the bathroom, failing miserably at washing your face and brushing your teeth quietly. 

You hung out in the living room after eating a few pieces of toast and fruit because you can’t cook. If you really think about it, you’ve been surviving off of simple meals, microwave food, takeout, and Lisa’s cooking. (That’s embarrassing.)

Roseanne enters the kitchen three hours later, toothbrush in mouth as she pulls out a carton of orange juice. She entered so silently you were startled when you finally noticed that she was awake. “Jesus!”

“Good morning?…” She says with confusion, voice muffled by her toothbrush.

“Good afternoon,” you say back. It was twelve-something past morning. She slept till the early afternoon. 

Later in the day, after lounging around the dorm with Roseanne you were called by Lisa, who said her, Jennie, and Jisoo were coming over. 

Due to this, you and Roseanne had to go grocery shopping for snacks and other things low in her fridge. You got the essentials: milk, bottled water, bread, cheeses, more fruits, etc. (You would both pay for the total by splitting it as it was more convenient.) Then it was time to conquer the snack aisle, and bicker you did; over Oreo flavors. 

“The original is the best kind, it’s a staple, it’s what everyone gets. Therefore—” 

“Therefore you should try new flavors. Look,” she pulled a few boxes off the shelves, “they have some new flavors, there’s swedish fish, mint, s’mores, rice crispy, red velvet, birthday cake. What about mint?”

You physically recoil and Roseanne gives you a weird look. “Out of all the flavors you just listed, you picked that one?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” With a frown she holds up the Mint Oreo box, genuinely confused.

“What’s wrong with it is that—”

“Ladies,” a man interrupts. The smile on his face looked so incredibly strained, almost like a stretched rubber band. It’s then you realize he’s been standing behind the two of you to get a Oreo box himself since you’ve taken up this section of the aisle. He wrings his hands together, eyeing the number of Oreo boxes you both hold, and through his teeth he says, “Why don’t you just get both?” 

“Oh.” Roseanne said dumly, heat creeping up her neck. She turns to you, “Well, let’s get both then.” You agree wordlessly, feeling mortified as well. 

After that experience, shopping for snacks was smooth sailing and you were out of the store in record time. You went back to your dorm and put everything in its respective places and Roseanne took care of the snack platters. 

And as she took care of the snacks— putting them in organized bowls and arrangements, you watched her with difficulty. She was color coding the candies; lining up the Oreos in rows; making sure no kernels fell in the bowl. When she shifted the charcuterie board’s position for the nth time, you flopped back onto the couch and let out a whine. “Roseanne, that’s the 6th time you’ve arranged it! I swear it looks fine.”

She gives you a withering look, not quite believing you, and her hands fidget at her sides for a moment more before she gives up, plopping into a chair. She only gets like this when she needs something to do. Never does she not have something to occupy her, and when she does it’s so incredibly difficult to relax.

You affirm that the board looks fine once more before unpausing the tv, though a shiver induced by the AC passes through you and you instinctively reach for the cover laying folded across the couch next to you. 

“That’s not a blanket,” Roseanne speaks up, making you pause and pull your hand back and look her way. “It’s not?” you question, staring at the soft checkered pattern.

“I mean, it is. But it’s not supposed to be used.”

You blink. “What’s the point of the blanket being on the couch if it can’t be used?”

“It’s for decoration, of course.”

You throw your arms back, amused but slightly exasperated. You’re cold!

“I’m joking,” she says. (She’s not. Its only real purpose was to sit there and look nice.) “You can use it.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

An obnoxious pattern of knocks sound at the door and you flinch. You’ve come to know that it was Lisa becuase of what you heard earlier. Roseanne gets up to answer the door.

You hear the voices of Lisa and Jennie along with a new voice and sit up, smiling as they walk in. “Hey guys,” you greet and they return. You tilt your head at the brunette. “Jisoo, I presume?”

“Yeah, it’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n).” You just about say the same before falling into conversation with them.

“You won’t believe what we saw in the hallways on the way here— some guy was running around butt naked in desperate need of something to cover up. I bet he got locked out by some friends or something.” Lisa says, plopping down next to you. 

You grimace. “I would be mortified. I wouldn’t show my face ever again.” Roseanne scrunches her nose up, agreeing with you. “Well, now that we’re all here let’s eat snacks and play some games. And by games I mean Poker and whatever else I have.”

You’re all seated around the glass coffee table in front of the couches, snack bowls at one end of the table up for grabs anytime and cards laid in front of you. You’ve dragged a beanbag chair into the room and occupied it. Lisa and Rosé sit adjacent to you on opposite sides of each other and Jennie and Jisoo sit with their legs criss-crossed on the other end.

Uno turns out to be a disaster. Everyone was making up their own rules and confusing the reverse and skip cards. Charades was the funniest thing you’ve ever witnessed. And Poker, it turns out, was fun. 

It turns out to be much easier to understand than you anticipated. Three cards are face up on the table, followed by another and the following, as explained by Roseanne. Jisoo and Lisa chime in with some pertinent facts and other oddball observations. A stack of plastic chips is placed in front of you when you demonstrate that you have a reasonable grasp and pledge to ask for assistance if necessary. They all promise you that betting is far more enjoyable. Lisa appears delighted that she won't run out of chips first. Lisa is quickly running out of chips and Jisoo and Roseanne have exhausted all of their chips, you all turn to look at the large stack in front of Jennie.

"Shark! She's a shark!" Lisa gripes, folding her arms and throwing her cards down on the table as she loses another hand.

"I haven't played before!" Jennie protests. "It's not exactly hard!"

"How are you winning then?" You whine, being in the same position as Jennie as a newbie. She’s a much better poker-newbie than you.

"How the hell do you do that?" Lisa asks exasperated.

"Math," Jennie says simply.

"Math?" Jisoo wonders aloud and Jennie turns to her.

"Yes, math. It's all a matter of probability. Isn't that how you do it?"

Your jaw has fallen to the floor, much like Lisa’s and Roseanne’s.

Jisoo looks at her with drawn brows. "Poker...and math?"

“Hah— you voluntarily do math outside of anything school related? I’m not surprised, smartass,” you say exasperated. Jennie is a law student after all, she was probably the smartest person in the room. Jennie laughs at your comment, quieting down when she feels a brush against her knee.

“That’s actually amazing to me Jen,” Jisoo says, smiling at the cat-eyed woman. “I really admire that about you, you know.” 

“It’s really nothing,” she replies, grinning sheepishly. At their prolonged eye contact, Jennie blushes, and just knowing the rosey color was blooming on her cheeks, she looked down, letting her hair fall like a curtain over her face. That grin of hers transformed into a wide and gummy smile.

“Another game?” Roseanne says, eying Jennie with mischief. Jennie looks up and meets her eyes and the mortified expression she made was comical to Roseanne. She wasn’t subtle at all, that was something Jennie knew— something everyone knew…except Jisoo.

 …

“Bye guys! This was fun, let’s do it again sometime.” You say sending off everyone.

After everyone leaves, you and Roseanne have the unanimous decision to clean up. It was a comfortable silence, you and her shuffling about with the low hum of her speaker’s music. You took the liberty of packing up the poker chips and cards into its box and clearing the table of any dishes. Roseanne was in the kitchen wiping down the counters and throwing away empty soda liters and takeout containers. 

After you fixed up the pillows and dragged the beanbag chairs back into the closet you met Roseanne in the kitchen. 

“Need some help?” You asked, eyeing the amount of dishes sitting in the bubbly water. You make a mental note to buy paper plates and cups.

“That would be nice. I could wash and rinse them and you could dry? Or vice-versa.”

“I’m cool with drying,” you say, moving around her to the other side. You leave out the part that you’re terrified of soggy food underneath your fingernails. It doesn’t look like she has any gloves either. You both begin the tasks then, and after she washed you dried the dishes she handed to you. Occasionally, your arms and elbows brushed together. 

You finished drying while Roseanne hopped in the shower. You were startled awake, having fallen asleep on the couch, by a tap on your shoulder. Your roommate gave you an apologetic smile. “You can get in now.”

You nod, dragging yourself up. This was why you weren’t a night owl. The drowsiness you felt at night was a crazy difference from how you were at the crack of dawn.

You get out of the shower, towel hanging around your neck, and Roseanne slides past you. “Goodnight,” you say, stifling a yawn as you stumble to your room. You lean on the doorframe as you wait for Roseanne to finish brushing her teeth. She comes out and heads to her own room, pausing in the doorway much like you. “Good night, (Y/n).” 

Your doors shut with a click and you plop down ungracefully on your bed, lazily kicking your sweats off. You're out like a light in five minutes. On the other side of the hallway, Roseanne is at her desk, where she pulls out her ragged camcorder. Sleep doesn’t come easily to her and when it does it isn’t the peaceful kind, hence why she stays up as long as she can. That is because she is afraid of her dreams.

She sets the camcorder on the surface in front of her and simply stares at it: the gray, nineteen-eighties camera her stepdad gave her for her twelfth birthday that still works till this day. It was the camera that saved her once, and in the end it will be what kills her.

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