#Is anyone surprised by the outcome of this

[shoyastars]

My Christmas Star

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A Binary Star Hero fanfic special, happy holidays everyone, I hope you have an amazing Christmas.

Now, for starters.

I am not the creator of Binary Star Hero nor am I the creator of Ray, these world all with the characters belong to Concreteparasite.

If you haven’t checked out the game I suggest you do so. However keep in mind that it is strictly for adults. Which also means this should also count as the same, the fandom is strictly not for minors, 18+ only.

Now, let’s begin.

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Ray never spent Christmas with anyone, and after some time away from family, you didn’t ether for some time.

Since Christmas was around the corner, you decided to give him a gift he won’t ever forget. You could get him a store bought gift, however handmade seems more thoughtful, or even just a day together seems more precious to him. So what would count in his eyes as a good gift?

The sound of the door snapped you out of your thoughts.

‘Strange… doesn’t he work longer hours during this time?’

“Ray?”

“Hey star.”

He gone over and kissed your cheek, you were still wondering why he’s home early.

“Don’t you work longer hours during this time?”

“Well yeah, strangely… they’re letting me have a break..”

A break? The NAHA allowed him to actually relax? Confusing as it was, you knew this could be used to possibly figure out what to make for him or what he thinks is a good gift.

“Well as suspicious as it is… I guess they finally realized you needed a break. So what do you plan on doing with this time off?”

“Hm, maybe spend as much time with you. That’s a great enough time consumer for me.”

“I don’t know if I’m ether flattered or insulted.”

You went to go get a mug to make some hot chocolate, while pouting. You felt Ray’s arms wrap around you for a gentle hug.

“Ether way, I’m glad to spend as much time with you as I can.”

You felt your heart beating in your ears along with your face heating up. How does he always manage to fluster you so easily? You were glad he enjoyed being with you. Even if he was taking a break from being Binary Star. That’s when the idea came to mind, he really does want to spend time with you every chance he gets, however you were human, so that still meant you couldn’t be with him 24/7, but what if you gave him a reminder of how much you miss him during work?

Thank god you both agreed reading your mind needs to stop. Otherwise the surprise would’ve been ruined.

The day out on the town was also a day you decide to secretly get some supplies for your gift for Ray, the snow was also falling and the chatter of people going Christmas shopping for the holiday filled the air. It was always busy this time of year, though a bit annoying, you can understand the reason being they wanted to get something nice for their family or friends. You made sure to keep the supplies stashed in your bag, you didn’t originally know how you were going to get it but you did. When Ray asked you why you were acting strange, you waved it off as just the cold season messing with you. Why did he believe it? You have no idea.

Sometimes you worried that he was going to discover the gift before you were done with it. You made sure to hide it from him what he came in the room or heard him coming. It was a bit hard to do so since he would suspect something, however it was only a few times and you still have a bunch of excuses before you run out.

When you were finally done it was the night before Christmas Eve, you smiled at your hard work, took some YouTube tutorials and some struggles but you were satisfied with the outcome. You couldn’t wait to give it to him, you put it in a small box for now since you were still hiding for him till Christmas Day comes. You look at your phone after doing so and see a part of town in the latest article. You thought you might as well take Ray with you to go see it.

“This late?”

You nod as Ray asked.

“Better late than never.”

“Uh… alright.”

Walking down the street you two were hand in hand, you were mostly leading the way. Ray smiled at your excitement to go see something.

“What exactly are we-“

“Look over here!”

The lights of the area brought a warm feeling as you saw how well the Christmas decorations were, you were so lucky they weren’t so far away from where you two were. The sight gave a nostalgic feeling to it. Ray noticed how happy seeing the sight, he had to admit it looked well decorated. You look at Ray and smiled as seemed to like them too. Your hand in his gripping onto it once more.

“I’m glad I get to spend my Christmas with you.”

Ray’s face though from the cold you spotted him with a bit of pink on his cheeks, he smiled afterwards.

“I’m glad I can spend my Christmas with my one and only Star.”

Ray hugged you as the lights glowed brightly. The warmth in the moment during the cold season felt ever so nice. The smile upon your face evident as you leaned into the hug. A Christmas worth spending together, and a New Year that will start with the two of you together. You couldn’t ask for anything more. The Best Christmas gift you could ever ask for.

The day you woke up for Christmas Eve you decided to check on the gift.

Only for it to be missing. You panicked, you searched for it frantically, where could it be?! Not here, not there! Where did it go???

You heard the door, you gone towards the door, it was Ray. He went out? He probably needed to get something.

“Hey Ray, how-“

He’s wearing the scarf you made him… did he find the other thing in there?

“What’s with the face?”

“The scarf… it’s-“

At first he didn’t get it.

“Said it would be more cold out today, thought I’d look for something to help keep me warm, i hope you don’t mind I borrow it if it’s yours.”

You felt like that surprise was ruined up until you saw the handmade bracelet you made for him. That’s when you realized, this mother fucker…

“You son of a bitch..”

“Oh, so you finally realized I couldn’t wait for your secret surprise for me?”

“YOU ASSHOLE I THOUGHT IT WAS RUINED!”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

You pouted, as he laughed a bit.

“I might have accidentally read your mind yesterday, however I couldn’t wait till Christmas. Anything handmade from you will always count as a gift any day.”

You blushed as he then kissed your forehead, he liked the gift. He really did like the gift.

“I wasn’t sure about mine until I saw your gift, I’m not as good as you were but… here.”

He handed you your gift, and you opened it, a pair of gloves and a bracelet. Guess you both had the same idea except different winter wear.

“I always want to spend time with you, however I thought the other way around, I thought just a box of gloves was silly, and bracelet was nothing. Until I heard your thoughts and looked at your gift. Made me feel better about it.”

“I love it.”

“Huh?”

“I love them both. Thank you.”

You hugged Ray as you set the box aside, who would’ve thought such small things for each other as a good gift at the same time. Turned out to be the best gift ever.

“Best Christmas ever.”

“Haha, agreed. Best Christmas Ever.”

You spent Christmas Day together, in each other’s company. Definitely the best Christmas you’ve had in a long time.

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Merry Christmas to all and to all a lovely new year!

✨🎄✨

[thestraggletag]

Kin, Part 1 of 3

Prompt: Dragon, Transform, Capture, Marriage, Nest

Giftee: @minnl70

Summary: Chosen by the Blue Fairy to slay the last dragon, Belle defies her fate and strikes a deal with the beast, Rumplestiltskin. As they search for a way to break the enchantment, an unexpected bond begins to form, but magic is never without a price—and never quite straightforward.

Rating: M

A/N: Surprise, @minnl70, it's me, your Secret Santa! I'm away on holidays right now but I made sure to properly queue this up for you. If all goes well all chapters of this fic will be posted today, but I'll try to check to make sure they are (and, if possible, also upload the fic to AO3, which I know makes it easier to read). Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Belle had forgotten what it was like to live without the ever-present threat of ogres. What it was like to not be a prisoner in the fortified castle that was keeping her people alive and protected. What it felt like to not have fear coat the back of her throat. She should be glad that, finally, a fairy had consented to come to their aid. And not just any fairy, but the Blue Fairy, rumoured to be the most powerful of them all. And yet the Lady of the Marchlands felt more uneasy in front of the tiny creature that she had felt in the midst of an ogre attack. There was something about her, something in her demeanour and her syrupy voice that unnerved her.

Maybe it was that she was just now answering their summons. Why not before, when the problem of ogres was easier to fix? Before the bloodshed and the loss of territory? Before the death of her mother? When she had tried to ask that, the fairy had dismissed her concerns, explaining that she could only “just now” be of assistance, without any further elaboration. To Belle the only difference between then and now was the increased desperation, and she couldn’t help but think that this is why the Blue Fairy had waited. For them to be desperate enough to agree to anything, and pay any price.

“The solution to your problem is very simple, though it lies beyond my abilities alone. You need a dragon. Unfortunately, there’s only one left.”

Everyone knew that. Just as everyone knew that, in a distant past, dragons had been uncommon, but not rare, creatures. Nowadays there was only one left, known popularly as the “Dark One”, a being of immense power and magic, that was unlikely to come to their aid.

“Dragons are hard to command, but I can bind its essence to a mortal and subjugate it.” The Blue Fairy spoke of slaving a magical creature as if she was commenting on the weather, or what colour would be in fashion next season. “But it cannot be just any mortal we choose. It must be a maiden, beautiful of body and mind, with blue blood. Someone important.”

It didn’t take a smart person to decipher what the fae meant, and if anyone had any doubts the way her father fiercely opposed the notion would make it very clear. Belle shrunk back in the shadows, uncomfortable with the way the fairy looked at her when she spoke about the binding. There was a greed behind her eyes that felt all too human as she raised her wand without warning and swished it around in her direction, letting fairy dust  float over to her, seeming to take her consent and cooperation for granted.

“It is the only way, sire.”

“To Hell with it. To hell with you. There is no way my little girl is getting anywhere near a dragon.”

In the end, in spite of the protest of all his advisors, Lord Maurice had sent the Blue Fairy away, though she had promised to return in a month’s time, so that the Lord had “enough time to come to his senses”. There was no defeat in her person, only that self-assured, condescending look that told her that she thought she knew the outcome of things already.

Ordinarily, Belle would have felt uncomfortable at the notion that her father would prize her safety above the safety of her people, but she was glad that he sent the Blue Fairy away. Once she was gone Belle was free to go to their library, or what remained of it, and do her own research about what Reul Ghorm had claimed. The books did all seem to point towards a dragon as the most likely solution to her problem. Ogres feared to tread on land claimed by a dragon. It was why ogres incursions had become much more common than a thousand years ago, and why the ogre population had expanded to such a degree. If their land was guarded by a dragon they would be safe not just from this horde, but from any other that appeared in the future. It seemed that the Blue Fairy had not been lying about that, but it didn’t necessarily mean Belle could trust her. There was something else, a reason why the fairy would suddenly seek to help them after years of fighting ogres. Something she hoped to gain for herself that Belle had no intention of giving her. Her unfinished spell had settled on her like a mark on her, a patch of skin on her left shoulder blade, where Blue had rested her wand before her father had stopped her, that seemed to burn whenever she thought about the fairy, as if in warning. 

She kept on investigating, sure that there would be another way of dealing with the Dark One that did not involve forcing him into bondage. She delved deeper, going to the most obscure section of the library, which had blessedly been preserved from the ogre attack that had killed her mother. The scant few ancient tomes they had were housed there, books so archaic they were written in obscure languages almost no one spoke anymore. Languages Belle had mastered the reading of years ago, in secret, after being told those books were forbidden to her. 

It wasn’t until she was halfway through a heavily water-damaged book that she learned the truth. There was a reason why dragons whisking away princesses was a cliche present in most stories told to children. It was because the fairies had been using maidens for what looked like centuries to kill dragons. The book detailed only one such case, which she would’ve dismissed if she hadn’t almost experienced something identical. According to the book dragons were bound to maidens not so they could be tamed, like it had been promised, but so that they would be made vulnerable. The maiden was whisked away and killed by the creature, and later on a knight or a prince, seeking to avenge the woman would- with the help of the fairies, and some prodding along the way- slay the beast and become a dragon-slayer.

It didn’t take Belle long to envision who the fairies had had in mind for that role. She was, after all, betrothed to a hunter. Gaston was a nobleman in the most lax sense of the word, for there was nothing noble in his behaviour or his thoughts. Violent and bloodthirsty, Belle had no doubt he would be more eager to add the title of dragonslayer to the ones he already possessed than to avenge her.

The ogres were an excuse. A means to an end. A way to have a small kingdom become so desperate that their king would be willing to risk one of his daughters. Her papa’s overprotectiveness, his fierce love for her, was the one thing the fairy had not counted on. She had hoped the ogres would be enough of a bargaining chip to get her father to agree.

Belle didn’t find the prospect of dying very appealing, nor the idea of causing the death of the last dragon, and helping the Blue Fairy achieve whatever she was hoping to achieve with the extermination of the Dark One. So, instead, she pivoted on her search, looking for ways to summon dragons. They had a reputation as dealmakers, creatures interested in bargaining to get what they wanted. Surely she could make a deal so that the dragon would protect her people and drive the ogres away. This way she would be in control of her destiny, and serve no other purpose than her own. 

She did the summoning just as the sun set a fortnight after the Blue Fairy had been driven away. She forced herself to act nonchalant as she told her father she planned to take one of the horses and scour a nearby meadow for medicinal herbs they were in desperate need of, kissing his cheek lightly when all she wanted was to throw herself into his arms and have her father hug her so tight he’d lift her off the floor like when she was a child. She made herself pack lightly, lest she arouse suspicion. Some spare undergarments, a little medicine, her favourite book, ink and paper in case there was ever an opportunity to write to her father. She had already done so, leaving a detailed letter in her room that would explain everything to him, along with the books she had consulted and a translated copy of the important passages. She wanted him to understand, if nothing else. And she promised to come back if she could.

With that she took Philippe, her oldest and most reliable horse, and took off into a clearing in the woods she hoped would be private enough, the trees so old they were amongst the tallest in the Enchanted Forest. There all she had to do was say the name of the dragon- it’s real name, written and almost entirely crossed out a number of times in her book- three times.

“Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin!”

Nothing happened, for the longest time, to the point where Belle began to despair of having to summon the Blue Fairy after all, when something moved in the darkness beyond the clearing. A pair of dark gold eyes appeared, followed by the glint of golden scales as the dragon stepped into the bit of sun the trees around her couldn’t cover. It was a huge creature, but smaller than what she had envisioned, with green-gold scales covering his belly and dark ochre ones on the rest of its body. It walked on four legs with the grace of a cat, and its eyes spoke of intelligence beyond that of any animal. And not just intelligence, but craftiness. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Even though she had assumed the dragon would be able to communicate somehow, it still surprised her when it spoke in a low, sibilant voice.

“My name is Belle and I’m-”

“Oh, I know who you are, dearie. Which begs the question… What’s the beautiful maiden doing, alone in the woods with the scary dragon?”

“I know I have nothing to be afraid of. I’ve read about it, about where all the stories about abducted princesses and slayed dragons come from.” She paused when she saw the slightest change in the dragon’s expression, from faintly-mocking to suspicious. She was surprised at how expressive it could be, given the scales and the sharp angles of its face. “Can you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The Blue Fairy’s magic on me.”

Its frown- his frown really- deepened, and he moved his long neck to get his nose closer to her, taking in a deep breath before huffing out a puff of smoke, as if it had scented something foul. Before it could be angry at her she rushed to explain that she was not in any rush to rid the world of its last dragon. She told him the entire story, about her people’s desperation and how, finally, the Blue Fairy had come to offer her help. What she had told them about dragons and how she had managed to start her spell before her father had thrown her out of the castle, and what she had uncovered afterwards.

“So, instead of dealing with one duplicitous magical creature, you decided to turn to a far more dangerous one for help? Why would I even help you, dearie? I could just pluck you from here and put you atop a tall tower with no doors and be rid of you as a problem.”

“And I could leap from the tower. Or starve myself. And then you’d be mortal.”

The dragon stood very still, looking at her more intently, only his tail swishing back and forth, which she took to mean he was displeased. Or perhaps curious. She had the feeling he was very much used to getting his way, and hadn’t counted on her having thought things through. She couldn’t tell whether that gave her an advantage or simply served to make him angry.

“But I won’t. I won’t do any of those things. I will come willingly, if you get rid of the ogres in my land. It’ll give you time to figure out how to undo Reul Ghorm’s magic. And then we can part ways in peace.”

The dragon seemed to study her for the longest time, eyes slightly narrowed and strangely still, looking more like a gleaming statue than a live creature. Then, after what felt like an eternity, it unfurled its wings to pounce on her, talons catching on the edges of her cloak.

“Deal’s struck, dearie!”

There was a cloud of burgundy magic, smelling of burnt wood and sage instead of the Blue Fairy’s cloying flower smell, and when she could see again she was in what looked like a castle.

“Is this where you live?”

Belle wasn’t sure what she had pictured, but it wasn’t the run-down opulence of her surroundings.

“Disappointed it’s not a cave? Or a mountain made of bones?”

She shook her head, even though she had pictured something more akin to a cave. The castle was dark, barely lit by a few pitiful, sputtering torches on the walls, and the faint light coming from a series of tall but hopelessly-dirty windows. It smelt damp but also of burnt wood, and a layer of ashes seemed to cover everything. She could feel the chill in the air and knew, without seeing, that it was snowing outside. They were likely atop a mountain, given the thinness of the air.

“Come along, dearie, I’ll show you where you can sleep and be out of the way.”

The sheer size of the castle allowed the dragon room to move, though it was a tight fit in narrow corridors and down winding stairs, not checking to see whether she was following him or even if she could, given what little light there remained as they went deeper down into the bowels of the castle. They finally came to what looked like-

“A dungeon? You want me to sleep in a dungeon?”

The dragon turned away, uninterested in whether she agreed or not.

“You can do as you please, dearie. This is the cleanest and warmest place you’ll find to sleep tonight.”

Sleep was not exactly something Belle saw a lot of that night, curled up over a pile of musty straw, her cloak wrapped tightly around her as she let herself cry, thinking about her father, who had likely already discovered what she had done, thinking of her room, which still smelt like the lavender packets her more insisted they make every year, and everything of hers she had left behind.

The crying must have eventually exhausted her, because she woke up the next morning to less darkness than before. There was a small sliver of a window up high from which some pale morning light seemed to enter. With it she could see the mouse holes, the gossamer spider webs in the corners and the patches of mold in the bits of hay she had discarded the night before by their smell. There was, also, an old oil lamp, the handle rusted over but with a bit of oil still inside. She lit it using one of the torches outside and decided to go exploring, deciding that at least she needed to identify a source of freshwater, and hopefully a place with food.

The castle was less intimidating in the light of day. It gave off an air of fargone opulence, of wealth and power having fallen into disrepair and neglect. She went from room to room, trying to come across anything that resembled a kitchen. Instead she found herself in a bit, opulent room, with faded but once-rich tapestries and thick rugs on the floor. It felt warmer than anyone else, inviting her inside, till something made her stand still.

There was someone else in the room. She didn’t know how she could tell, a feeling in her bones she had never had before, but she was absolutely sure. She held out the lantern in front of her, as far as her arm could reach, and waited for her eyes to adjust. At first she saw nothing, just the expected darkness. But as her eyes adjusted to it she began to notice a faint shape. Thin and scraggly, barely taller than her, and full of sharp angles. Decidedly non-human, but unlike any creature she’d ever seen.

“Who are you?”

The thing seemed to vibrate with excitement at her question, large, golden eyes focusing on her. Belle rather thought she felt like a rabbit ought, when spotted by a wolf. Every nerve-ending was tingling, age-old instincts telling her to turn and run. To escape. But she knew those eyes, as impossible as it seemed.

“I think you know, dearie.”

His voice was heavily accented, and higher than what one would expect from a human male. It had a sing-songy quality to it, a mocking sort of undertone that was difficult to ignore. It was a silly voice meant to contrast with the dangerous nature of the speaker, but still carried a faint sibilant trace she recognised.

“You’re the Dark One.”

The figure in the shadows moved until it was partially in the light. She saw then that her initial impression was right: a thin, unnatural figure dressed in ripped leathers and hide, with green-gold, scaly skin, golden eyes and matted long hair. Sharp teeth too, from what she could see. Much like his dragon form in many ways, but different at the same time. Less unreadable, perhaps, now that she could better understand his mannerisms.

“Dragons are natural shapeshifters, and as large as this castle is it can be quite uncomfortable to navigate in my other form. This is as much the real me as the creature you met yesterday. And an infinitely more convenient form to read books in. Easier to turn the pages, and less likelihood of burning some priceless tome to a crisp.”

The dragon seemed just as dangerous in his smaller form as he did in his big one, the taint of dark magic hanging around him like a cloak, so potent even someone with no magic like her could feel it. Still, they had an agreement, and everything she had read about the Dark One said he never reneged on deals.

“Is there anything you need in particular, dearie? Can’t think of any reason why you wouldn’t be avoiding me like mice avoid cats.”

The way he smiled at her at that, showing his teeth as if to remind her that he was predator and she prey. Belle took a deep breath, bringing the lantern closer to her so the light would bolster up her courage.

“I need to know the way to the kitchens. You don’t want me to starve any more than I do, so it’d be helpful if I could know where the food and the water are.”

He flicked a clawed finger, a tiny wisp flame forming in the air. It was a strange, almost green colour and danced around, as if eager.

“Follow the little wisp, it’ll guide you to the kitchens. You can take whatever you want from there, if it’ll keep you from bothering me.”

With another flick of his wrist the flame was off, scurrying quickly out of the room and leaving a faint green-gold trace in its wake that Belle barely managed to catch. It seemed to weave in and out of hallways for what felt like forever, but finally it led her the right way, towards a filthy, but very spacious, kitchen. Cobwebs, dirt and grime covered almost every surface area she could see, and the amount of space highlighted how barren the room was. Some fishing around uncovered a barrel of questionable apples and some hard bread, but nothing more. There was a well just outside, sheltered from the wind by the castle walls, which was difficult but not impossible to operate. 

She understood then the glee the creature showed when she mentioned wanting something to it. The dragon clearly disliked her and her presence there, and she couldn’t exactly blame him, when maidens had been used for hundreds of years to decimate dragons. She couldn’t fathom what it would be like, to be the last human. To have no kin. To live alone.

Her situation was not so dire in comparison, and she told herself that as she gathered up her hair and munched on the least sour apple she could find. She could make the best of a bad situation. The castle might be a bit rundown, but it was spacious and beautiful, full of interesting nooks to explore. This was an adventure, if she was only brave enough to take it on.

[heylittleriotact]

The only reason Emmrich isn’t a puddle of grief on the Lighthouse floor the way he should be in his non-lich resolution is because he cheated death - this time. He has a legacy in Manfred and makes peace with the fact that with training, Manfred will be able to care for himself when he eventually dies, but he only got here in the first place by fucking around with the natural order.

The playing field is still even in this outcome between he and Rook: they’re both mortal, and they will both inevitably die, but they may choose a life together that could be prosperous and joyful and all the other sentimental shit Emmrich has yearned for.

If he “accepts” Manfred’s death and becomes a lich, he does actually mourn him. There’s the banter where Davrin remarks that he heard crying coming from Emmrich’s room, which implies that he’s privately confronting those feelings of loss. Some people read this as regret, but I honestly think it’s grief presenting itself in a complicated manner for Emmrich.

Emmrich’s grief in this case is complicated because not only is he dealing with the emotional complexity of grieving a child who isn’t *technically* his child, but we’re adding survivor’s guilt on top of that, and the fact that Manfred’s sacrifice was ultimately his ticket to immortality.

That’s a-fucking-lot to unpack.

Is it any surprise that he’s weeping alone in his room when he thinks no one is around? How could ANYONE understand? WHY would anyone understand? So he hides it away and doesn’t even talk about it to Rook, his partner, and man… that is a slippery ass slope to some wildly unhealthy coping behaviours.

In real life you might see someone stuck in complicated grief become depressed, socially withdrawn, emotionally erratic, fall into substance abuse, self-harm, self-destructive behaviour, or suicide. Complicated grief is a bitch. Because remember - grief is vital: it is personal, but it is also communal, and Emmrich starts out his journey into lichdom by slipping into complex, isolated grief over Manfred’s passing.

So now instead of a regular person, you’ve got an immortal super-mage who can never die dealing with death TERRIBLY. This forms the foundation for his approach to death for eternity. Of COURSE he’s going to be insufferable to Rook. Of COURSE he’s going to take a holier-than-thou “be more careful please” stance without any thought to the staggering power imbalance that exists between them now.

It’s the most tragic, self-destructive ending for Emmrich, framed in a way that’s almost poetically cruel. He’s fucked himself, and he can’t un-fuck himself, and he has to live with that forever. He might be in denial about it for a month, a year… a century - but he’ll get there eventually.

You finally found the love of your life that you yearned for desperately for decades? You will smother them. Burden them. Shackle them unwittingly with your own shitty, shitty insecurity because even though you’re immortal you refuse to accept the natural order.

Regardless of which outcome you go with, Emmrich is in dire need of therapy. Luckily, as a human and not an immortal undead lich, he can do a lot less damage to himself and those he claims to love. But he really does need to work through his issues around his fear of death, his denial of mortality, and his insecurities in relationships, and I think if he stays mortal it’s more likely that in time once the world is saved and he and Rook settle down, he would be open to addressing those things - or hell he might even identify and work on them himself because he’s got the support of his partner - his EQUAL - who will stand by him and help him navigate things however they can.

Lich Emmrich though? He doesn’t feel like he *needs* to. Rook is no longer an equal, they are someone to be cherished and protected like an exceedingly old and rare edition of a book. They lose their personhood in EmmLich’s eyes and eventually become a possession, which should disgust him and he’d deny it vehemently but it’s true.

This is very rambling and badly worded and I’m just spewing random disjointed thoughts without any real point, @aldisobey I really loved this and how insidiously sweet it was. It’s just perfect. Thank you for writing it 🤍

Fuel to Fire

AO3 Link - Fuel to Fire

A gift on this eve! Finally got it to a point where I don't mind sharing. Emmlich content, come get some Emmlich and Rook angst. It's got comfort and warmth and I've been with it too long just take it before I start hating it again. Tagging @emmg you asked for it! (oh yeah and the title is just the song I listened to the most, it's how I'm naming things because eugh naming things how). Technically part two in a series, check out Nascent Blight if you need more.

Word Count: ~3k

Relationship: Rook Thorne x Emmlich, M/M

Full story below because why not

Emmrich paced the room, green flickers of his skull mixing light with the soothing glow of the water’s reflection on the ground. Rook sprawled out on the divan, head back on the armrest, eyes closed, and rubbed at his temples. Peeked a moment at the towering necromancer gleaming soft in the muted room.

“Rook.” Emmrich’s stern tone made him squeeze his eyes shut. The lich ceased pacing and stood near the small table at the center. Hands folded behind him he faced the waters. “That was reckless.”

The Warden was still coated in lingering blight from the Wetlands. He’d meant to clean up and go celebrate the Eruption’s destruction on return to the Lighthouse, but it was all he could do to drag himself here. He could still feel the echo of it. Too close, too much.

He gripped his head, pressed hard as he dared to drive away the thrumming recollection of whispers. Thank whatever luck graced him it hadn’t…his hands dropped. One to the ground, the other his chest. Their pressures had provided no relief. It would fade, always had, should have stopped when they burned the thing, but something of it’s nature let that damnable echo persist. That or a head injury, he’d taken some hits.

He sighed. Slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to glance at Emmrich’s back facing him.

“Had to be done.” Equally stern in a quiet way, exhaustion clear.

“You might have left the matter to Davrin.” A resounding voice. The folded hands clenched, then released, flicked to the side as Emmrich turned round to fix Rook with his hollow stare, “Or Evka and Antoine, or any number of other Wardens in Lavendell.”

“Emmrich,” Rook responded more softly, slowly, but kept firm, “I had my reasons.”

“And?” The skull tilted, frustration snipping, “Were those reasons worth it?” Emmrich gestured towards Rook, everything said in that tone and movement. Today had not been easy for the rogue. Taash had to half carry him back.

“Yes.” Grumbling, he swung his legs off the divan, sat up properly to face Emmrich’s accusations. “They were.” He straightened his back and squared off his shoulders, suppressed the pulse built on his forehead with a heavy blink. “Look. I brought Taash because they can burn whatever comes their way. And I brought you because you’re undead.”

Emmrich twitched, almost imperceptibly, at that. Rook might’ve missed it had his attention on the lich been less than absolute, but the movement sent his stomach falling. He bit at his tongue and rushed on.

“We got the job done alright? Lavendell can thrive. Everyone safe.” He rushed the words. Kept them short. Folded his arms. He might’ve looked petulant, but the wear of the day was too loud. Holes in the sleeves, tears on the sides, slash on the leg, all red stained, all healed flesh below, but memories of wounds. Everywhere.

“Darling. What about you?” Emmrich’s voice shook, seeing more than the evident physical. Undead eyes exposed a roiling of lingering red pain whispers, swirling confusion, exhaustion like a leaded blanket.

“Hmm? I’m already blighted, it was no concern.” Rook shrugged, doing his best to appear at ease. Brush off the worry, confirm the wellness of the situation. They were here, they were whole, they…

“Enough.” A snarl of exasperation, Emmrich stepped closer, seeming ever taller as he approached, “Davrin would have joined us had it been no concern. You brought Taash.” There was finality in the words, a stillness as the simmering anger evened and burned with purpose, “I was there, Rook. Your Warden friends were quite clear on the danger that Eruption posed to you.”

Rook grimaced, rubbed his hands, felt over callus, cut, and bruise. It hurt. He added pressure, focused the pain there.

Emmrich was right of course. The lingering pounding in his head was testament to that. What if the Eruption had sparked something? It felt safer for Taash to be there with their fire. Why put more than one Warden at risk? How many was it if not him? If not Davrin? Thoughts roiling he shrank below that green gaze burrowing into him feet away. Rook realized then he’d gone slack jawed, unable to think of an acceptable excuse. But no. He had made the right call.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“Fine!” Rook growled and stood using the armrest with a stifled groan. Patience worn thin after all the drumming in his skull he put his hands to his hips when he reached his full height and glared up at Emmrich.

He didn’t shout, but matched the steaming frustration, “I knew it was dangerous for me. Alright? But I had to do it.” The words came out through grit teeth, biting back the desire to escalate.

Emmrich drew back. Not a step, but into himself. “Dearest...”

“No, don't dearest me.” It came out like a hiss, and Rook leaned the smallest degree forward, “The Grey Wardens need every last person after all this.” His hands flailed out, gesturing vaguely to the world at large, “After Weisshaupt…” A breath found him. The fury caught on his tongue. This shouldn’t be so hard.

He cleared his throat, kept strong, “My jobs done once we’ve killed those gods.” His hands returned to his temples for a moment to steady himself, applied pressure to calm the beat. The blood flushing to his face couldn’t be helping.

Rook gave his head a shake and looked askance, maker how did a skull appear sad, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Unable to face Emmrich in that hunched posture before him. Bent, mourning, pathetic…no, Rook swallowed. Not that. The necromancer didn’t stand alone. The lean was enclosing him, protective. He dared a glance forward.

The lich stood draping the Warden in shadow like some gilded ribbed vaulting. And Rook, an insignificant supplicant come, with soft flesh aching, stinking of blight. Before a cathedral.

“Davrin’s got a book in the works!” He sputtered before he forgot all of the pieces reinforcing his decision. “Antoine makes such things?” Because it had been the right decision, “Can you imagine things if left to Evka’s hands?” They would all flourish after he did his part.

“You think I’d risk a single one of them?” Voice a hushed whisper of desperation. He couldn’t bear it.

No. The gods died next. No one else.

Tomorrow. His mind kept at a furious pace. A last check on Lavendell. Then Treviso, the Crows had word. He could feel cold sweat on his neck, they might have a location. Almost there. Not much longer now, almost safe, and all at once his legs went weak. Rook sank, barely controlled, back down to the divan. He settled with elbows on his knees, hands holding his head, and stared down at the floor. Could feel welling in his eyes, blinked it away.

“Rook,” Emmrich’s voice was slow, the gentle echo of a creek; water over stones as it traveled through him, “I’m sorry.”

Sincerity. Rook could feel it. Feel his nerves still at the serene appeal, “You carry the weight of every decision. Don’t you?” Not a question, a declaration, and in hearing it, so firmly spoken, Rook quaked.

“You were exemplary today.” Finally. A shuddering breath, a tiny lift, that voice of praise, a warming balm.

“My love,” The words sank deep past the skin, something in the tone kneading them firmly within the chest, past bone and into heart where a soul might sit, “let me help you.” Rook sniffed, didn’t trust his voice, dipped a nod once. Emmrich extended his hand, gestured towards Rook’s head.

Movements small, close, Rook leaned in, but then gave start, bit his lip, froze, “..wait.” He still needed to scour, make sure every speck of blight was gone, that could take awhile for hair.

“That’s of no concern.” Emmrich smirked.

Rook looked up as that comforting palm settled soft on his head. Peered past the linen, memories flashing of that arched brow, those lidded eyes, and met a crowned skull, flickering flame. He’d heard it in the tone.

His eyes went wide, tight pain gripped his chest. That was the cost wasn’t it? But then, he felt his heart beat. There was that…the desire...ever since…

'Rook’s Necromancer. An excellent subject to test how long one could go back and forth between life and death.'

Rook blinked at the perfect, beautiful, loving undead skull staring back at him, the whisper of hope escaping from dreams and solidifying here and now.

“You’re safe.” Rook choked out the words.

Then collapsed. Gone so limp he would have fallen from couch to floor had Emmrich not anticipated the movement and dropped to his knees to catch him in his arms.

They dropped together a moment, Emmrich’s arms a cushioning guide. And once stable, once still, he lifted, held the trembling man close, and carefully settled down on the divan with him. The Warden, for his part, was all snot and tears, clinging to the lich’s robes. His arms wrapped tight around the ribcage as he pressed close as he could.

"Emmrich, it can't…” His voice and body shook, words closing off in the shudder of relief.

Emmrich cradled Rook as tight as he dared, a soft hush drifting from him as he brought calm in his firm embrace. There was no measured breathing to guide the man hiccupping into his cloak, so Emmrich purposefully rubbed Rook’s back in the rhythm of a breath, and with a few extra movements green sprites darted from his fingers. All at once sound was still and calm around Rook’s hearing, and then began the sigh of trees, wind through leaves, in measured cadence to help level the rogue’s racing heart.

Rook almost felt a cool breeze on his skin same as he heard it, and the glow of water and flame mixed like light through the leaves to his eyes. He sighed, then lifted his head, buried it beneath the lich’s chin, felt his final quivers fade as a hum traveled in waves through the bones embracing him, back and forth, kissing skin where it touched, a fleeting doting touch. The beginnings of a smile and easy breath came to him at last.

Emmrich’s voice sounded quiet around…in…where his head lay. The traveling hum returned deep and pleasant, warming the skin where it passed. “My love. To think…you worried over me, to such...” Disbelief mixed with adoration, Emmrich’s voice eased its way into Rook’s waiting ears, pure love. The lost words saying more than any uttered.

Rook was steady now, melting instead of shivering, he clung to that genuine smile dawning on his lips, he could have this at least. They couldn’t take this. Rook tilted his head up to whisper to the air where Emmrich’s throat might’ve been.

“I love you.”

He put his head back down as he felt both of Emmrich’s hands move up to massage his scalp. The room was incandescent with green, the necromancer’s palms the epicenter of the glow. Focused. He plied at the Warden’s head. His movements were rhythmic, the magic alive with a pulse and rippling at his direction.

Rook could feel the echos become sated, the answering ebb of the necrotic channeling a path of release, carrying the riptide tight and rebounding in his skull back out to sea. Ease and push, gentle waves of magic and fingers worked the movements with Fade and physical, gently towing that ache out from the Warden’s skull.

Rook yawned, almost a thrum while in Emmrich's care, “Of course I was worried.” And he stretched in small movements, “You immortal fool.” His voice was low, pining, enraptured by the fool he entrusted with his care. Emmrich didn’t reply, his voice occupied in the ending incantations. Otherwise they kept in silence, the soft green glow encasing Rook’s scalp continuing to pulse, dancing with the shimmering from the tank.

“Darling,” when Emmrich's voice finally graced Rook again it sent warmth flashing through him, “I’m safe.” A rolling delight, the aches and pains losing hold, Rook groaned, toes curled as every muscle seemed to tighten, and hold. Then release.

The magic dimmed. Rook breathed heavy, then slow, then measured, calm. Almost asleep.

Emmrich sighed, his voice an echo that resounded through the room. He took a long laborious moment to take off his crown, and with utmost care placed it on the table behind them. Then, barefaced as possible, spoke gentle, the deep echo private now, tumbling only to the Warden’s ears, “But, Sir Thorne.” He looked down at Rook, tilted the man’s face to look up from where it lay on his sternum, kept his tracing fingers there, touch yearning. “You are most unsafe.”

Rook felt his eyes go hot at the words, if only because Emmrich’s couldn’t, and he could hear the despondent tears held in the lich’s tone. He tried to look away, but that meant leaving that soft touch on his chin, he pressed down into the palm instead.

“I’m sorry.” he twisted his head deeper into the hand, whispered the mumbled words into Emmrich’s thumb. The thumb traced Rook’s lips a moment, but seemed distant, moving further away.

“Those are words, Rook.” Emmrich’s hand withdrew, Rook looked up, sensing the gravity in the next words had been stressed by absent touch. “Please. If only out of love for me. Take more thought and action towards your safety?”

Rook gave the barest of nods, mind rebelling against the gross hope of self preservation. He nestled back down and away from the skull’s sight. Emmrich’s voice grumbled in old exasperation, his hands moving to cradle the Warden’s skull and massage along his neck. “If you remain so determined to put your life at risk I’ll have no choice but to drag you to the deepest tombs of the Necropolis. Seal you there until you develop a modicum of sense.”

“That a promise?” Rook’s voice surprised them both, and had Emmrich been able to feel heat his hands might have burned from where they held Rook. So quick and fierce was the flush on the man, so immediate the reply, it came without thought, driven by something deeper.

He could feel the lich’s fingers dig hard into his skin. Maker he really did want...The skull was staring up and away from him now. But Rook could hear the words resound in his own chest, “Don’t tempt me.” A low rolling warning, like thunder from a storm still away. But Rook could sense the ache, felt his heart quicken at what some choice words might lead to, felt the barest tremor in the hands holding him, but then they were gone. The storm gave way to trickling laughter at the thought.

Emmrich moved to extricate himself from the divan, took extra care to settle Rook comfortably in place. Hummed away the lighthearted mirth as he stood free and took off his cloak, gently draped it over the fading Warden, “Seriously, dearest, you mustn't jest.”

Rook held tight to the lich’s cloak and burrowed into it, buried his face deep in the lapel as he muttered half asleep already, “Don’t tease, you started it”.

He yawned. Felt warm, eased his mind to think of falling quiet, but the shiver of dreams crept up at him. The Fade always awaited, didn't it. Rook bit at his cheek, blinked an eye open to peek out from beneath the cloak. Emmrich was still there, though his back was turned to him now, he had taken to quiet pacing again, fish in the tank following as he glittered in the pale light.

“Emmrich.” Rook whispered.

“Hmm?” Emmrich paused midstep, fish paused midswim.

Rook stifled a chuckle, overcome at that moment with overwhelming adoration. He could ask this, a beaming smile hidden beneath the cloak, eye twinkling from beneath the fabric he muttered, “You once comforted me by saying the lich lords were, ‘Unlikely to visit your slumber’.”

Rook mused, calling back to that first time, that first terror. Emmrich had been so excited to share, so animated when explaining, the first time Rook heard the word ‘Lich’. Ice had taken Rook’s veins then. Fresh terror, new fear, but what emotion did he know better? And what a blessing it could be? His blood ran cold. Something deep in his gut warned him, but he ignored it. Looked long at the lich before him, fish following Emmrich’s concerned sway, and let the prickling sensation thaw, there could be warmth here, “Is that…something…you could do?” He finally asked.

“Oh.” The lich seemed to stand taller, an edge of excitement to his tone. “I hadn’t the time to consider it.” He started towards Rook, came to kneel at his side, put a hand on the cloak where the man’s shoulder lay, head tilting in question, “Would that interest you?”

Rook poked more of his head out so that his lips could be read, voice a hush, “Maybe…if you can, just uh check in?” He swallowed, “That song, it's in dreams…it’s worse…” Emmrich’s hushing tones cut off Rook. One hand going so far as to pull the cloak back up to cover the Warden's mouth and tuck him in.

“My love, speak no further. Sleep. Nothing will dare trouble your dreams.”

“Thank you…you know you can troub…”

“Another time darling. Please. Rest.”

Eyes closed Rook could hear the smirk again, felt a heaviness settle in his limbs, swore he was already dreaming when he heard the warmth in the immortal’s voice holding him, was that a lullaby? And sleep took him.

[danielnelsen]

so if you romance and ascend astarion you can kick him in the balls when he tries to turn you and it’s just very funny, he’s so pissy about it. so much for the most powerful vampire of all time or whatever, he stamps around like a toddler and then leaves forever

[solanaceae-piperita]

hAAHHAHAHAH THIS IS THE BEST THING TO HAPPEN TO ME SHFBJSHDFBDSF

[battleguqin]

I stole it from @h3artf3ltint3nt

Which Untamed/MDZS do you relate to on an emotional level

Lan Sizhui

excellent result! you're probably the voice of reason among your friends and hold the braincells, but that doesn't mean you're boring or anything- it just means that when you do cause trouble you tend to get away with it because of your Good Kid Energy. you dislike conflict and avoid drama, but that's because you care a lot about other people and it can be exhausting to be around arguments all the time. don't feel like you have to fix everything though- you'll just end up exhausted and burned out! i bet you give really great gifts and have good taste in music, and were probably well liked by your teachers in middle school.

[zamalie]

this one manager at my work is like determined to get everyone to hate her

[whitehartlane]

ppl agreeing with klopp and saying a replay should be the outcome of mistakes like this, erm … think about it practically. does liverpool start with 9 men or do they send the two who were sent off (correctly and by law!) at the time they were sent off? when do we play the game? if the lineups are supposed to stay the same, what about gakpo who’s injured and son who’s carrying a knock? or do we choose different lineups? do we start 0-1 to liverpool? do we start 0-0? who officiates? what changes with var if anything? what precedent does it set for the rest of the league? who can appeal? what can they appeal? how many times can they appeal? what happens if the appeal is unsuccessful? is the appeal only restricted to refereeing errors or are var errors also part of it? and most importantly, why do spurs players have to be put through a replay for a mistake they did not commit?

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main short part 2

This was not supposed to be this long. It just kept getting longer, just kept going. I found a cut-off point eventually, but there may actually be a part 3 to what was supposed to be a very short little piece. Whoops. (part 1)

Jason never had the time to be concerned about his words when he was young. Neither did anyone else around him. His dad couldn’t be bothered with anything to do with him, and Jason would have been surprised if Willis actually knew what his words were. His mother was more confused by them then anything else, and even then that was only in her rarer sober moments.

Then Jason moved in with Bruce. Dick wasn’t around much when he lived in the Manor. He had just started tolerating him when Jason had died. Dick probably knew what the words were, but they had never discussed it with each other, and Jason couldn’t begin to guess what his opinion was on them back then. 

Bruce used to entertain his fantasies of trying to think up different scenarios his words could be said in, both of them trying to make the funniest good outcome. It became a game they played when bored on stakeouts, obviously keeping the contents of the words private while playing. To be fair, there were a lot of good and funny scenarios. But they lived in Gotham, and Jason had experienced enough of the world, even at that young age, that he understood the likeliness of a bad scenario.

And then he died. And he didn’t think about his words for a very long time. Too busy training and plotting. Busy coming back to Gotham, enacting his plans and building a criminal empire. He barely remembered them himself until he was back in Gotham, operating as the Red Hood, with a trail of bodies behind him.

Assassin training, heads in a duffel bag, counts of arson, and leader of a gang, Jason was not the same kid he used to be. There were few scenarios in which his words could be said that he couldn’t come to understand. And he was at a point in his life where he could find room for a soulmate again. He was settled, secure as the anti-hero of Crime Alley, tenuous agreement with the Bats and all. He had even been by the Manor to have tea with Alfred. 

Arkham breakouts were old hat to everyone in Gotham. Citizens bunkering down, and Bats readying themselves to round up whoever made it out this time. However, this was the first Arkham breakout since his plan with Bruce and the Joker failed. The first since his agreement with the Bats to use non-lethal means. When Jason heard that it was the Joker that had broken out, he planned to kill him, truce be damned.

The Bats could probably deduce that, it was too soon into the truce for any real change to have been made. And this was the Joker. So now it was a race to see who could get to him first. 

Luckily (in this instance), Jason’s base is much closer to Arkham than the Bats. So while they are all stuck driving in from the better parts of town, Jason is already chasing the Joker down alleys. 

Joker is laughing, practically skipping away as if this is a game, and Jason almost loses him as he turns a corner he didn’t see. Jason can hear the Joker laughing, starting to speak. Probably to taunt him again. Then the sound cuts off with a choke and a thud.

Jason turns the corner to see Joker laid out flat, nose bleeding and neck at a funny ankle. A choked breath escapes him, and he looks around to see a man leaning against the alley wall.

The man’s hands are shaking, breaths choppy, and there's a bit of blood on his right hand.

Jason takes a deep breath, which causes the man to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Jason takes in the scene again. And then again, hardly daring to hope even with the evidence in front of him. 

“Is he dead?” Jason asks softly. The man turns to face him, and Jason takes a glove off and slowly, hesitantly, checks the Joker’s pulse.

“Look, in my defense…” The man trails off, looking to the heavens for a moment. “I really fucking hate clowns.” 

Jason, hope fully settled in as the Joker remains still and lifeless on the ground, pulse non-existent against his fingertips, almost laughs. Then his brain does a record scratch. Rewind. Replays the words ‘Look, in my defense’ over again, head shooting up to look at the man who just killed the Joker. 

Jason takes his other glove off, standing. He takes a step towards the man, pushing up his sleeve. The man seems nervous at his advance, watching him warily until Jason uncovers the words on his arm. The cover falls to the ground behind him as he takes another step forward. 

The man’s eyes light up in realization, and he also rushes to push up his sleeve. One more step forward and they are right in front of each other. Arms held up, brushing together as they show each other their marks.

Left forearms pressed together in the space in front of them, one reading ‘Is he dead?’ and the other “Look, in my defense.’. 

The man laughs and Jason takes in the sound of it, the happiness in his eyes as he looks up at him. Jason slowly reaches up to remove his helmet, domino still on underneath it, and lets it fall to the alley floor as well.

“You’re amazing.” Jason breaths out, hand reaching up to cup the stranger’s, his soulmate’s cheek. “You have no idea what you’ve just done for me.”

“Little bit of manslaughter.” He laughs. “Didn’t think it would be received this well.”

Jason smiles in response. “I would worship you for this, if you’d let me. I will never stop thanking you.” 

“Oh.” The man gasps, breath hitching. Jason, one hand still on his cheek, thumb stroking underneath his eye, places his other hand on the man’s waist and backs him up to the alley wall. Deliberately slowly, watching the man as he takes a deep breath, licks his lips, and lets himself be moved.

“Tell me your name and I’ll start right now.” Jason whispers.

“Danny.” The word is breathy and low, only heard due to Jason’s close proximity. 

“Danny.” Jason repeats his name like an anthem and a prayer. Prepared to give his life for this man already. And then kisses him, pressing his lips to his softly, reverently. Wanting to hold this moment forever.

[the-woman-upstairs]

It’s so funny Jesse Armstrong thought the audience would be shocked by the new episode…even though we all had to live through the horrors of the 2016 election.

[amaranthineghost]

THE MIGHTY HAS FALLEN (BUT YOU'LL RISE AGAIN, LOVE) ( max verstappen. )

max verstappen x reader

after a tough race cut short, max pushes away any person around him, but not her. never her. she always picks up the pieces to put him back together.

authors note: I love max. I know he's not the self-deprecating typa guy, but in this, he is, OKAY. charles is after this <333

HE WAS A BOMB. the fuse getting shorter and shorter every minute that his patience was tested. everything around him seemed to irritate him more and more as he tried to keep himself from exploding, for pr's sake.

he just wanted to avoid the media all together, for obvious reasons, but he was contractually obligated to give his words to the journalists under the media tent. putting him under a microscope and asking questions that had an undertone of scrutiny in hopes of catching him break. he was close, but he wouldn’t.

it hadn’t even been a fault of his own, he rarely made those anymore. the car had caught fire, but not due to a mistake he had made, and even if it had been, he wouldn't have admitted it anyways. still he felt the guilt of his lack of performance, beating himself up after every question asked about his car and what had happened.

it was just stupid. the questions were stupid. the car was stupid. this whole race was stupid.

the pressure to perform, even in the best car on the grid, was high. despite his seat being secured for plenty of years to come, he still had expectations to meet and records to break.

it was obvious to everyone that max was hard on himself every time he didn't perform his best, his girlfriend especially noticing when she’d find him in his very luxurious driver's room sulking at even the slightest of a mistake made by him.

it didn't happen often, but when it did, she'd been there for him. he knew that.

he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never be seen again because world champions don't make stupid mistakes.

even if this hadn't been a mistake he made, he should've known. even if there was no possible way he could’ve, he should've.

he was raised to believe that he was only deserving if he had been first, that he was destined to fail after every second place or worse finish.

so it wasn't surprising when he thought he didn't deserve her. in comparison, or more like his eyes, she was simply perfect.

and she understood him, which not many people could because he wouldn't let anyone pick apart his brain like she did.

he locked his thoughts and feelings in the dark that shrouded his mind from early childhood trauma. he promised he would never let anyone see.

but he was never great at keeping such promises because it hadn't taken much for her to pick the lock to his brain. even though he wasn't ready to spill every detail of his upbringing to her, he trusted her.

and he didn't get to do that all too often.

the media had been brutal—he knew they would be—and yet it still crushed his mentality and faith in himself.

with his race suit around his waist despite having time to change beforehand, he walked through the paddock in shame at the early retirement.

it wasn't like this determined the outcome of his career because the next race, he'd be back on top. he didn't feel so sure of it though because all his thoughts were on this failure. what if he failed the next race?

what if he failed the whole season? what if he fails her?

unlikely, the people know, but he had so much confidence which had so easily crumbled when it got a little too hot. he wasn't sure of himself anymore.

anyone could see the turmoil bubbling underneath his skin, harsh waves crashing in the ocean of his blue eyes as he pushed past anyone and everyone.

the walk through the paddock was short, considering the red bull motorhome was the first of ten. max hastily entered through the automatic doors, skipping steps as he was eager to hide out in his driver's room.

he felt the eyes of the staff follow him down the hall until he disappeared quickly around the corner. he didn't want to be seen by anyone.

the door to his driver's room closed as fast as it was opened, but much louder. she heard the slam of the door echo down the hallway.

she didn't flinch, she just calmly greeted staff with smiles and left a bag of sweets on the table for them. she always brought something for the team, to celebrate every victory and despite this not being one, they still deserved it for working hard.

since she had gotten there not too long after him, she lingered around the lobby. she didn't want to be waiting around for him to show up and have him brush her off because he wasn't in the right headspace.

he would never mean to dismiss her, and she knew to give him at least a little time to himself to think and process things. she couldn't give him too much time though because she didn't want his self-deprecating thoughts to eat away at his confidence.

from what she analyzed from the staff and their demeanor, he'd probably caught them off guard when he slammed his door.

she wouldn't apologize for his behavior because she would make him do it when he cooled down.

so she hung around and made small talk with the sparse staff around to allow max a few minutes to himself before excusing herself down the hall.

she had a bomb to defuse after all.

the clack of her heels on the hard floors bounced off the walls, but she walked quietly enough so max didn't hear her coming. he knew she would though. he knew she would find him with his head in his hands, barely covered in sweat because he didn't race for more than three laps.

his face was still flush with disappointment though. he didn't want her to see him like this even though she was with him during his last disappointing race, but even though his singaporean grand prix finish wasn't great, at least he hadn't been out of the race.

max hadn't DNF’d in two years because he was simply just that good, and he still is. he just didn't feel like it.

his hands pressed so hard against his eyes, the blood vessels in them would have popped if he pushed any harder. he had taken off his red bull hat, he felt he didn't deserve the number one right now. it was thrown lazily onto the makeshift bed in his driver's room.

the room was practically silent, every so often interrupted by a deep sigh of disappointment that escaped his lips. he had sat there for a good couple or minutes, sulking.

when she reached his door, she held the bouquet of flowers she always got for him close to her body with one arm while she raised the other to knock. her hand only slightly hesitated before her fist made contact with the door and a few seconds later, she tried entering. it was locked, which was usual whenever he was brooding.

at first, when max heard the knock, he thought of all the people last on his list that he would want to see right now, but on the bottom of the list was the person he wanted to avoid the most right now.

his dad.

their relationship was rocky. he never supported max at any place unless it was on the very top of the podium, and even then max thought he looked unpleasant.

“go away,” was all max could mutter through his hands as his heart started to pick up the pace.

she sighed, shaking her head with a smile pulling at her lips, “max.” it was all she needed to say.

part of him didn't want to let her in, he didn't want her to see him like this, but he knew she was just as stubborn as him, if not more. he knew she would stand there all day if he didn't open the door to let her in.

and he would always let her in.

she heard the low creak of the sofa she could imagine him sitting on, but not his footsteps while he made his way to the door. she only knew he heard her when the lock clicked and the door slowly opened inwards to reveal the red-faced max verstappen.

she stood staring at him, her head tilted as she studied his face. he didn't move, he just watched her eyes dart around his appearance, and he felt himself getting hot under his fireproofs.

“are you going to let me in, verstappen?” she teased, a sly smile on her lips as she watched her boyfriend roll his eyes.

he scoffed, stepping aside, “don't call me that.”

“what?” she acted innocent, stepping into his driver's room with the fresh flowers, seeing the already prepped vase, “don't call you by your name?”

“you know what I mean.” though he tried to keep a straight face and act like he was still mad, he couldn't keep a smile from creeping onto his lips. she just had that effect.

she heard the door close and lock again as she took the wrapping off and placed the flowers in the vase. she shrugged at his words, her back still towards him, but she knew he had sat back down.

“you didn't have to get those,” he mumbled, “didn't win.”

she sighed, crumbling the wrapping in her hand and throwing it away before walking to where he sat. she stood in front of him as he looked up at her.

even with heels, he was still much taller than her and even though he was sitting, he reached barely below her chin.

she spread her arms to offer a hug to him, which he gratefully took, his arms snaking around the low of her hips. pressed against her chest, her arms wrapped around his head, running her fingers through his hair.

she felt him sigh against her skin, his eyes closing as they stayed like that for minutes without speaking. she felt him caress the bare skin of her thigh with his thumb.

when they finally pulled apart, his hands still laid firmly on her hips, his hair disheveled from the hug. she ran her hands through it to fix it and he only watched as she did so.

when she finally finished after only ten seconds because guy hair is a lot less complicated than women’s hair, he finally spoke up, “why are you dressed so uncomfortably?”

she was slightly taken aback, seeing as he was just moping about his race not even ten minutes ago and now commenting on her appearance. he only assumed she was uncomfortable, but unfortunately his assumption was correct.

“what do you mean?” she looked down at her attire, which isn't so different from the other wags that she hung out with.

his hand snuck around the back of her thigh and pulled up her leg, “I thought I told you to stop wearing heels, you always complain about them.”

“i’m fine,” she said, about to cross her arms, but her balance said otherwise so she settled them on his shoulders for support.

he gave her an incredulous look because every time she wore heels, without fail, she would complain less than an hour into wherever they were that she wanted to sit.

“okay, i admit i can't wait to get these things off,” she let out a deep breath, putting a hand on her hip, “but I'm supposed to be taking care of you.”

she said in his response to take the heels off her feet for her, a simple gesture really, but this was about him.

“do you want to talk about it?” she massaged his shoulders as he threw her heels to the other side of the small sofa.

“nothing to talk about,” he shrugged, “maybe I don't deserve being first.”

she pushed his head to look up at her, shaking her head, “you just don't realize how much you deserve, max. you're a world champion, a three-time one,” she reassured him, “you've won countless races, and you still have the entire season ahead of you. I know you want to, but you can't let one bad race define your season.”

“I know, you're right.” he bit the inside of his cheek as he thought deeply, “but I have to prove myself.”

“you've already done that plenty of times,” she shook his shoulders in emphasis, “besides you'll still lead the championship, unless charles gets p1, but you'll get it right back if that's the case.”

she was right. she always was, he never doubted her. he would never doubt her because she would never lie to him. she always backed up her answers by building up his ego and confidence back up so he was ready to fight it out on the track next race.

whether it took a couple of minutes or hours to bring his mood back up, she'd take her time in making him feel like the champion he was again.

she would take his phone from him, he didn't need to see the articles being written or the missing phone calls from his dad.

all he needed was her and she would always be there.

—

taglist (found here): @slut4lrh @taylorslovesswifties13 @sbella13 @kaa212 @nhlfs

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[miumura]

WHEN OUR EYES MET ⌇ N.RIKI ──── ᡣ𐭩

THE MOMENT HE LAID HIS EYES ON YOU he knew something was wrong. Unlike his usual behavior, Ni-ki found himself rushing over to you as soon as he heard you crying all alone. It felt strange for him to act this way, but he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing you sad instead of your usual bright self.

FOREVER BY YOUR SIDE ᝰ.ᐟ tsundere!ni-ki x fem!reader ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

OUR LOVE STORY high school au, classmates to lovers, fluff, comfort ( ♡ ) EVEN WHEN reader is crying, riki is just a slightly awkward, worried guy … MY LOVE STILL IS AND REMAINS ENDLESS ─── ⟡

OUR TIME SPENT TOGETHER 1.3K+ ( 1324 words )

MY HEART STAYS WITH YOU FOREVER ─── ♡

ALL THE WORDS HE COULDN'T SAY happy ni-ki day <3 !! ni-ki fic, we cheered!! i was just casually listening to one of those playlists on youtube and suddenly this fic was the outcome ☝️

No matter how hard he tried, Ni-ki could never get you to stop glancing his way. He didn't know what he had done—maybe it was the accidental eye contact or the time he lent you a pencil that wasn’t even his—but somehow, you managed to cling onto him.

You and Ni-ki were entirely different people. You were bubbly and bright, while he was reserved—or as others might say, the boring type. But you never saw him that way. You always enjoyed his presence, even when his responses were short and curt.

It was as if you saw something in him that he couldn’t see. He couldn't wrap his head around why, especially since you clearly had better people to hang out with and be friends with. Yet, you still kept trying to spend time with him despite his endless refusals.

Even so, that doesn’t mean Ni-ki hated you. He never held a personal grudge against you, and he doesn’t think he ever will. He just found you slightly less bothersome than the others. So, as much as anyone would, he was surprised when he saw you sitting alone on the staircase.

What were you doing there all by yourself?

He was heading down the stairs to retrieve something from his locker, and there you were, sitting in the middle of the stairway. It was odd that he recognized you from the back alone, but even more odd was seeing you there, so out of character for your usual bubbly self.

He tried to get a closer look from a distance, not wanting you to notice him. As he quieted his steps, a sniffle made him freeze. It took him a moment to realize you were crying.

All alone.

And he didn’t like the thought of that. He hadn’t seen you at all today, and the first time he’s seeing you is in a not-so-good state. Ni-ki didn’t feel good that you were crying. He hurriedly looked into his bag, grabbing something hastily before heading down the stairs to meet you.

He still tried to be quiet, not wanting to startle you. He soon found himself sitting beside you, watching as you tried to wipe your tears with your hands.

“Here,” he said in his low-toned voice, moving the tissue pack closer to your view as you looked down at your bag. You recognized his voice and quickly looked up, shocked that Ni-ki had found you here. He was looking away, avoiding your gaze, knowing you probably didn’t want anyone to see you like this.

He still held out his pack of tissues, waiting for it to leave his hand. He knew this was out of the ordinary for him; he usually would’ve just left a crying person alone. But seeing you, he couldn’t bear to turn away like he normally would.

You mumbled a quick thank you, grabbing the tissues from him. You tried to hurriedly stop your tears, thinking you’d cried enough—especially in front of him. Ni-ki finally looked your way, watching as you opened the pack.

He had never seen you cry before. You were always so happy that he even wondered how you managed to keep such positive energy. It was nothing to complain about; you simply wanted others to feel the same way you did.

Just like with him, you always tried to make him smile. But now, here you were, revealing that you also had your troublesome moments, even if you didn’t want to let it show.

He stared at your eyes, noticing how puffy they were getting. His heart swelled; the sight was almost unbearable. But what hurt even more was seeing you still trying to pretend you were okay, holding back the tears you had freely shed when you thought no one was around.

Ni-ki had never felt more upset at you than he did now. He didn’t want you to feel you had to keep up this image all the time around him; he wanted to be someone you could trust, someone with whom you had no worries about always impressing.

Were you always the one to cry to yourself?

“It’s okay to cry, Y/N,” he said, catching you off guard as you tried to blink your tears away. “You don’t have to pretend. It’s just me. I’m here.”

Those words were enough to make your eyes well up with tears again, and you quickly grabbed a tissue to cover your eyes. Ni-ki looked at you worriedly, not expecting you to cry so easily at that. He couldn’t help but think he might’ve said something wrong. He was about to apologize when your reddened eyes met his, your gaze giving a reassuring look.

“Thank you, Ni-ki,” you managed to say, a smile forming on your face. Ni-ki was shocked at how easily you were able to smile, especially considering the circumstances. It was even more surprising that you smiled at something he did. He had always seen himself as reserved and distant, not someone who could bring comfort to others.

Your smile had a strange effect on him. Instead of feeling awkward or out of place, Ni-ki felt a sense of ease wash over him. He had never been the type to comfort anyone, but seeing you smile because of his small gesture made him feel oddly content.

“You’re really something else,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he looked at you. He wasn’t sure if you heard him, but it didn’t matter. For the first time, he felt like his presence might actually mean something to someone else.

He continued to stay put, feeling a silent connection form between you two. At that moment, the differences between your personalities didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was that you were there, together, and for once, Ni-ki didn’t feel the need to distance himself.

“You seriously don’t understand how much that means to me,” you said, wiping your tears. “Thank you for the tissues again, Ni-ki.”

He nodded in response, trying to get another look at your expression. He could feel your bright character reemerging, and he was glad you were feeling better. Despite this comforting thought, he stayed by your side, feeling the need to be there for you. You had always been there for him, and now it was his turn to do the same.

“You can call me Riki, you know,” he said, breaking the comforting silence. Your eyes met again, and he noticed how they crinkled with amusement.

“Oh, okay—thank you, Riki,” you managed to chuckle, your smile becoming less forced. He could tell this was a genuine one, and he couldn’t help but feel his heartstrings tugged. Ni-ki never knew how much someone calling him by that name could make him feel happy, and most importantly, how someone like you could make him feel so different from how he usually acted.

In that moment, Ni-ki realized just how much you had come to mean to him. It wasn’t just about being polite or kind—it was about genuinely caring for someone who had always cared for him. And as he sat there with you, he felt a new sense of purpose and connection, something he hadn’t experienced before.

Ni-ki still never understood why you found him so special, and he might never will.

But he knew you were special. Something about your smiles, the way your eyes sparkled and your lips tugged at the corners, it was mesmerizing. Even with just one brief look, he couldn’t help but feel the need to always see it. You didn’t know how your simple smile could make someone’s day ten times better.

He wanted to see you happy—you looked so pretty when you were happy.

So, that became his promise. A promise he intended to keep, no matter what. He would never let you lose the very smile that made you special, the sight that made him realize how much he really liked you.

💬 : writing this fic lwk got me clutching my chest

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[pomefioredove]

could you perchance do a part two to the yuu getting sold to the highest bidder? like how would that characters treat them if they actually get them? sorry if this doesnt make sence!! but thank uu!! ^_^

more than happy to! <3 I'm writing this as a follow up/pt. 2 to this post but if you'd like something different don't be shy! I love getting requests

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | bad ending

summary: joining their dorms + wearing the uniforms (for some). a proper ending to this type of post: short fics characters: trey, cater, leona, rook, idia, lilia, malleus additional info: yuu is gender neutral, rook is weird, both fem and masc french words are used during rook's part but reader is still gn, I need to replay book 2 to get leona's voice down, Idia being fun to write, maybe a little ooc

If you thought it was bad before, the news that Malleus intended to marry you made everything about twenty times more chaotic. Bids were upped to insurmountable sums, rumors were spread like the plague, fights were raging through campus as the deadline to donate approached. Even Crowley was starting to feel a little antsy, despite all of the brand new amenities he had already ordered for his office.

Finally, the day came. The announcement was held in the courtyard, where just about any student who had stakes in the matter had shirked whatever after-school responsibilities they had to gather. The prefect themselves was nowhere to be found, though only few noticed their absence.

"Maybe it'll be nice," you say to your direbeast companion, the both of you tucked away in a dark corner at Ramshackle.

"It'll definitely beat living in this dump. You think they got good food in Diasomnia?" Grim murmurs.

You grimace. "Uh... sure. I can't imagine they wouldn't, right?"

Crowley clears his throat, pulling a thin, delicate envelope out of his coat pocket while the crowd eagerly watches on. He takes his sweet time opening it, much to everyone's utter dismay, and when he finally withdraws the contents the entire courtyard falls quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

"And our winner is..."

Trey and Cater's Ending

"Cater Diamond and Trey Clover!"

Everyone stops dead and turns to the back of the crowd. There's a certain sense of unity that, for a brief moment, everyone can feel in the form of a single thought: Them, of all people?

Cater, ever the people-person, can already tell what's on everyone's minds. "What can I say? I run a mean social media campaign. I had some sick infographics,"

Trey can only smile and shrug at the growing disdain coming from the other students, most of which from his own housewarden, who is s currently turning a lovely shade of crimson.

"...Right. Well, the prefect will be ready for you shortly," Crowley says, folding the envelope and setting it back in his pocket. "I trust your housewarden will help you sort out the details."

Riddle looks more like he's about to start throttling them.

"Nah, it's cool. We got this," Cater smiles, though he's only half paying attention as he posts an update to Magicam. "The prefect is in great hands. Right, guys?"

Ace and Deuce shrug. Not the best outcome, not the worst, and either way it's still their friend coming to stay with them. Riddle is gritting his teeth so hard you could practically hear them grinding from Ramshackle.

"Was anyone going to tell me you two had pitched in, as well? Or was it a surprise?"

Trey smiles, almost nervously. "Well-"

"We were only giving the dorm a better chance. It's basic statistics- more Heartslabyul names in the hat, more of a chance one of us will be drawn, y'know?" Cater beams. "No disrespect, of course."

"None whatsoever," Riddle hisses back.

---

"And you're sure he's not really mad?" you ask, trailing behind the two third years.

It had been almost an hour since you'd updated your Magicam feed and read the announcement firsthand, but the shock is still wearing off.

Cater scoffs. "Whaaaat? No, he's totally cool about it,"

"Well. Now he is, anyway," Trey murmurs back. "But he certainly won't kick you out. As long as you're in the dorm uniform, you're one of us. He's just upset we went behind his back."

"...Understandable,"

Cater holds the door open for you, letting you inside to see a precariously placed mannequin with a dorm uniform in your size already on it. You hate to admit it, but it's lovely.

"Riddle had one ready. You know, just in case," Trey says, gesturing you forward. "And don't worry, we'll all be taking it easy on you while you adjust."

You run your fingers down the durable fabric. "Hm. Thanks,"

"You should get changed, I need a post to commemorate the moment," Cater says, beaming. "And I kindaaaa want to rub it in for everyone else who lost out on the best giveaway ever."

Leona's Ending

"Leona Kingscholar! Please... be responsible. Ruggie, I hope you'll keep an eye out for the prefect,"

Ruggie rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything. Leona, who had been absent-mindedly picking his teeth before the big announcement, flashes a big smirk to the audience while swaggering to the front of it.

"Well, well. Look who's come in first place, after all. What, didn't think I'd bother to try?"

Vil grimaces, crossing his arms. "Is there a point to this?"

"Obviously. I'm showing off," he rolls his eyes. "I guess I'll be seeing the rest of you lot around my territory a lot more, then?"

He snickers and then disappears back inside the building. Ruggie can only shrug at the disgruntled crowd before tailing after him.

---

"Well, that felt nice," Leona sighs, stretching out on one of the lounge chairs. "Pity that I couldn't see the lizard's reaction, but I'm sure we'll get to that eventually."

You're sitting at the table across from him, playing cards with a very invested Ruggie. You raise an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Malleus," Ruggie mutters, shuffling his cards around in his hand.

"It's never a party without him, right? He was probably off cowering somewhere with his tail behind his legs," Leona chuckles, picking his teeth again. "But everyone else's faces just about made up for it."

"Whatever," Ruggie grumbles. "I'm all in."

Though you're not exactly invested in the game anymore. You set down your cards, much to Ruggie's dismay, and stand over Leona with your hands on your hips.

"I hope you know that I won't be one of your errand runners for you. I've done enough of that with Crowley,"

He pauses, sharp eyes scanning you over. "You certainly know how to rain on someone's parade,"

"This is not a parade. This is my sanity we're talking about,"

"Tch. And what're you gonna do? Run away?" Leona rolls his eyes. "Hide in the jungle? Maybe you can take Ruggie with you and make it a party!"

"Hey, leave me out of this," the aforementioned says, shuffling the deck.

You stand your ground, though you don't know what else to say. Eventually, Leona sighs.

"Fine. I won't make you do anything you don't want to if you're just going to whine about it,"

He pauses, and a small smirk crosses his face. "But you'll at least have to wear the uniform. I need the satisfaction of seeing the look on everyone else's faces."

You smile triumphantly, and sit back down across from Ruggie for another round while Leona watches on, pretending not to care about the game.

It could be better, but it could also be worse.

Plus, something about that smile of his let on more than just a little self-satisfaction.

This could definitely be interesting...

Rook's Ending

"...Ah. Rook Hunt!" Crowley says, folding the paper back in his pocket and leaning down to whisper to Azul in the front row. "Tell the prefect I said good luck."

At the heart of the crowd, Vil turns to Rook, hands on his hips. "Rook..."

"Ah, magnifique! How happy I am, my heart could weep for joy!" he says, completely ignoring whatever disappointed comment Vil was about to unleash. "I must run to my prize at once, there's not a moment to lose!"

Vil grimaces as Rook bounds off into the school, moving so swiftly that he cuts through the crowd of confused (and mildly concerned) students like an arrow.

As always, Rook is genuine with his words- he truly feels as if his own heart is about to leap out of his chest and race him towards Ramshackle.

What a chance, what an opportunity! Not only to be close to someone he has his own private fan club for, but to truly, finally possess beauty in physical form. He would display you on a shelf if it were feasible.

The idea so overwhelms him with joy that you barely had time to ask what was going on before you suddenly found yourself sitting beside him in the Pomefiore lounge as he smooths out the crinkles in your new uniform.

He murmurs under his breath, kneeling before you while inspecting the uniform. "Magnifique, joli, belle, quelle beauté, une rose parfaite..."

...Leaving you in a torn state of embarrassment and shyness. You look across the room to Vil for help, and he rolls his eyes.

"I coulda get used 'ta this!" Grim shouts, lounging on a nearby silk pillow with a mouthfull of pâté. Two freshman are tediously brushing his fur with the nicest set of combs you've ever seen.

"Comfortable?" You ask, only a little sarcastic.

"Uh-huh! Ya know, when I found out the winner was Rook, of all people, I was a little worried. But this is way nicer than collecting dust in Ramshackle!"

You couldn't have said it better yourself.

Rook smiles. "Tsk, tsk. I would never let anyone harm a single hair on your precious head,"

The question is directed to Grim, but he looks straight at you when he says it. "Like a delicate porcelain doll, I will handle you with the utmost care,"

You're not exactly sure what you had been envisioning- maybe he'd release you on a remote island and hunt you for sport?- but this had far exceeded any of your expectations.

Though his gaze is as unsettling as ever, and any hopes of personal space are gone out the ornate glass windows, his usual guarded demeanor had softened just the tiniest bit.

It was unnerving. But nice, in a way.

"Mon trickster, this is just the beginning for us. We have many shining days ahead, and I plan on spending every beautiful breath of them with you. Do you hunt?"

"Oh, sevens," Vil murmurs.

Unfortunately for Vil, Rook's smile is contagious and you can't help encouraging him. Just this once. "Not usually, no,"

"A merveilleuse opportunity! I will teach you all I have learned, then. Ah, this reminds me of a poem I wrote for this exact occasion!"

He may or may not be watching you sleep tonight. Hopefully you're the kind of person who can live with that.

Idia's Ending

LOL. Normies.

Look at them, crowding around like a bunch of sheep. As if anyone has a real chance. SMH.

I knew it was pointless to begin with, but getting into Crowley's banking account and seeing the bids... now I feel lame for even trying at all.

That money could've gone to some new parts. I've been itching to build another PC...

The door flies open, slamming against the wall behind it so loudly that even if Idia wasn't completely absorbed in watching the announcement on his biggest monitor, he would've jumped anyway.

He whirls around in his chair, wide-eyed and shaking like a prey animal, expecting to see some high level boss or classic horror game antag waiting for him.

Instead, it's Ortho. "Idy! You'll never believe-"

"Geez, Ortho, you nearly killed me. And I don't have any extra lives this time," Idia says, spinning back around to face his screen. "Something wrong?"

"Actually, I have some really great news! Wanna guess what it is?"

Idia grumbles, powering off his computer. "Nah, not in the mood,"

Ortho's brow furrows as he catches a fleeting glimpse of the camera feed playing over his brother's screen before it flickers to black. "You've been watching the announcement on the courtyard cam footage?"

"No! I mean- well, I was just curious," Idia says. "I watched for like two minutes. Who even cares about this thing, anyway?"

"Well-"

"I mean, it was a game over from the start. Taking on the highest level bosses at our school with my measly stats? Forget it,"

"But Idia-"

"Who even cares where the prefect ends up, anyway? I doubt they'd wanna be trapped in a basement like this for all eternity,"

"Idia!" Ortho shouts, loud enough to shake his brother from his ensuing pity party. Idia can only stare as he moves to the side, revealing a rather surprised looking you, dressed in the dorm uniform, behind him.

"Idia, you won!"

And then he dies.

That's what he thinks, anyway. Really, Idia goes into a state of complete shock and blacks out so hard that, for a moment, the blinding light shining through his eyelids feels like the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Is he okay?" you ask, tentatively watching as Ortho clicks off the small light he'd been shining in his brother's eyes.

"He's displaying symptoms of a panic attack. Don't worry, he gets them quite frequently,"

A distant groaning pulls the both of you back into the present moment and you watch Idia slowly rise.

"His heart rate has steadied to 70 BPM," Ortho says. You raise an eyebrow. "That's normal. Idia, can you hear us?"

He takes a long moment to respond.

"This isn't real. I'm sleep-deprived from my last speed run and now I'm hallucinating. There's no way,"

You look between the two brothers. This hasn't exactly gotten off to a stellar start.

"Your vitals are normal, although you're lacking Vitamin C. Might I suggest having a fruit cup while we talk?" Ortho asks. Idia shakes his head. "Yuu? Snack?"

"I could go for something,"

Ortho hovers out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. You're too nervous (or is he too nervous?) to ask to sit, so you stand over him while he practically rocks back and forth. His face is so red and hot with embarrassment you could cook an egg on it.

"Um..."

He mumbles back. "Just pretend I'm not here. IK you probably wanted one of those epic SSR students to pull you, I don't blame you for being disappointed,"

He talks so fast and quiet it's hard to make out what he's saying... but you get the gist of it.

"Hey, don't put words in my mouth. This is a hell of a lot better than it could have been,"

He seems to genuinely consider your words for a moment before you're interrupted by Ortho coming back with snacks.

Idia is back on high alert the second he's returned. "This doesn't make sense. I got into Crowley's online bank info and saw all the bids, I wasn't even close to the top five. How?"

"Oh, easy!" Ortho chirps. "I simply rewired funds from Crowley's bank account to up your offer!"

"You... took money out of his account and sent it back to him?"

"Clever," you murmur.

Idia grumbles. "I guess that's not technically stealing... fine. But why? I thought I told you not to bother!"

"My user intel indicates that the prefect is very popular amongst the student body. Their top three descriptors are helpful, kind, and friendly! I thought you two might be able to practice your social skills together... Perhaps you could show them around the dorm as a starting point?"

You turn around to look at Idia, who's sheet-white. Nonetheless... he sighs and stands, muttering a quick "Let's get this over with,"

You watch, as still as stone, as he stops in the doorway and turns to look at you from over his shoulder, his face and hair a pleasant shade of pink.

"Well? Are you coming?"

Lilia's Ending

"And our winner... is... hm. I don't even remember seeing this one in the pile," Crowley grumbles, scratching his head under his hat. "Um, Lilia Vanrouge!"

Silver is the first to look at him. "Fa-Lilia, I thought we talked about this,"

Lilia, currently hovering in the shade of one of the courtyard's signature apple trees, simply shrugs. As if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Oh, we did. I really thought about what you said, about the prefect's freedom, and I decided that you're right! But how could I guarantee their safety from everyone else?"

Silver groans (which turns into a yawn) and Lilia puts on his best cute look as everyone else in the audience turns to him.

Crowley clears his throat. "The prefect will be ready for your-"

"Oh, no need! Thank you, though," he says, and then disappears into the building.

---

You've been distracting yourself by counting cobwebs for far too long, as evident by your headache and the taste of dust on your tongue.

You turn to look at Grim. "Should be over by now. I'm surprised I haven't heard anything yet,"

"Surprised, you say?"

No matter how many times he does that, you're never quite prepared.

You jump, nearly hitting your head against the table you'd been taking refuge under. Grim yowls, clawing into your sleeve (and just barely missing the tender flesh on your arm, thank goodness), and you both stare at the fae ahead of you.

Lilia is sitting on the table, hanging his head upside down and staring right at you. Grim mumbles.

"Don't even tell me. I'm out!"

Lilia waves him goodbye as he makes a swift exit, and then turns back to you.

"I have a secret. Wanna guess?"

You're a little curious (aren't you always when it comes to him?) but that isn't enough to overpower your rising dread.

"No,"

"Aw. Really? I'm sure you'll like it,"

"Definitely not, then,"

He slinks off the table and lies on the floor, cupping his face in his palms and kicking his legs back and forth.

It would be amusing if you weren't so sure of what he's about to say.

"Well, despite your best efforts, I'm not surprised at all. But Malleus couldn't even come here to get me himself?" you sigh.

Lilia tilts his head to the side. "Now, why would he do that?"

There's something written within the margins of his tone that makes your eyes lower at him. Something he's keeping from you.

"...Well... he did win, didn't he?"

"Oh, my. You were hoping for Malleus to win? Now I'm sure we both feel silly,"

You raise an eyebrow. "Hoping is... a strong word. But I was expecting it, yes. So he didn't win?"

"No, dear, Malleus is not the winner,"

"Then... who is?"

Lilia gives you a sweet, self-satisfied grin, his fangs glinting. "You're looking at him,"

Ah.

If there's one thing Lilia Vanrouge is good at, it's surprising you. No matter how stoic you act, no matter how clever you are, he always manages to catch you off guard.

This might take the cake, though.

"I didn't even know-"

"No. Initially, I wasn't going to. But Silver and I... we had a long talk about valuing your freedom and independence, and thus I so valiantly threw myself into the flames to save you from becoming someone's slave," he pauses to smile. "Chivalrous, yes?"

"...Charming," you mutter. "But what was that thing about-"

"Oh, yes. Don't worry, you'll be treated as any other student at Diasomnia. In fact, I'm sure we already have some uniforms in your size!"

"This is... quite the turn of events,"

"Ah, isn't it? I haven't felt this elated in... well... a long time," he grins. "Come along, now. I plan on treating you to a hearty welcome dinner!"

You can only grimace at that.

Malleus' Ending

During all of the confusion, the fighting, the rumors that shook the school, no one, again, had remembered to invite Malleus Draconia to the announcement.

Not that it mattered. Not this time.

One knock at Ramshackle's creaky door and you were suddenly in the depths of the forest around the school, admiring a crumbled stone structure.

"What was it?" you ask, turning to your walking companion.

Malleus smiles slightly. "I believe it was a wall. Fascinating, no? Since you have inhabited Ramshackle, I come here when I want to be alone,"

Ah, right. You'd almost forgotten that you'd made a home out of his ruins of preference.

Ramshackle was in a much better state than this, though. At least you had four walls and a roof over your head.

"Are you alone a lot these days?" you ask, rather absent-mindedly for such a heavy topic.

You're well aware of the answer already. No, of course not. Malleus is constantly surrounded, whether that be his friends, personal guard, mentors...

"Yes,"

Oh.

"I'm... sorry to hear that," it's all you can think to say.

Fae don't seem to know the conventions of human small talk. Or maybe that's just him. Not that you mind. "What about Silver, and Sebek, and Lilia...?"

"Fine companions," he crosses his arms. "I owe them a debt of gratitude. But being physically surrounded does not amount to closeness."

Oddly profound.

You can't help but relate, thinking back to everyone you know. Even with good intentions, they're still out there, bartering over your life.

"I'm glad you came and got me," you say, breaking the tense silence. "I was afraid you'd gone to that... announcement thing."

He raises an eyebrow. "The what?"

"...Never mind. I guess my point was that I've been feeling a little lonely lately, myself,"

Malleus is quiet for a moment, staring directly ahead at the mess of stones and moss that once made up a sturdy wall. Now crumbled, scattered across the ground.

And the, he smiles.

"Well, there is a solution to this trouble of ours. But I'd need your consent,"

What exactly is he getting at? You raise an eyebrow. "Go on,"

"I've been so preoccupied with the formalities that I haven't had the chance to ask you properly, yet. Lilia suggested I might have more success this way,"

He pauses, and then smiles. "I would like us to marry. Does this agree with you?"

You thought you might be stunned. Speechless, even. But the answer comes so naturally.

"Yes, it does,"

[lxndonorris]

much needed break - Lando Norris

Y/N x Lando Norris Theme: Angst/Fluff distracting Lando from social media word count: 1700+

The last rays of sunlight are casting a warm, golden glow through the wide windows of Lando's living room, illuminating the chic but comfortable space that has become almost as much a home for you as it is for him. 

Monaco, with its sparkling blue waters and luxurious life, is a world apart from the intensity of the F1 circuits, yet it can't completely chase away the shadows left by last weekend's race in Brazil.

You step into the living room, spotting him immediately, slouched on the sofa, a hoodie pulled up over his messy curls, sweatpants, and socks, completing his relaxed look. 

His attention is absorbed by the screen of his phone, his face half-lit by its soft glow, and even from across the room, you can see the slight frown creasing his brows. 

He looks up briefly as you approach, giving you a small, half-hearted smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. There is a heaviness hanging in the room, one you know all too well.

Without a word, you sit down beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body but not so close as to intrude. You gently lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, just watching him, letting him feel your presence.

"What are you up to?" You ask, keeping your voice soft and casual, as though you are just enjoying a quiet moment together.

"Oh, nothing," he replies quickly, glancing away. But his voice holds a strain, and his fingers are white-knuckled around the phone. 

He tries to shift his body slightly, as if to hide the screen from your view, but you catch a glimpse of the comments he is scrolling through.

You know exactly what he is doing. It is always the same pattern when things don't go well on track—no matter how many times you tell him not to, he'll always go looking for those negative comments, taking in every word, every hurtful critique.

You feel a pang in your chest seeing how hard he takes it, how deeply he allows it to affect him.

Without a second thought, you reach over and gently snatch the phone from his hands. 

Lando lets out a protest, reaching for it instinctively, but you hold it out of reach, flashing him a playful, determined look.

"Lando," you say softly, yet firmly, "you shouldn't read those comments. You know it never does any good."

He huffs, crossing his arms and letting out a reluctant sigh.

"It's not that bad," he mumbles, his gaze dropping to his lap. But the crack in his voice, the way he avoids meeting your eyes, tells you otherwise.

It hurts to see him like this, this strong, talented person you know feeling so vulnerable.

You lock his phone without another glance at the screen and slip it into your pocket, feeling him deflate beside you, as if he'd just relinquished some hidden weight he had been carrying.

"You're right," he admits quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "But I just... I can't help it sometimes."

You open your arms, inviting him in, and for a moment, he hesitates. But then, his defenses fall, and he leans into you, letting you hold him close.

He wraps his arms around you, his hands gently resting against your back, and you can feel the tension slowly melting from his body.

"It's okay," you whisper, rubbing his back gently, your fingers tracing soothing circles. "You're more than what those people online think. You've done so well this season, and no matter the outcome isn't going to change that."

He sighs, the sound almost lost in the space between you.

"I know, I just... I don't want to let anyone down."

Your heart clenches at his words.

Lando always holds himself to such high standards, always worried about letting down his team, his fans, even himself. You can tell the weight of it is heavy on his shoulders.

You slide your hands underneath his hoodie, feeling his warmth against your cold fingertips. He lets out a surprised laugh at the sudden chill, wiggling away slightly but not enough to break the embrace.

You chuckle, trailing your hands along his chest and feeling him relax again, his breathing slowing as he allows himself to let go. His head rests against your shoulder, and you feel his body sink into yours, surrendering to the comfort and warmth you share.

"You're doing so well, Lando," you murmur, your fingers tracing the lines of his back, the tension melting away under your touch. "I'm so proud of you, and I don't think anything less of you because of one bad race."

He nods slowly, his curls brushing your cheek as he settles deeper into your arms.

"I guess... I guess it's just hard sometimes to ignore it all. I feel like everyone's watching, and every mistake is magnified." His voice is soft, laced with vulnerability.

You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, your hand moving up to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing over the faint shadow of a stubble.

"But you don't have to carry that alone. I'm here, and I see you for who you are—not for your results on track. And I know so many people who feel the same."

He looks up at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers, his voice breaking slightly.

"You don't have to worry about that," you say with a smile, your fingers tracing soft patterns along his jawline. "I'm not going anywhere."

He shifts closer, his head coming to rest against your chest as he closes his eyes, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips. You feel his heartbeat slow, his breathing deepen as he begins to let go of worries that have been plaguing him.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped up in each other, letting the quiet settle around you. Your fingers continue their gentle journey, stroking his hair, tracing the line of his cheekbone, his lips. He is lost in thought, you can tell, but there is a peace in his expression now, a softening of the lines of stress and worry.

"You know," you murmur after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. "I've watched you grow so much this season. You've overcome so many challenges, and that's what really matters."

Lando nods, his eyes still closed, his breathing deep and even.

"I guess I just want to make everyone proud. Make you proud."

You lean down, your lips brushing softly against his. 

"I am already proud of you," you whisper. "Not just for what you do on track, but for who you are—your determination, your kindness, your resilience, your humor. That's what makes you so amazing."

His arms tighten around you, a silent acknowledgement, a thank you that doesn't need words. You feel his fingers trace slow, gentle lines along your back, his hand brushing against your waist, grounding himself in your connection.

It is in these moments that you see the man behind the racer, the vulnerability he so rarely shows to the world. And you love him all the more for it.

You stay there, wrapped in each other's arms as the evening light softens, your breaths syncing in a gentle rhythm. He closes his eyes, his head nestled against you, and you feel his worries fading, replaced by a peace you know he finds only with you. 

And you realize that, as much as he thinks he needs you, you need him just as much.

Lando shifts, settling himself more comfortably, his head resting gently on your lap. A soft hum escapes his lips, a sound of pure contentment that makes your heart swell.

You can tell he is finally starting to unwind, to let go of the weight he'd been carrying since the race. His eyes are closed, and a faint smile curves at the edges of his lips, softening his whole expression.

You let your hand slip under his hoodie once again, your fingertips brushing along his warm skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each relaxed breath. 

He shivers slightly at your touch, but it isn't from the cold this time—it is from the warmth and comfort you share in this moment together.

Lando's smile grows as he adjusts, placing one of his hands on his thigh, his fingers curling slightly as if to hold onto this feeling. His other hand rests just beside yours on his stomach, and you feel his fingers twitch, brushing against yours.

Gently, you slide your hand further under his hoodie, fingers tracing small, soft circles across his skin, feeling the warmth radiate from him.

He opens his eyes briefly, looking up at you with a softness and gratitude that makes your breath hitch. Then he closes them again, a peaceful smile gracing his face as he settles deeper into your lap, his body completely at ease. 

The quiet hum of his voice, his gentle breathing, the closeness you share—all of it feels so incredibly precious.

"You know," he murmurs after a while, his voice a lazy drawl, "I could get used to this."

You chuckle, running your hand slowly across his stomach, feeling the warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breaths beneath your touch.

"Oh yeah?" You tease, your fingers brushing just under his ribcage. "Then you should let yourself rest more often."

He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating against your hand.

"Maybe I will, if I have you around," he replies, his voice soft and warm.

He opens his eyes again, looking up at you with that familiar twinkle, the one that tells you he is feeling more himself again.

You feel his fingers drift up, tracing light patterns along your wrist. His touch is warm and grounding. 

Leaning down, you brush a kiss against his forehead, feeling him smile beneath the touch.

His head nestles in your lap, the weight of him grounding you just as much as you ground him. In this moment, everything else—races, comments, expectations—fades away.

All that matters is the two of you, right there, sharing this moment of quiet, unspoken love.

[odxrilove]

☆ SEVENTEEN AND SOFT LAUNCHING

pairing: svt x f!reader

contents/warnings: scenarios, fluff? social media mentions (duh)

dori's notes: trying a new layout! >.<

back to masterlist!

꩜ .ᐟ THEY HAVE STUDIED THE OFFICIAL "URBAN DICTIONARY" MEANING...

— minghao .. he started the soft-launching trend

hao is like the epitome of a romantic caring partner, so there’s no doubt that he’s the one to initiate the soft launching. truly, he was so sure about your love that he was already teasing a romance after the second date, posting an aesthetic picture of two wine glasses, one brandishing red traces of lipstick. you’re pleasantly surprised at the sweet action and even a bit impressed when his launching stays romantic, pleasing to the eyes and keeps people on the edge all during. it’s no surprise that when the grand reveal of his partner finally comes, all reactions are heartwarming.

— joshua .. couldn’t let his gentleman-mask slip away

joshua is an all-rounder when it comes to romance and dating, and loving you– so it’s no wonder when he decides to pay for all your meals, treat you like a princess and take as many pictures of you as you want. people should have seen it coming, his stories going from skies to restaurant pics to borderline risqué and suggestive pictures of the woman in his life. in the end, the soft-launching is a success, just like your relationship with him.

— mingyu .. you think he would ever miss an opportunity to appear rich, cool and taken?

ever since he’s known about the existence of boyfriend pictures, he’s never let anyone else take his well-deserved golden trophy. but in reality, the boyfriend pictures used to give him a bitter aftertaste, since he wasn’t anyone’s boyfriend ! so now that he has you and he is a boyfriend, you can’t possibly think mingyu doesn’t take every opportunity possible to show off your growing love ? get ready to be all over his social media and his followers’ for you pages.

— seokmin .. he bought a white board on wheels to create the perfect soft-launch timeline

he’s a sweetheart through and through, and seokmin isn’t afraid to show he’s taken, even if it’s still early. he prepares everything thoroughly, wanting you to be happiest ever. he even created a timeline, which he followed very precisely, just so that nothing would go wrong ! people’s reactions to the soft-launching makes him all the more proud.

꩜ .ᐟ IS IT REALLY SOFT LAUNCHING WHEN HALF THE WORLD'S POPULATION KNOWS ALREADY...

— jun .. good opportunities, good initiative, just not enough talent

as much as jun wants to follow in minghao’s footsteps, following his advice might not be helpful enough. see, he puts effort into it, that’s for sure, but it seems like the social media world is just against him– as well as his friends. what do you mean his soft launching isn’t working, seungkwan? give the poor guy some slack, he’s trying.. that earns him a few points, at least. it’s alright if it turns out tacky or predictable, maybe you can teach him!

— seungcheol .. too giddy about you to be secretive

despite his intimidating appearance, this man is a total teddy bear, so him not being discreet enough about having someone in his life isn’t surprising. look, seungcheol tried his best, but it’s truly not his fault if a few of his friends already know about you or if the pictures he ends up posting aren’t secretive at all! in general, he doesn’t want to hide your relationship, too proud about you, so he’s not really into the "mysterious" aspects of the pictures, prefering to show you off the moment you become official.

— seungkwan .. you did it first, but he wasn’t happy with the outcome, so did it too

if nitpicking was a job, seungkwan would be the highest paid worker in the world– because tell me why this man brushes off your attempt at soft launching to then announce he’s going to do the same? when asked, he’ll say he can do better than you, but in reality, he has pictures of the two of you that he wants to show off. and apparently, so early on in the relationship, seungkwan is still a bit too shy to admit that fact, so instead he lies, overlooking the fact that everyone knows already, thanks to your own soft launching.

꩜ .ᐟ SOFT LAUNCHING? MORE LIKE HARD LAUNCHING...

— hoshi .. he’s just bad at it

listen, he’s cute and all but his cuteness can’t hide the fact he’s clueless about technology and is probably not the best person to do the soft launching. i mean, his attempt was definitely cute, but that was it, an attempt– you can’t really call a selfie of the both of you kissing an ideal soft launching pic, can you ? now, most of the time, he just reposts anything you tag him in, and you’re both happy.

— chan .. tries really hard but ends up accidentally messing it up

it’s pretty sad if you think about it actually, because he had it all planned out, all the pictures, the captions, even the songs that he would add! but then the worst happens.. an unedited soft-launching draft of you two is posted on his account, and he doesn’t realize until after everyone has already seen it. the comments pour in, and chan has to clench his teeth– no, user joshuahong95, chan didn’t mean to use "your" instead of "you’re" in his unfinished caption.

꩜ .ᐟ GUILTY! THEY LET YOU DO THE JOB..

— jeonghan .. is petty and insists you do it since he asked you out

truly, you should have seen it coming, knowing how much of a menace your boyfriend is. getting trapped into doing all the soft launching yourself was a dumb move on your part but a smart one on his. don’t take it too seriously though, it’s not that he doesn’t want to put in the effort, on the contrary, but he does really enjoy seeing you post and boast about him, all the while keeping it mysterious. in short, he indulges and basks in the attention as much as he can.

— wonwoo .. isn’t enough on social media to do it

even if wonwoo wanted to do it, he wouldn’t possibly be able to, since he isn’t active much on social media. If you had asked him to reveal your relationship to his close entourage, he probably would have just sent a captionless picture of you two in the groupchat, so you taking over the soft launching was better for everyone. when he does decide to help a bit, he’s lost in the timeline, posting dinner pics when you’re at the faceless ootd pics stage.

— vernon .. “soft launching is weird.. why do people even do it?” it’s cute vernon.

vernon’s stance on soft-launching is a problem in itself– he thinks it’s an unnecessary addition to society that it forces people to disclose private information under the pretext of a trend. you just think it’s cute. vernon thinks you’re cute so even if he finds it dumb, he lets you soft launch your relationship, because when you’re happy, you smile. and your smile makes you even cuter so he doesn’t mind sacrificing an opinion for the greater good, which, in his opinion, is you.

— woozi .. you don’t even mention it to him

woozi is without a doubt one of the more private members– he isn’t too keen on revealing too much about himself so plastering you all over his social media isn’t him. He knows you’re more active online and he doesn’t mind one bit but he wasn’t even aware you were soft launching him! he only finds out when hoshi teases him about it and he becomes confused; “what’s soft launching ?”. don’t worry, you have all the time in the world to explain what it means to him.

taglist: @0x1lovebot @fairybinie @odetoyeonjun @sensitively-taken @pockyandme @soobin-chois @lolalee24 @junityy @kaimal @laylasbunbunny @jaeyunverse @enhacolor @honglynights @starry-mins @bibinnieposts @yoonzin0 @raevyng @hoeforcheol @pearlygraysky @4xiaojun @viscade @kikohao @enluv @smilehui @starshuas @instabull @atrirose @dokyeomkyeom @todorokiskitten

please do not copy, repost or steal any of my work. all content belongs to @odxrilove

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

day three: hate sex (unedited)| NSFW MDNI 18+

"Are you always this fucking loud?" Logan gritted through his clenched teeth as his large calloused hand forcefully wrapped around your jaw. His sandpaper-like palm pushed up against your mouth, sealing your lips shu. His violent grip made you instinctively whimper, as the side of your face pressed further into the cool marble of the kitchen island. Your now-flushed skin began to stick to the polished countertop from the weight of his hold on you. The brackets of the island creaked from the impact of each of Logan's thrusts as he pounded into you. 

Giving him the satisfaction of a moan was the last thing you wanted to do.

 Logan Howlett was an arrogant, selfish, washed-up, pathetic excuse of a man who drank away all his problems and refused to listen to anyone but himself. The two of you had gotten into another late-night drunken argument in the kitchen, this time the outcome was a little different than usual. You had thrown a petty jab at him, something along the lines of how terrible of a lay he must be since Jean chose Summers over him. The room had fallen silent for a moment and It was only a matter of seconds before he had you pinned against the wall with his fist around your neck. 

Veins bulged from his forearms as his fingers tightened around your throat. His breaths came out in sharp, angry bursts through his nose, each exhale harsh and forceful as his rage barely stayed contained. The weathered skin of his face grew slightly red from a mixture of the rye and your snide comment.

Your heart stammered in your chest, a dizzying rush washing over you as his thumb pressed firmly against your airway.

"You wouldn't know good dick if it fucked you right up the ass," he grumbled lowly, only inches away from your face. You could smell the spice of his whiskey on his hot breath, making your face scrunch in response.

You used the little air left in your lungs to let out a sly, "If you're volunteering for the job, old man, It's take a hard pass."

 "You're acting like you've got options here, darlin'. " He said as his eyes grew dark, and a faint trace of a grin danced on his lips.

"Oh please, as if I'd ever choose you. Bet you can't even get hard anymor-" You spat, trying to squirm out of his tightening grip but suddenly stopped as your feet lifted up from the ground. Logan threw you over the kitchen island, your chest making forceful contact with the solid stone, knocking the air out of your lungs with a huff noise. 

"Don't think I can get it up, huh? You're in for a surprise." 

You felt as he pressed his firm erection against your backside. Your face turned hot against the white marble as you realized he got this worked up from just arguing with you. 

"Congratulations, your dick still works. Still doesn't mean you know how to use it though." You shot back over your shoulder.

His hands snapped down to your hips and you could feel the thin material of your pyjama shorts being yanked down your legs, revealing your blue heart-patterned thong. "Logan!" You tried to push up off the island but he forced you back down with one hand.

"Nice panties, Y/N," he snickered, tugging at the elastic band of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin. "Betcha' all the guys are lining up to see those in action." 

"Fuck off, short dick." You barked back. His free hand came down hard on your ass, a stinging sensation jolting you forward. 

"Watch your mouth," He warned you, pulling down your panties as well. Your entire backside was now out and exposed in the communal space. You writhed underneath him, attempting to escape his barricade. Your stomach knotted as you felt his fingers ghost your folds. You froze, bracing for the impact of his touch but were only met with the sound of his breath hitching, behind you.

A taunting grin spread across your lips as you arched your back, lifting your hips higher to expose yourself more to him.

« Knew you were all talk, knew you couldn’t handle this tight young pu- » You were cut off by Logan’s finger entering you. Your hands clawed at the smooth surface, trying to find something to hold onto.

«My dick is definitely too big for ya, that’s for sure. » He growled, pumping his two digits deeper.

Your thighs pressed together, trying to suppress the growing pleasure that was slowly forming between your legs. His fingers curled inside of you skillfully, finding your sensitive spot right away.

Your chest expanded as you tried to control your breathing, you were not going to give into Logan’s antics.

“Is this supposed to impress me? I’ve had better from a virgin.” You delivered carefully.

With a click of his tongue, he retrieved his slick-coated fingers from you. You sighed in relief from their absence but quickly found them shoved deep into your mouth.

“Already dripping wet from a few fucking fingers, you’re a joke. Clean up your mess, slut.” You gaged around his fingers as they reached the back of your throat making tears roll down your cheeks.

“That’s it, just like that. Didn’t think you could actually follow orders,” He came up close behind your ear, his hot breath tickling the skin on the nape of your neck.

Anger pooled in your lower stomach as you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose and sank your teeth down on him.

Logan jutted out a hasty “Fucking bitch!” and brought his hand back frantically. A slight taste of iron lingered on your tongue.

“Time to teach you a lesson, princess.” He grunted, using his free hand to unbuckle his pants and push them down. His belt buckle hit the ground with a loud CLANK.

Logan’s veiny cock sprung out of his boxers, hard and eager to fuck you. He collected some of your slick from your pussy with his nicked fingers and coated his swollen tip in it. After a few strokes, he positioned himself at your entrance.

“You in? You’re so small I can’t even feel yoOU-” You cried out as he pushed his girth past your tight entrance. His hips got closed in on you as his cock glided further down your tunnel, filling you up more with every inch of his shaft.

You focused on your breathing as the pressure in your lower area increased. Your body tensed up as you withstood the first-encounter pain of Logan’s size, your arms and legs locking in place.

When he reached your wall, he snickered behind you.

“Told ya it was too big.” He said as he pushed in a little further making you gasp in shock.

“You’re not too big, I’m just too small. Try not to cum in 2 minutes, would really be a waste of my time if you couldn’t even last,” You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you stretched around him.

Logan suddenly began to thrust in and out of you rhythmically. It started soft, almost as though he was avoiding hurting you, but as you began to adjust and relax around him his pace intensified greatly.

The pain dissolved as your augmenting slick helped his cock rub up your sweet spot inside you. You closed your eyes tightly, trying to contain any sound that may escape you.

His hands pushed down on your lower back, giving himself the leeway to thrust mercilessly into you. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoed through the industrial kitchenette. Logan’s breathing was quick and short from working himself inside you, his heartbeat now practically pounding out of his chest.

You twitched around him as his thick tip nudged against your G-spot over and over. With each pump, your walls began to clench around him harder. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your mind clouded from the pure ecstasy of his cock.

Continuously he edged you closer to orgasm. Your senses are heightened and diluted simultaneously, losing awareness of your surroundings. You gave in and let yourself go as some moans slipped from your lips; you were getting dangerously close to your sweet release.

“Ah fuck- Logan,” You pleaded between breaths. "Are you always this fucking loud?" Logan gritted through his clenched teeth as his large calloused hand forcefully wrapped around your jaw. His sandpaper-like palm pushed up against your mouth, sealing your lips shu. His violent grip made you instinctively whimper, as the side of your face pressed further into the cool marble of the kitchen island. Your now-flushed skin began to stick to the polished countertop from the weight of his hold on you. The brackets on the island creaked from the impact of each of Logan's thrusts as he pounded into you.

You whined through your nose as his thrusts became insanely hard that your ass stung from the impact. You tightened around him, squeezing for the heightened sensation to tip off your orgasm. Logan’s nails dug into your backside, sending you and him over the edge simultaneously. You both fell into a shamble of moans and whimpers. He bucked his hips into you as he pumped his hot thick seed deep inside. Your knees shook from the adrenaline of the release. His movements became jagged as his orgasm faded. The both of you took a moment to catch your breath.

Logan pulled out and let go of you. You mustered all of your remaining strength and got up, your chest feeling tender from lying on it for so long.

You both silently got dressed again, lost in thought, your brain too fuzzy to make conversation. You shimmied your shorts back up your body, using a free hand to wipe the sweat off your forehead.

When Logan was dressed he simply leaned against the wall where he had you pinned and crossed his arms. He wore a smug grin, as he watched you look for your underwear. You caught onto his gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“The fuck are you looking at?” You blurted, blush forming on your cheeks.

“Nothing. Just making sure you remember who got you looking like that.” He flashed a cocky grin, twirling your thong around his index finger.

“Fuck off,Howlett.”

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