#and the reaction to people who watched it at the time and the rigidity against the idea that it's queer now

[gayofthefae]

It really is all about expectations and trust because the number of people I've seen watch Stranger Things now without hearing about Byler and start to get suspicious at season 2 is ASTOUNDING. And it's because when you're surrounded by more representation, you notice it more too. The heteronormativity has been more broken down to acknowledge when traditional romantic cliches are being applied to people of the same gender.

Like I said in another post, my physical therapist said Mike checked Will out in the Halloween scene. She didn't think it was on purpose but I also don't think she would have noticed at all a few years ago.

Really, it's just a sweet observation of progress in general representation in the environment and what it can do for perceptions and normalization of queerness.

[onlybeeewrites]

Finding Magic

Request: May I request a hunger games request Haymitch x wife reader, she is a district 12 victor from the laye 50's games. She is around 4-8 years younger than him. It is set in district 13, we see him with their young daughter named after his fellow 50th game tribute and just fluff, please Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x Fem!reader

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x wife!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS, characters mentioned

A/N: the first of many Haymitch requests UGH I loved this and seeing soft Haymitch. Enjoy!! <3 ~~~~~~~~

The quarters in District 13 weren’t much—gray walls, stiff bedding, and a distinct lack of anything that could be called personal. Everything was practical, assigned, and strictly regulated, from the meals to the uniforms to the way time itself seemed to tick by in rigid blocks.

But somehow, you had made it feel like home. Haymitch wasn’t sure how she did it. Maybe it was the warmth she carried with her, the way she never let the weight of their reality smother the small joys you still managed to carve out of the days. Or maybe it was the way you saw things—not just for what they were, but for what they could be.

Even here, underground, you made the world seem bigger.

Your ten year old daughter, Louella was sprawled out on the cold floor, utterly lost in the book she held, her small fingers gripping the worn pages as if they contained the secrets of the universe.

Haymitch could see the crease between her brows, the slight parting of her lips as she whispered words under her breath, tasting them as she read. Whatever world she had discovered in those pages had its hooks in her now, and nothing short of an emergency would pull her out of it.

And you sat nearby, your head bent over a needle and thread, patching up yet another hole in your daughter’s jumpsuit. It wasn’t the first tear she’d fixed this week, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Louella was always running, climbing, sneaking into places she wasn’t supposed to be. She had the boundless energy of someone who had never known anything but motion.

Haymitch liked to pretend he didn’t know where she got that rebellious streak from, but between your quiet defiance and his own tendency to do exactly the opposite of what people expected, the girl hadn’t stood a chance.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching them for a moment before speaking. “What’s she reading this time?”

You didn’t look up, but there was a small smile on her lips. “Poetry. About magic.”

Haymitch raised a brow and pushed off the wall, making his way over before flopping down beside Louella. “Magic, huh? Didn’t think District 13 allowed that kind of thing.”

Louella shot him an unimpressed look over the top of her book. “It’s poetry, Papa. Not spells.”

Haymitch smirked, leaning in as if she had just admitted to something scandalous. “Still sounds like nonsense.”

Louella let out a dramatic sigh and held up the book. “Just listen.”

She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and read aloud:

“The wind hums secrets through the trees,

The river sings to passing bees.

The sky bends low to kiss the land,

And leaves spell stories in the sand.”

She closed the book with a decisive little snap and looked up expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

Haymitch tilted his head. “Huh. Not bad.”

Louella beamed, victorious, and turned to her mother. “See? Even he likes it.”

You chuckled, tying off the stitch with practiced ease. “Took him long enough.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but turned back to Louella. “So, you really think there’s magic in all that?”

Louella nodded eagerly. “Mama says magic is just seeing things the right way. Like when the sun looks like melted gold, or when the air smells different before a storm.”

You take a pause, setting down the sewing, stretching your fingers before smiling at your daughter. “My family always believed in magic,” you said, voice soft with nostalgia,

“We grew up in the fields, and we saw it in everything—the way fireflies danced like little stars, the hush of the earth before the first snowfall, the way seeds always knew how to find the sun.”

Louella’s eyes widened in that way only a child’s could, full of wonder and longing for things just out of reach. “I wish I could’ve seen all that.”

You smiled fondly, brushing a curl from Louella’s face. “You still can, sweetheart. Magic’s in the little things. You just have to know how to look.”

Haymitch snorted, shaking his head. “That why people used to call your family wild?”

That caused you to smirked at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Of course. You’d know that. You’d also remember that people often said we were odd for believing in things you couldn’t hold in your hands. But it takes special people to see the magic in little things.”

Louella grinned. “Good thing I’m special, then.”

Haymitch hummed, “yes you are, sweetheart,” he said glancing between the two of them—you, his wife, with your quiet strength and stubborn belief in things bigger than themselves, and his daughter, practically glowing with excitement at the idea of unseen wonders hiding in the world around her.

Louella yawned, rubbing at her eyes but still stubbornly gripping her book. “Can I read one more?”

You glanced at the clock on the wall—lights-out was soon, and rules were strict here. But sighed, a small, indulgent smile on your lips. “Just one more.” How could you deny one of the few pleasures you were able to indulge in?

Louella grinned and flipped through the pages, searching for the perfect poem. Haymitch, meanwhile, leaned his head back against the wall, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

He wasn’t much for poetry, but he liked the sound of Louella’s voice as she read, soft and full of belief. Reminding him so much of you.

“The stars will shine beyond the dark,

Their light will never wane.

A whispered wish, a hopeful heart,

And magic stays the same.”

Luella looked up, blinking sleepily. “That means magic is always there, right? Even when we can’t see it?”

You ran her fingers through Louella’s hair. “That’s right.”

Haymitch huffed. “Poetry’s got a lot of nerve making promises like that.”

Louella giggled, pressing her face into his side. “You just don’t get it, Dad.”

He smirked, pulling the blanket up over her. “Guess not.”

She let out another small yawn, and this time, her eyes didn’t open again. Haymitch exhaled, shifting to pick her up. She made a sleepy sound of protest as he scooped her into his arms, but she didn’t fight it, just curled against his chest like she’d done since she was little.

You stood and followed as he carried Louella to the small cot she called a bed. He tucked her in, smoothing down the blanket while you brushed her hair back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Haymitch stayed there a moment longer, watching as Louella breathed slow and deep, already lost in dreams. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Sleep tight, wild thing.”

She didn’t stir. You slipped your hand into his, lacing their fingers together as they stepped back from the bed.

Haymitch pressed a kiss to you temple as they settled onto their own bed. “You’re gonna turn her into a dreamer.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Good. The world needs more of them.”

Haymitch didn’t answer right away. He just held you a little tighter, his fingers absently tracing slow, idle patterns against your arm.

Even after all these years, it still felt surreal sometimes—having this family, having you.

He thought back to the first time he saw you, standing on that stage at seventeen, trying to keep your face blank as your name was called. He’d been your mentor then, five years after winning himself. And he had been forced to watch 10 kids die since then. He was sure you would be the 12th.

And so he was forced to watch as you stepped into the arena, as you fought. But this time you proved everyone wrong as you won.

He had known, back then, what kind of person would walk out of that place. What it took to survive.

But you had come back still you, against all odds. You had come back stubborn and sharp and kind in ways the Capitol couldn’t kill. You still held onto who you were. And that alone was the perfect act of rebellion.

And somehow, in the years that followed, through nightmares and rebellion and the slow, aching process of trying to be something more than just survivors—you had found your way to each other eventually. And then became more.

Then two, became three. You had sobbed in his arms when you found out, fearing the day that she too would have to be reaped from the bowl of names. With a high chance of her dying in that god forsaken arena. The guilt, Haymitch remembered, took such a toll on you.

“How could I do this? Bring a child into this world?” You had once said. But after some time you had come to terms with the baby—Luella. Light in the dark. And a memorial name after the one of the tributes from Haymitch’s games. A sweet little girl you remembered from the Seam.

But now, you all were here, in a dimly lit room beneath the earth, with the most incredible daughter who believed in poetry and magic, in a place where hope was hard to hold on to.

And yet, somehow, you still did.

Haymitch exhaled, pressing his forehead against your hair. “You know,” he muttered, “I always knew you were trouble.”

You laughed softly, shifting closer. “Oh? Since when?”

“Since you looked me in the eye after they called your name and didn’t cry.” His voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Since you gave me an attitude that first day on the train. And especially afterward,”

Your fingers brushed against his hand, lacing together. “Guess that means you didn’t do a terrible job as a mentor.”

Haymitch huffed a small, dry laugh. “Didn’t do a great one, either.”

You squeezed his hand, tilting her head at him. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He didn’t answer, just pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You were here. You were still you. Even after everything you both had gone through.

Maybe that was magic too.

[songbirdseung]

𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻 / 𝑺𝑰𝑴 𝑱𝑨𝑬𝒀𝑼𝑵

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝? 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

Jake was used to the attention. It came with the whole student body president territory. Being reliable, charming in an unintentional way, and, unfortunately for you, a magnet for every girl who thought they had a chance.

And you got it. Really, you did. He had that perfect balance; smart, responsible, but also just dorky enough to be endearing. The round glasses that framed his warm brown eyes, the way he’d push them up with his index finger when he was deep in concentration, the slightly disheveled hair from running his hands through it one too many times. It was a look, and apparently, it worked.

But no one knew Jake like you did.

None of those girls saw the way he rambled about sci-fi theories when he got too excited, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses as he excitedly talked about intergalactic civilizations and paradoxes. They didn’t know about the little quirks he had, like how he absentmindedly tapped his pen against his desk when deep in thought, or how he always had to have a cup of iced coffee when he studied, even at night. They certainly didn’t know about the late-night conversations where he let his guard down, where he stopped being the golden boy everyone admired and instead became just Jake... your Jake, the one who buried his face in your shoulder after a long day, mumbling about how he didn’t ask to be this responsible.

Most importantly, none of them had the right to look at him the way they did.

Which is exactly why you were here now, sitting next to him on his dorm bed, watching him type away on his laptop, glasses slipping down his nose as he muttered under his breath about an upcoming school event. His focus was unwavering, fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced ease.

You, however, were growing impatient.

"Jake," you called, waiting for him to look at you.

He didn’t. "Mhm?"

You sighed, shifting closer. "Jake."

Still, no reaction. His brows furrowed slightly, clearly too engrossed in whatever he was working on to pay you any mind.

That wouldn’t do.

Without another word, you moved, straddling his lap and successfully pulling his attention away as his hands immediately froze over his keyboard.

"Y-Y/N?" His voice cracked slightly, and it made you smirk.

"Hi," you greeted innocently, fingers trailing up his shoulders to play with the collar of his sweater, your touch feather-light yet intentional.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands hesitating before finding a tentative place on your hips. "W-What are you—"

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, Jake… I’ve been thinking."

"A-About what?" His breath hitched, his fingers tightening their grip on your waist.

You hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, feeling the way he tensed beneath you. "About how everyone keeps thinking you're available."

Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on you tightening even further. "I—I mean, I can’t exactly control how people think."

You hummed in response, but you weren’t really listening anymore. Instead, you focused on the way his skin felt under your lips, on the way his breathing turned uneven as you sucked lightly on the delicate spot just beneath his jaw. You made sure to take your time, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as you continued your work.

"Y-Y/N—" His voice was strained, his body going rigid beneath you.

But you didn’t stop, not until you were sure that the mark you left was deep and noticeable, blooming across his fair skin like a brand. Satisfied, you finally pulled back to admire your work. A pretty, flushed bruise that was going to be impossible to hide.

Jake was still catching his breath, dazed and flustered beyond belief. His fingers dug into your sides slightly, as if grounding himself, his lips parted as he tried to process what had just happened.

"Now," you whispered, leaning in again, this time to press a soft kiss to his jaw, your tone dripping with satisfaction. "Let’s see if they still think you’re up for grabs."

It took him a second to fully comprehend what you had just done, but when he did, something shifted. His dazed expression morphed into something else, something darker, something more mischievous. His warm brown eyes, once filled with innocent shock, now burned with something deeper, something more knowing.

"Oh?" he murmured, his hands sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate motion. "So that’s how we’re playing, huh?"

Before you could react, he moved—flipping you over so that you were beneath him now, his face inches from yours as his weight pinned you down against the mattress. The air between you shifted, the teasing atmosphere giving way to something much more charged.

"Well, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice lower now, smoother, as he trailed a single finger down the side of your jaw. "I think it’s only fair I return the favor."

[yelenasbraid]

Wait id love a blurb ab trainer girl and Joe getting found out. What’s everyone reactions? I feel like it would bring out protective Joe to the max 🥵

oh it most certainly would.

Joe wanted more than anything to keep his relationship with Y/N hidden. He knew the implications and what it could mean for her. The last thing he wanted was for her to lose her job because he couldn’t keep himself together.

It was a picture. A simple, grainy photo that depicted two people sharing a kiss. Except the picture was clear enough for Joe and Y/N to be easily picked out.

Neither of them knew when they walked into the facility the next morning.

She walked down to the locker room, expecting a normal, clean environment. Every now and then she’d pull players for evaluations, and she’d start in the locker room. She pushed the doors open, several pairs of eyes on her.

“Alright, I need Joe Burrow to come with me for a post-season evaluation,” she stated, checking the notebook full of names she had written down.

“Oh yeah, definitely for an ‘evaluation,’” a snicker lifts from the crowd, and she can’t pin point who it is.

“Excuse me?” she called out, eyes searching the crowd for the perpetrator. No one responded, but there was a look in some of their eyes. They knew something.

“Just saying, Doc,” one player spoke up, “don’t think you’ll be actually evaluating Joe,”

“Why don’t you think so?” she crossed her arms over her chest. Joe watched her, elbows resting on his knees as he laced up his cleats. She always handled herself well, but Joe could see the shift. Something was up.

“Aren’t you two dating?” It was Andrei who spoke up this time, “there’s a picture of you guys kissing, so, I’m assuming —”

“You know better than to assume,” Joe spoke up, his voice commanding the attention of the room. It was his huddle voice, the tone he used to critique and to lead. Fuck it was hot. 

“Joe, I-”

“Stop while you’re ahead, Iosivas, or I’ll make sure you fall behind,” Joe’s tone was borderline a growl, but the way his heart was slamming in his chest portrayed a possessive nature. Joe’s body was rigid, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t know about the photo, but it worried him. It made his palms sweat, but he would stand in front of her before she took any sort of fire. From anyone.

“Any rumors or photographs you see are none of your business, am I understood?” Joe asked, his voice echoing in the room. The players nodded their heads, their assumptions and their ideas about them dissipating.

Joe walked past her, and she followed him out. They were silent, their hearts slamming against their chests. Her legs shook, her mind spinning as she led him to an exam room.

“What if we got caught?” she asked once the exam room door was shut.

“Then I’ll handle it,” Joe assured her, sliding up onto the table.

“Joe—”

“Sh, I’ll handle it,” Joe hummed, pressing a pointer finger to her lips. He understood her anxiety, the fear she’d be fired. Joe knew that they’d be called into the conference room soon enough to hash it out with the coaches, but right now, he needed his evaluation.

“Now how about that evaluation, hm?” Joe hummed, a playful sparkle in his eye. She rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushing with heat. She obliged, letting him cup her face and bring her lips to his.

[burningembers91]

Awards Night - Park Min-Su x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

The Secretary

Lunch Date

Synopsis: tasked with delivering a speech at the annual company awards night, Min-Su turns to you for help; but your body makes it so hard for him to concentrate.

A/N: this storyline is living rent free in my head right now.

The atmosphere in the office was electric, the excitement palpable as everyone readied themselves for a night of celebrations. Park Min-Su hated the annual company awards night, which was nothing more than an excuse for people to get shit faced and take advantage of an open bar.

Last year his father had insisted he make a speech, thanking the employees for their hard work. Min-Su was not a confident speaker, and ended up stammering through two sentences of what he’d prepared before backing into a magnum of champagne and shattering the bottle all over the stage. He’d hoped that his father would allow him to blend quietly into the background this year, but no such luck.

Min-Su knew what people said about them, could hear them whispering about him at lunch, making snide remarks as he stammered his way through meetings. His shenanigans at the awards night had been circulated for weeks over email and text, only ceasing when his father threatened to fire people. He was expecting this year to be as disastrous as last, but this time he had a secret weapon: he had you.

“Your dad wants me to help you with your speech,” you’d smiled to him one morning, perching on his desk in your tantalising tiny skirt. He wondered if you knew what you were doing, if you were aware of the effect you had on him. Min-Su had fallen head first into infatuated lust with you, spending his evenings picturing you in every possible position, imagining his name falling from your mouth in breathy moans. He wondered if it was obvious he had no experience with women, if you knew he’d only gotten so far as handholding. It embarrassed him that he was 28 and so inexperienced; you’d want a man who knew how to make you feel good, not a boy who didn’t know the first thing about unhooking a bra.

“Min-Su?” You were smiling at him, waiting patiently for him to answer you. He’d been so lost in his daydreams that he’d forgotten to respond to your words. His body had responded to you though, his stiffening cock aching against the fabric of his suit. He shifted his chair further under the desk, hoping you hadn’t noticed the effect you had on him.

“Yes. The speech,” he sighed. “I’m not great at public speaking.”

He’d grown more confident with you over the last 6 months, and had finally started opening up. You’d spent hours talking in his office, or over lunch, and Min-Su had tried his best to explain the rigid upbringing he’d had pressed upon him. You knew he didn’t want the family company, but you also knew he was too terrified of his father to ever say anything.

“Well, what did you say last year?” You asked, your pen tapping on your notepad. Min-Su could see up your skirt with the position you were sitting in, could see the briefest flash of the black lace underwear you wore. He shifted uncomfortably, the view doing nothing for his erection, but fuelling the fantasies that would play over in his head later.

“Last year I thanked everyone for coming and then knocked over an expensive bottle of champagne,” he admitted. You bit back a laugh, and seeing your reaction caused a smile to break across his face. You liked seeing Min-Su smile, enjoyed seeing him relax. He had a handsome face, and his smile made his eyes light up.

“Ok, well, we’ll start with thanking everyone again, and avoid smashing any alcohol.” You started scribbling on your notepad, your floral perfume enveloping Min-Su as he watched you work. “Oh, your dad also wants to know if you’re bringing a plus one tonight.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Can… can you not be my plus one?” He knew you were coming already, all the employees were invited, but he was hoping you’d stay with him tonight, help him with the nerves only you seemed able to quell.

“I’d never thought you’d ask,” you winked. You knew he didn’t have a plus one, and his dad hadn’t asked you to check. But you were hoping he’d get the courage up to ask you to go with him, to stay by his side. The more time you spent with Min-Su, the more you were desperate to teach him things he could only dream about.

The awards ceremony was being held at the some fancy hotel, and the dress code was strictly black tie. You arrived in a satin navy blue cocktail dress, ignoring the stares of the investment bankers around you. You only had eyes for Min-Su tonight. You found him seated behind a champagne fountain, a half full glass clutched in his hand. His eyes lit up as he saw you, and he stood to attention, slopping champagne onto his Versace brogues.

“Wow,” he whispered, taking in the dress that outlined your figure like it was made just for you. “You look…” he couldn’t finish his sentence, simply because the word to describe your beauty didn’t exist.

You smiled, opening your purse and pulling out his speech.

“It’s all typed and ready to go. Just remember, I’ll be at the front of the crowd. If you get nervous, just look at me and pretend I’m the only one in the room.”

Min-Su wouldn’t have trouble doing that; most of the time he didn’t notice anyone else when you were around. He swallowed hard, trying not to notice the way your breasts looked in the tight dress. Heading to the stage, he waited for his father to introduce him, and took to the microphone.

He could hear people laughing, could see cameras in the crowd waiting to capture the moment he fell flat on his face. His eyes scanned the crowd, finding you standing right near the stage, just where you said you’d be. He focused on your face, on your soft eyes and smile. You gave him a small thumbs up, and Min-Su started speaking. His voice wavered, but didn’t falter, and he thanked his father, grandfather and colleagues for another successful year. He laid out the yearly earnings and various company acquisitions, and for the first time in maybe his whole life, his father looked at him with a smidge of pride. Your speech was perfect, and yet Min-Su claimed all the credit.

He couldn’t find you after he stepped down from the stage, swarmed by the very people who used to make fun of him. Now they slapped him on the back, cracked jokes with him, offered him glasses of champagne. But Min-Su only wanted to be with you. His eyes searched the sea of people, spotting your blue dress by the door leading to the balcony. He picked his way through the crowd, finding you leaning against the railing as you took in the night sky.

“That was amazing,” you smiled, “you did such an incredible job.” You pulled him into a hug, your curves soft and warm against his body. He pulled away before you could feel his body react to you, smiling sheepishly as he swallowed the rest of his drink.

“It was all you,” he shrugged, unable to tear his eyes from your figure.

“I just wrote the words,” you told him. “You had the whole room in a trance.”

Min-Sun could hear the music start up inside, could hear the laughter of people as they joined the dance floor.

“Dance with me?” You asked him, holding out your hand for him to take. He’d never really danced before, too aware of all the things that could go wrong.

“I can’t dance,” he mumbled.

“Everyone can dance!” You exclaimed. “Come on, we’ll stay out here where no one can see.”

Min-Su slowly span you around, completely out of time to the music but neither of you seemed to care. You were lost in your own little world, Min-Su laughing as he became more confident. He wasn’t sure how long you were out there for, just the two of you under the star studded sky. He wanted to kiss you, wanted to feel your lips against his but he had no idea how to start, or if you even wanted to kiss him back.

“We should go back inside,” you eventually sighed. “You’re the man of the hour, and they’ll be missing you.”

Min-Su wanted to tell you that he didn’t want to go back inside, he wanted to dance all night with you under the stars. But he faltered yet again, smiling sadly as you led him inside.

He couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the night, wishing he was back outside with you. That night he pleasured himself as he imagined removing your blue satin dress, of kissing down your body while you moaned his name. He couldn’t look you in the eye the next day, the filthy things he’d imagined still ingrained in his brain.

He didn’t know you’d been thinking of him as well, that you’d pictured the two of you making love under the stars. You were so desperate to teach him things, to open him up to a world of pleasure he could only dream of.

All he had to do was ask.

[slut4thebroken]

Pool Party

(smut prompt 70 “I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice”)

Pairing | Neil Lewis × reader

Summary | You and Neil go to a pool party and he sees you in a bikini for the first time 👀

Warnings | Smut, grinding, kissing, hickeys, public sex, breeding, praise, a lil degradation, needy Neil.

Words | 1.5 k

Notes | (Barely proofread.) This one got a little long lol. Most of these will be 1k words or less btw.

Even after months of dating, Neil’s reaction to seeing your body was always the same as the first time. He’d stare at you, slack jawed and blushing, as his cock started to fatten up in his pants. Truthfully, it was a bit of an ego boost and you liked teasing him whenever you could, no matter how much he claimed to hate it.

Today was no different. It was the middle of summer and one of your friends was throwing a pool party. You and Neil went together and the second you slipped your sundress off your body, he choked on his spit and went completely rigid.

“Jesus- what the hell is that?” He whined, making you turn to him. You tried not to smirk when he moved his towel in front of his body.

“What?” You asked innocently. He’s never seen you in a bathing suit yet, so you were eager to see how he’d react… He definitely didn’t disappoint. He couldn’t keep his eyes off your body and it was like he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was currently eye fucking you. “Are you okay, Neil?” You asked sweetly, watching the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. When he still didn’t respond, you couldn’t help but smirk. He wasn’t even looking at your face though, so you didn’t bother trying to hide it. “Okay well… I’ll be in the pool. Feel free to join me when you’re feeling better.” You said, trying to keep the amusement out of your voice and sound concerned instead.

You walked into the pool and went underwater for a second before coming back up and swimming over to greet your friend. When she asked if Neil was here too, you confirmed and looked behind yourself, laughing quietly at the way he was sitting with his towel on his lap just to take his shirt off.

You talked for a while until two hands snaked around your waist and pulled you back by your stomach. As soon as you felt his hands you knew it was Neil, but the bulge made it even more obvious. Since you were still in the middle of a conversation, you kept talking and smiled a little when he rested his chin on your shoulder. You tried not to blush when he started slowly rocking his hips, rubbing his hard on against your ass.

Eventually your friend excused herself, saying she had to go greet the other people who just arrived. You waited until she was out of earshot before saying anything.

“It’s rude to interrupt people’s conversations, y’know.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“It’s the principle, Neil.” You tried not to laugh. He started pulling you back by your waist until he was leaning on the wall of the pool with your back still firmly pressed to his front. “Can I help you?” You asked teasingly, looking over your shoulder at him as he pouted.

“C’mon, baby, just really quick.” He begged quietly, kissing the bare skin of your shoulder next to your bathing suit strap.

“No, Neil. These are my friends.” You scolded gently, making his pout deepen.

“I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one will notice.” He was grinding on your ass a little more obviously now and he moved your hair away to start kissing the side of your neck.

“I’m not letting you fuck me at a party in broad daylight.” He whined and hugged you tighter, rutting against you more desperately. “Go jerk off in the bathroom or something.” You tried not to laugh at the thought.

“Can’t get out of the pool like this.” He grumbled, sucking the sensitive skin of your neck into his mouth, making you gasp quietly. “C’mon, I promise I’ll be quick.” One of his hands started trailing down your stomach, not stopping until he was cupping your heat over the bathing suit. “Need to feel you, baby. Need your pussy..” Despite your hesitation, his words were getting you a little worked up…

“Just keep grinding on my ass then.” You said plainly, making him whine and start rubbing your clit.

“It’ll be too messy.”

“Oh, but it won’t be messy for me?” You scoffed and he kissed up your neck until his lips brushed your ear.

“Please?” He whispered. You sighed and looked around— everyone seemed to be preoccupied with something else…

“Whatever. Fine.” You huffed. He laughed quietly in response, knowing you were still putting up an act.

The hand on your clit moved to push down his bathing suit enough to free his cock, then pulled your bottoms to the side, letting him line up. He pushed in slowly, dropping his head onto your shoulder with a quiet moan. You bit your lip and looked away from the crowd of people, trying to hide your expression. Because of the water and the lack of preparation, it burned a little, but the stretch still just felt so fucking good.

“Fuck— you’re so tight.” He whimpered, forcing his hips forward until he bottomed out. His arms wrapped around your torso again, hugging you tightly as he just barely started rocking his hips.

“This fucking bikini… Were you trying to kill me?” He said through a groan and you couldn’t help but blush. He suddenly pulled you down a little as he bent his knees so that everything below your collarbone was under the water. When his hands snaked up your stomach, you suddenly realized his plan.

“Neil…” You warned. You’re not low enough in the water for people to not be able to see the contrast of his pale hands over your colored bathing suit.

“C’mon, just— just for a second..” He whined, not letting you protest again before cupping your breasts and squeezing gently. “God I love these tits.” He grunted, fucking you a little faster now, but keeping his thrusts shallow so that the water didn’t ripple too much. “So fucking sexy…” He said through a breath as he started panting. You couldn’t help the quiet whimper that escaped when he started pinching and pulling on your nipples through the fabric.

You watched a group of people disperse and immediately got scared. “Neil— Neil, stop.” You said quickly, trying to pull his hands away before someone saw.

“No, baby, let me feel you.” He whined. Based on the way that his head hasn’t moved for a while, you figured he wasn’t even looking to see if anyone was watching. “I’m so close, just a little longer.”

“People are gonna see.” You whispered, still trying to pull him away.

“So? They’re just jealous.” He grumbled, flattening his hands and groping you again. “They wish they could touch these tits after seeing you in this slutty little bikini.” His voice was a low growl, making you shiver.

“Neil, come on..” You whined, not wanting your friends to see your boyfriend groping you in public. Sure, they could’ve seen something worse… but this was still embarrassing as hell.

“Shh, baby, I’m almost there.” He whispered. His hips were moving more frantically now, chasing his orgasm with little regard for how obvious his movements were. “Such a fucking slut letting me fuck you right in front of everyone…” He moaned quietly. “Letting me breed you in front of all your friends while I play with your tits.” He snickered, making you whine as your cheeks heated up.

“I bet you want them to see.” You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut— you can’t stop him, so you’re just not going to see if people noticed to save yourself from even more embarrassment. He placed his chin on your shoulder again, his hot breath against your neck making you shudder. “Yeah, you do..”

“No…” You whined, but it cut off into a gasp when he suddenly pulled your bathing suit down below your breasts. “Neil!” You quickly lifted your arms to cover your chest and he let out a low moan when he groped you again, this time without anything blocking him.

“Fuck,” He choked out, squeezing you harder and bucking into you faster. “I’m gonna come..” He said through a breath. The water was just barely sloshing around as he rapidly fucked you, chasing release.

“Neil, slow down.” You whimpered, not able to move your hands to stop him without removing some of the cover for your bare tits.

“Fuck— take my come, baby. Take it.” He growled, slamming into you with a muffled groan as his hands moved back down to hug you tight, not letting you escape. You scrambled to pull your bathing suit back up, trying not to get distracted by the warmth filling you up and the way you could just barely feel his cock twitching inside you. “Mm… good girl.” He moaned, kissing over your neck again until his body finally relaxed and his orgasm finished. “Good fucking girl.”

Both of you were panting, trying to calm down from the intense moment you were just experiencing only a moment ago. He finally pulled out, then fixed your bathing suit before tucking his cock away.

“I swear to god, Neil, if someone saw..” He quickly turned you around and captured your lips in a kiss, forcing a startled moan from you. When someone yelled your name, you both pulled back and looked over, finding your friend waving you over with a smile. It didn’t seem like you were in trouble, thankfully… so hopefully no one actually noticed.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Secret Misery

The blinding flashes hit before you even step inside the airport. You tighten your grip on Marshall’s hand, your heart hammering in your chest. Your other hand clenches the strap of your bag, nails digging into the leather. You hate this. Hate the cameras, the yelling, the invasion. You didn’t sign up for this life, even if you signed up for him.

“Marshall! Over here, man!”

“Yo, Em! You look pissed! Trouble in paradise?”

Your head jerks up at the words, eyes wide. A camera clicks right in front of you, and the bright light makes you flinch, your body tensing on reflex. Marshall sees it—feels it—and his entire body goes rigid beside you. His grip on your hand tightens like a vice.

“Back the fuck up,” he growls, voice sharp as a blade.

The cameras don’t stop. If anything, they get closer. You shrink into yourself, but Marshall tugs you forward, his whole body coiled with frustration. He doesn’t want you here. Doesn’t want you anywhere near this shit. His jaw ticks, lips pressed into a thin line as he pulls you through the terminal, keeping your small frame tucked into his side.

By the time you reach the car, your nerves are shot. Your ears are still ringing, your stomach twisting. Marshall slams the door shut behind you both, letting out a heavy breath before running a hand down his face. His blue eyes flick to you, taking in the way you’re curled into yourself, your arms wrapped tight around your middle.

“I hate this,” you murmur.

“I know, baby,” he says, voice softer now. “I fuckin’ hate it, too.”

He reaches for your hand again, lacing his fingers through yours. His grip is warm, steady—his own way of saying, I got you.

And as much as you hate this, as much as you hate feeling like prey in the middle of a hunt, you have him. You have this. And that means something.

—

The next morning, it’s everywhere.

Your face, plastered across every gossip site imaginable. The worst possible picture of you, eyes wide in discomfort, lips pressed in irritation. And beside you, Marshall looking like he’s two seconds from wrecking the next person who breathes too close to you.

“Eminem headed for $350 million divorce? Inside his wife’s secret misery.”

You groan, shoving your phone into the couch cushions. Marshall snorts from the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug.

“You wanna tell me about your ‘secret misery’ or should I find out on TMZ like everybody else?” he teases, walking over and plopping down beside you.

“Oh, shut up.”

His arm drapes over your shoulders, pulling you in until you’re tucked against his side. He presses a kiss to your temple, lips lingering.

“People are fuckin’ stupid,” he mutters.

“Yeah. They are.”

You tilt your head, looking up at him. His fingers trail along your arm, absentmindedly tracing the outline of a tattoo he got years ago.

“They don���t get it,” you say. “They don’t get us.”

“Don’t need ‘em to.”

You nod, exhaling softly as he pulls you in closer.

Let them talk. Let them speculate.

You know the truth.

And that’s enough.

----

You’re used to this kind of thing dying down.

The Internet moves fast—one scandal replaces another, and your name is usually forgotten within days. After all, you’re barely famous. The most the public ever sees of you is the occasional blurry shot of you with Marshall, or maybe a rare picture on your Instagram—usually just a landscape, a book, or the cat curled up in Marshall’s lap. You never post about him, never feed into the media circus that follows him everywhere he goes.

But this time… it doesn’t go away.

For two weeks in L.A., it’s all anyone seems to care about. Every time you step outside, there’s someone watching, someone shouting at you, trying to get a reaction.

"Are you and Em still together?"

"You look miserable! Blink twice if you need help!"

"Is it true he's been cheating?"

You ignore it, keep your head down, try not to let it get under your skin. It’s not easy.

You’re used to people trying to make you feel small. You are small—barely five feet, petite enough that people assume they can push you around. Your voice is soft, your style even softer—dresses, pastels, lace, everything delicate. You know how people see you. The girl who won’t stand up for herself. The wife who can’t handle the pressure.

And maybe they’re not entirely wrong.

Marshall usually keeps you in Detroit when he has work in L.A. There, you’re safe. No paparazzi lurking outside your favorite café, no headlines twisting your expression into something it’s not. But this trip is longer, and he wanted you close.

Now, you’re starting to wish you’d stayed home.

—

It happens at a café in West Hollywood.

Marshall had an early studio session, and you’d woken up craving something sweet, so you slipped out to grab a coffee and a pastry. You hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting. You were wrong.

The moment you step outside, cameras flash. Voices call out your name, barking questions, pushing closer. Your heart picks up, hands tightening around your coffee cup as you duck your head and move faster.

Then—

A hand grabs your arm.

Not hard, not violent. But enough.

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. Your whole body tenses, panic sparking in your chest.

“Hey, hey, relax,” the guy says. He’s got a camera around his neck, a smarmy grin on his face. “Just wanted to ask a few questions—”

You rip your arm away before he can finish, stumbling back. Your coffee sloshes over your fingers, burning hot, but you barely feel it over the adrenaline surging through your veins.

You don’t say anything. You can’t. Your throat is too tight, your breath too shaky. You just turn and run.

By the time you make it back to the hotel, your hands are still trembling. Your heart hasn’t settled, your skin feels tight, and the place where that man grabbed your arm burns like a brand.

But you can’t let Marshall see.

You know how he’ll react.

He’s already pissed about the headlines, about the way they won’t leave you alone. If he finds out someone actually put their hands on you—even if it wasn’t violent—he’ll lose it. He’ll go off on whoever will listen. Maybe worse.

So you breathe deep, shake out your hands, and tell yourself to get it together.

By the time Marshall gets back, you’ve washed off the coffee that spilled on your fingers, changed into one of his hoodies, and curled up on the hotel couch with a book. You force yourself to look normal. Calm.

But the second he walks in, he knows something’s wrong.

He always knows.

“Hey, baby,” he greets, dropping his keys on the table before coming over. He bends down, presses a kiss to your head. “You eat yet?”

You shake your head, trying to focus on the words on the page. “Not hungry.”

He stills.

You don’t have to look at him to feel the way he’s watching you. The way his body tenses, his eyes narrowing like he’s analyzing every inch of you.

Then, he crouches in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. “What happened?”

You force a small smile, shaking your head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

His jaw clenches. “Bullshit.”

You swallow, gripping your book tighter. “I just—” You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “I went to get coffee. The paparazzi were outside. It was… a lot.”

His frown deepens, fingers flexing against your legs. “Did they say something to you?”

“No,” you lie, eyes darting back to your book. “It’s nothing, really. I just wasn’t expecting them.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. “Jesus. You should’ve called me. I’d’ve sent Paul or—”

“I handled it,” you cut in quickly. You don’t want this to turn into a thing. “I got my coffee. I got back. It’s fine.”

But it’s not fine.

You can tell by the way his fingers tighten on you, the way his whole body thrums with barely contained frustration. He hates this. Hates that he wasn’t there, that you had to deal with it alone.

And if he ever finds out the truth—

You don’t even want to think about it.

---

Marshall eats, but you can tell he’s still stewing. He doesn’t talk much, just watches you between bites, eyes sharp, like he’s waiting for you to slip up. You force yourself to act normal. Keep your voice even. Pretend like the feeling of that man’s hand on your arm isn’t still lingering on your skin.

After lunch, you settle onto the couch while he flips through channels, searching for something mindless to watch. You exhale softly, finally starting to relax. Maybe you really did get away with it.

Then—

He freezes.

The room is filled with the sound of chaotic voices, overlapping shouts, the unmistakable click click click of cameras. You don’t even have to look up to know.

TMZ.

Your stomach drops.

No, no, no—

“What the fuck is this?”

Marshall’s voice is quiet. Too quiet. That dangerous, simmering calm right before he explodes.

You don’t answer. You don’t breathe. Your eyes snap to the screen just in time to see the worst moment playing out in grainy, overexposed video.

You, leaving the café, head down, trying to get to the car.

The cameras flashing, voices yelling, the headlines screaming at the bottom of the screen.

Then—there it is. The guy reaching out, his hand grabbing your arm. Your whole body freezing. The way your shoulders jerk up, the way you flinch. The way you run.

Marshall doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

You can feel the shift in the air, the slow-building rage curling off him in waves. His grip tightens around the remote until his knuckles go white. His jaw flexes. His breathing deepens, steady, controlled, but you can hear the strain in it.

The next second, the remote goes flying, slamming into the wall with a crack.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You jump, pulse spiking, hands clutching the hem of your sweater.

“Marshall—”

“You lied to me.” His voice is sharp, raw. When he turns to you, his blue eyes are blazing. “You lied to me about what happened.”

“I—I didn’t want you to freak out.”

“Freak out?” He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “You were scared. He fucking grabbed you—”

“It wasn’t—”

“Don’t.” He cuts you off before you can downplay it. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t act like this is nothing.”

You bite your lip, looking away. Your hands tighten in your lap. “I just… I didn’t want to make it worse.”

His expression shifts—still angry, but now there’s something else underneath. Something pained. His hands drop to his sides, clenching into fists.

“You think I wouldn’t want to know?” he asks, voice quieter now, but no less intense. “That I wouldn’t wanna fucking do something?”

You don’t know what to say.

Because you do know. You know him. You know the way he gets when it comes to you—how protective he is, how deep his need to keep you safe runs.

You know exactly what he’s going to do next.

Before you can say anything—before you can even think of how to calm him down—Marshall is already moving.

He snatches his phone off the table, jaw clenched so tight you can practically hear his teeth grinding. You open your mouth to stop him, to tell him to breathe, to think—

Too late.

“Paul,” he snaps the second the call connects. He’s already pacing, running a hand over his face. “Tell me you’ve seen this TMZ shit.”

You hear Paul’s muffled voice on the other end, though you can’t make out the words. Whatever he says only makes Marshall angrier.

“The fuck you mean you just saw it?” Marshall barks. “This shit’s been out for hours.”

You sink back into the couch, pressing your fingers to your temples. This is exactly what you didn’t want.

“I wanna know who he is,” Marshall growls. “I wanna know where he is. I want that motherfucker’s name, Paul.”

Your heart clenches. “Marshall—”

He ignores you, his whole body wound so tight he looks seconds from punching a hole in the wall.

“No, I don’t give a fuck if it wasn’t ‘technically’ illegal,” he spits, mocking Paul’s tone. “He put his hands on her. You think I’m just gonna let that shit slide?”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

This is bad.

Paul’s trying to talk him down—you can hear it in the low, steady way his voice hums through the speaker—but Marshall isn’t hearing it.

“I don’t give a shit about optics, Paul!” He stops pacing, running a hand through his hair before gripping the back of his neck, like he’s trying to physically keep himself from exploding. “You think I care what the fuckin’ media’s gonna say? I don’t give a fuck about headlines—”

You push up from the couch, crossing the room before he can spiral even further.

“Marshall,” you say softly, touching his arm.

He flinches—not from you, but from the sheer force of the anger coursing through him. His free hand flexes at his side, knuckles white.

You slide your fingers down his arm, linking them through his. Squeezing.

His breathing is heavy. His pulse is racing. But he doesn’t pull away.

“Marshall,” you say again, firmer this time. “Look at me.”

His head snaps toward you, blue eyes burning with too many emotions at once—rage, frustration, protectiveness, something raw and wounded beneath it all.

“I’m okay.” You squeeze his hand again, holding his gaze. “I’m okay.”

He stares at you, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

Then, finally—

He exhales, jaw still tight, but his grip on your hand softens.

“Paul,” he mutters into the phone, not looking away from you. His voice is lower now, but still simmering. “I’ll call you back.”

You barely hear Paul’s response before Marshall ends the call, dropping the phone onto the table with a dull thud.

For a long moment, neither of you say anything.

Then, Marshall drags his hands down his face and mutters, “I fuckin’ hate this place.”

Marshall doesn’t say anything else. He just takes your hand, pulling you toward the bedroom. His grip is firm, but not rough—like he needs to feel you close, like he needs to hold onto you before he loses what little patience he has left.

The second the door shuts behind you, he’s wrapping you up in his arms.

It’s not desperate. Not frantic. Just tight.

Like he thinks if he holds you close enough, he can shield you from everything—the cameras, the headlines, the strangers who think they can put their hands on you.

You melt into him, pressing your face against his chest. His heartbeat is fast, strong, steady. You breathe him in—the clean scent of his hoodie, the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. His arms are solid around you, one hand smoothing up and down your back like he’s trying to soothe himself as much as you.

“I hate this shit,” he mutters against your hair. “Hate that I can’t keep ‘em away from you.”

“You do keep me safe,” you whisper, pressing your fingers against his back. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

His arms tighten. “I shoulda been there.”

You don’t argue. He wouldn’t believe you anyway. Instead, you shift, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He exhales sharply, dipping his head to nuzzle into your neck, his lips brushing soft, absentminded kisses against your skin.

You close your eyes, warmth curling low in your stomach.

And then—an idea sparks.

You know how this works. You’ve spent years navigating life as Marshall’s wife, learning when to stay quiet, when to ignore the noise.

They want a photo?

You can give them a photo.

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, unlocking it with one hand while keeping your other curled into the back of his hoodie. Marshall doesn’t even notice—he’s too lost in you, his breath warm against your throat, his lips grazing your collarbone.

You angle the camera just right—his face hidden in your neck, your hand tangled in his hoodie, the intimacy of it so raw and unguarded.

Then, you snap the picture.

For a moment, you just look at it. The way his arms are locked around you. The way you fit so perfectly against him.

You smirk.

Then, you post it.

“Secret Misery.”

You don’t have to wait long.

Within minutes, your phone starts vibrating with notifications. The gossip blogs are already on fire.

But this time?

This time, you’re laughing.

Marshall’s phone buzzes first.

You feel it vibrate in his pocket, but you don’t think much of it—people are always blowing up his phone. Usually, he ignores it when he’s wrapped up in you like this, but this time, for whatever reason, he grumbles and shifts, pulling away just enough to grab it.

You bite your lip to keep from smiling as he untangles himself from you, leaning back against the pillows as he squints at the screen.

Then—he goes still.

His brows furrow. His thumb scrolls. He blinks. Then scrolls again.

“What the fuck?”

His voice is low, confused, and you can’t hold back the grin that tugs at your lips.

He looks at you then, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “What’d you do?”

You hum innocently, reaching for your phone. “Oh, nothing.”

He squints harder and turns back to his screen, reading the comments aloud.

“‘Damn, y’all look miserable as fuck.’” His eyes flick up. “That supposed to be sarcasm?”

You nod, biting back a giggle.

He keeps reading.

“‘If this is misery, sign me up.’” He snorts, scrolling further. “‘They really posted this right after those divorce rumors? Iconic.’”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smirk.

But then—

“‘This man been in love with his wife for twenty years and y’all really thought she was suffering lmaooo.’”

That’s when he finally grins.

It’s a slow, crooked thing, the kind of smirk that used to make women throw their bras at him onstage.

He shakes his head, tossing his phone onto the bed before crawling back over to you.

“You really posted that shit?”

“Yup.” You pop the ‘p,’ giggling as he pins you beneath him, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of your head.

He tilts his head, studying you like he still can’t believe you pulled one over on him.

Then—

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You knew what you signed up for.”

He hums, dropping a kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then lower.

“Damn right, I did.”

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Someone Different, Someone New — Cassian X Reader.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Hi! This is an impromptu piece that is by no means my best writing — I just wanted to exercise my brain a bit. I haven’t added a tag list on this one because I need to go through and sort them out/update them, so sorry about that!

Warning: this piece does depict struggles of mental illness/trauma/panic, so if that’s something that could negatively effect you, please, please give this one a miss. This is based off my own experience of mental illness/trauma/panic, and the last thing I want is to trigger some unpleasant things because of my writing, so please take care. All the love. 💕

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“You doing okay?”

Rhysand’s arm pressed against yours as he took up the space beside you. Just as you were, he leaned back against the balcony railing, wine glass in hand. The cold temperature had driven the evening’s guests inside, but the bite of the chill…you needed it. Even as it started to hurt.

But you slapped a pleasant smile on your face that offered no glimpse of pain. “I’m okay.”

There was no need to put a front on for Rhys. He was the only one who could get it — it was he you’d been trapped Under the Mountain with, after all. He who had known who you’d been before, during and after. He’d seen everything, and he saw you now.

Saw the way your gaze stared intensely through the open glass doors and fastened on Cassian.

“Have you spoken to him?” Rhys asked.

Barely. You’d only been back three months, and the majority of it had been spent on your own. Fifty years trapped with people made company feely oily and itchy. And the person you’d become didn’t exactly make for good company, either. Not now that you were someone who was short-tempered, or brusque, or downright miserable. Being alone meant not having to subject anyone to that. It was a wonder Rhysand had convinced you to come tonight at all.

And there was another underlying reason for not wanting to face Cassian. You didn’t know each other anymore.

There might have been the potential for romance between you…a very long time ago. But fifty years apart had wiped that clean. You were no longer the person who had gone under that mountain. You were no longer the person he might have grown to love. He had known someone of vibrancy, of light and laughter.

You couldn’t bear to face him as you were, now. And he seemed to be doing just fine.

“No.” You answered Rhys, draining your glass.

Your High Lord studied you. “Why not?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say. And neither would he. It would be uncomfortable for him.”

“This is Cassian we’re talking about. He’ll just want to know that you’re alright.”

You most certainly were not alright.

You weren’t alright with enclosed spaces. You couldn’t even stand the feeling of your clothes touching your skin for too long. Loud noises had you flinching and laughter sounded too close to screams. Sometimes, you could swear your bathwater was blood, coating you, staining you, reminding you of what you’d had to do to survive. There was an ever-present tightness in your chest that always teetered on the edge of becoming something terrible.

You may have escaped the mountain, but you didn’t think you’d truly gulped down the fresh air.

And though you’d spent fifty years longing to get out from that prison, you honestly didn’t know how to be outside of it. Who to be outside of it.

You felt yourself jolt as you watched Cassian bellow a deep laugh. The female he was talking to grinned broadly, proud of whatever she’d said to garner such a reaction. Cass looked…content. Happy. He had moved on with his life, just as he’d deserved to.

You weren’t sure you could stomach watching it play out in front of you, though.

“I think he’s waiting for you to make the first move, Y/N.” Rhys’s hand landed on your arm, and your entire body went rigid. “He wants you to have the control.”

You swallowed. “I don’t think he thinks about me at all. Nor would I expect him to. He doesn’t know me anymore. I am not the person he once cared for.”

“I think you’re more of that same person than you realise.”

He was wrong. You shook your head. “No. I’m…someone different, Rhys. Someone new.”

“And you think Cassian would judge you for that? Really?”

Your gaze cut sharply to his violet one. “I think you have an over-exaggerated idea of how significant I am in his life.”

He stared back at you, pain marring his features. And this was precisely why you didn’t want to be around people anymore. You were just…rough. Jagged. Rude and cold.

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes shuttered. You pushed your glass into Rhys’s hand. “Sorry, Rhys, I just…need some time.”

He didn’t protest as you pulled away from him, wandering back inside and weaving your way through the bodies that had gathered for the party celebrating their High Lord’s return to Velaris. You didn’t even know where you planned to go. All you were aware of was that tightness in your chest worsening. Constricting. You rubbed at your chest, forcing yourself to swallow down air.

Your legs carried you aimlessly as you climbed stairs and burst through a door. A bathing chamber. You collapsed against the door, a clammy, prickling sensation spreading over your skin as you fought to just breathe. Your ears were ringing, pounding, a pressure seeming to bind your body and hold it taut. You weren’t sure you could survive this. Weren’t sure how to not be…this.

You weren’t aware of how long it lasted. Time felt both fast and slow around you as you bowed over the sink, fingers digging into the porcelain. The music and chatter of the party sounded so, so far away, you could be forgiven for thinking you’d left the building. But you knew you hadn’t. You were still here. You. Were. Still. Here.

You didn’t know when your trembling hands had turned the tap on and darted under the ice-cold water, but the sensation was soothing, grounding. You focused on watching it flow, dripping from your fingertips and splashing into the sink. You cupped your palms and gathered a small pool and splashed it against your face.

Slowly, your breaths began to even out. Slowly, your body began to steady. The sounds from downstairs became clearer, sounded closer, and the sensations that had gripped you subsided, making way for a wave of lethargy.

You just wanted to sleep.

You dried your face, your hands, straightening yourself out and hoping you were steady enough to make it out of there. Hopefully you could get away without running into anyone. The last thing you needed right now was mindless conversation.

You pulled the door open — and stopped short at the figure that waited just outside.

Cassian pushed off the wall. He unfolded his arms, studying you. And whatever he saw when he looked at you…you knew it couldn’t be good.

“Hey…” He said softly, daring a step closer. “Can we talk?”

[endiecutieo6]

“Through the rustle of barren branches in the freezing wind, forcing them to shed whatever shriveled up leaves that still clung onto them, a door creaked open.

Freddy wasn’t exactly careful as he shut the door, flinching when the wind turned the gentle shove into a tremendous bang, leaving the door rattling as worn wood just barely kept itself together. He took a quick peek over his shoulder and was pleasantly surprised that the glass, which was horrifically dirty, hadn’t cracked- well, maybe it had, but he wasn’t keen on taking a closer look. Not only was it a problem for future him (or someone else, if he could get away with it) but he had a much bigger problem on his hands right now.

Pawing at his pockets, he bit down on his tongue to try and somehow pacify the rise of irritation crawling under his skin. Pulling out the pack had him biting down harder, if only just for the sake of feeling pain over the growing crave that gnawed at his bones, scratching at his throat and sinking its teeth into his lungs. Ugh, it’d been too long since his last puff. Damn all the busy work, damn it all to hell when it had crawled from.

Shocking to no one, more residents in this godforsaken manor meant more chores, more management, more bullshit- and guess who it fell onto? Him- well, not just him, but few people had the same expertise nor willingness to take on as seriously as he did. He’s heard someone describe it as a “selfless” action, which was an… extreme exaggeration, to say the very least. It wasn’t like he was bending over backwards for anyone, he was just keeping his mind busy; an idle mind is the devils playground, after all.

His fingers fumbled, the cigarette nearly slipping from his fingers and over the balcony edge, and nearly bit a hole in his tongue with the way his jaw clenched, muscles going rigid to prevent himself from kicking something in his short lived burst of rage. Just as fast as it came, he steadied himself with a shaky breath, finally unclenching his jaw and letting the pain ebb away.

It would appear that he was keeping his mind too idle.

Fuck, he needed a smoke.”

(Rest of the story + extra stuff. Reblogs are appreciated!)

“The next movements were far too fast for him to process, second nature at this point, leaving him only able to hear the soft pop and gentle sizzle as the flame burst to life and feel the cigarette against his lips. He brought the flame to the tip and could hear the paper hiss as the flame ignited, and he took a deep inhale, his muscles finally going lax as he got his fix.

He can vaguely recall the first time he smoked. It was a cigar, one of the thicker ones that were puffed between drinks by the labor men- and his father, who smoked more than a chimney and reeked of smoke whenever he walked by, making a younger Freddy nearly hack out a lung, his nostrils burning. Thankfully, his tolerance was quick to form, and eventually his father handed him a spare cigar and told him that it was about time they shared a smoke. God, Freddy had been nervous, especially as his father glowered down at him, eyes sharper than a hawk as Freddy nervously lit the end and took a breath.

Instantly he was choking, hacking and wheezing while his father watched with nothing but indifference on his face. While he would’ve felt ashamed, Freddy had been glad he hadn’t gotten angry or embarrassed, and he would be a fool to think his father would find the situation amusing, whether he was laughing with him or at him. He waited until his son could breathe again and then barked for Freddy to take another puff, which he did. It was easier that time, though it felt like it burned as it went down his throat. He was able to exhale normally this time and he could remember looking up at his father to see his reaction- only to see his father turned away, like always.

He supposed he was meant to feel upset, to feel let down or disappointed, but it was attention that wasn’t cruel or angry and that was better than nothing. He was raised to take what he could get, and if the barest fucking crumbs of attention from the only fucking parent he had was what he could get then so fucking be it-

Suddenly, Freddy choked, smoke leaving his mouth in small puffs as he wheezed, his throat burning, actually burning. He balled up his hand and pounded against his chest, attempting to keep his coughs as silent as he could manage. It wasn’t like anyone could really hear him, nor would it really matter if they did, but it felt wrong to be so carelessly loud. He didn’t want to hear the echo of himself in the air, disturbing the murder of crows that seemed to take residence in the trees, especially for something that was a result of such a careless mistake, for something that didn’t deserve attention.

Willing his violent hacking into small coughs, and blinking away the budding tears in the corner of his eyes, he found himself feeling what he could only describe as…wrong. He, despite all his years of literary research and experience, still found that he had no other word to describe how it felt other than wrong, familiar yet unpleasant and definitely unwanted. It resided deep in his guts, pushing and cramming itself against what was already there, and it didn’t even hurt, it was just wrong. Usually, a smoke makes the feeling go away, why did it seem to cause it now?

Taking a step forward (and nearly stumbling in the process) he leaned against the railing, cigarette still resting in his shaking hand- when had he started shaking?- and tried to swallow the feeling down, to will it away through sheer force. His thoughts twisted into an echo chamber, home to a single statement: It had simply just been a prominent memory, a rite of passage between father and son, maybe the only one he’d ever had. The memory of his first smoke, his first Vice, his first positive memory with his father…

The feeling of wrongness increased, like a stone in his stomach. It weighed him down, rooting him into place, like a statue bolted to the floor. He wanted to shake it off, to just get over it already, but no matter how much he tried to push it down it just crawled right back up his throat, invading his mind, his thoughts. It felt a plague slowly infecting him, and fighting it just made it worse, infinitely worse. He tried to take another drag, to soothe himself, but even as he inhaled the thought persisted and he found himself trapped in a spiral, going further downward with every second that passed by. He tried to close his eyes, to erase the image of his father turned away and disinterested, but all he was met with was a face contorted in rage and his eyes snapped open, pressure building up behind them.

Then, he remembered.

His father had gotten angry not too long after, the details now a blur of panic and pain, like a mixture of watercolor dripping off the canvas and onto the floor. Why? Freddy couldn’t remember anymore, but he didn’t even need to- father was always angry, always upset at something, upset at Freddy for what felt like existing. Maybe Freddy had knocked something over, or had spoken poorly towards him, but the details were not just lost to time, but blocked away in his mind, forced into the recesses and shown only in pieces.

He also remembered that this exact situation happened at least a month ago, and, now that he looked at it deeper, it might’ve been why he started picking up around the manor. An idle mind is the devil's playhouse, one that locks him into place and flashes horrid memories that he just didn’t want to look at, so… he just opted to keep his hands busy. Then, it became busy work for the sake of busy work, Freddy forgetting why he started and repeating the cycle again for- oh god, was this even the second time? Maybe it was the third, the tenth, the hundredth time of this realization.

Freddy was trying to forget.

That thought felt like the kicker, like a bat to the skull, like a knife in his back, it hurt and hurt but the damage was done. The wave of emotion crashed down but it only lasted for a moment, as the second it arrived it was gone and Freddy was left behind as a shell. No wants or needs, just a hole of memories holding a cigarette.

Slowly, he took another drag, oblivious to the tears finally beading up at the edges of his eyes, finally able to get out after god knows how long of suppressing them. Unlike before, he couldn’t taste the nicotine, any burn just another sensation dulled to the point of being mute. Still, he exhaled and watched the smoke pour from his lips.

The smoke dissipates, and Freddy finally just goes numb.”

——

I’m gonna be honest, I really hate this piece. The shading and perspective is fucked up and by the time I really realized I had already gotten a lot of it done. The story is partial projection/venting: I had made the initial sketch while having a bit of an episode where I realized how fucked a lot of my memories were, things I really refused to acknowledge normally. Probably didn’t really get that across by whatever, I feel good enough about it.

Also the speed paint I guess

[brookediamonds]

i'll be watching you | Toxic!Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: You're at a party enjoying your time when your boyfriend see's something he doesn't like.

based off this post

Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: Toxic!Axel, smut, oral (m receiving), 18+

gif is not mine

The party was loud, music pulsing, people laughing, a haze of neon lights making everything feel electric.

You're talking with someone you bumped into at the beverage table when he notices your necklace. He says he's been looking for something like the one you were wearing for his girlfriend.

You hadn’t even been talking to the guy for that long, telling him how it was a gift from your own boyfriend, when you're suddenly tugged away.

Axel's hand was on your wrist before you even realized he was there, his grip firm, his expression unreadable. 

"We’re leaving," he states, voice low and clipped. Your stomach twisted as you followed him outside, barely able to keep up as he led you to the car. The drive was silent, too silent.

Axel’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and your uneven breathing.

What did you do?

Then, finally, his voice cut through the tense silence. 

"Give me your phone."

You hesitated, a flicker of something uneasy settling in your chest. "Axel, why—"

"Give. Me. Your. Phone." he demands sharply, leaving no room for argument. Slowly, you unlocked it and handed it to him, your heart pounding.

He scrolled, his expression darkening at the fact that you had a password on your phone.

"Why do you need privacy?" His gaze snapped to you, burning with accusation. "I am your boyfriend. I can have access to whatever I want."

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the hem of your dress. 

"I wasn’t hiding anything," you respond quietly. "I just… I didn’t think it was a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" He scoffed, turning the screen to face you. It was your Instagram profile, he had pulled up your recent notifications. The guy you were just talking to happened to be following you.

"And this? What, you give your account out to every guy who talks to you?" He questions harshly making you avoid his gaze.

"I—I didn’t even know he followed me." Your voice was small, but Axel was already shutting down. His silence was worse than any shouting.

The rest of the drive home was unbearable. No matter how many times you glanced at him, hoping for a reaction, Axel remained rigid, his face unreadable.

And when you got home, he didn’t speak a word. Didn’t even look at you. He just walked inside, leaving you standing there, heart sinking.

You hated this. The cold shoulder. The distance.

So you did what you knew would fix it.

You crawled into his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed, your hands gently pressing against his chest. 

"Axel, I’m sorry," you whispered, voice soft, pleading. "Please don’t be mad at me. I only want you."

He didn’t respond at first. Didn’t touch you. You felt his restraint like a wall between you, and it made you desperate.

"I’ll block him," you offered, nuzzling your nose against his jaw. "I’ll do whatever you want. I promise."

Axel exhaled slowly. Then, finally, his hands found your waist, his grip tight, possessive. His lips ghosted over your cheek before trailing down to your neck.

His voice was low, but firm. "Good girl."

A rush of relief filled your chest, warmth replacing the anxiety that had twisted inside you all night.

"I hate feeling like I have to compete for your attention," he murmured against your skin, his fingers curling into your hair, tugging your head back so he could have access to your neck. "You’re supposed to put me first."

"I do. I swear, I do," you whimper as he pressed his lips along the column of your throat.

He pulls your face to brush his lips against yours in a fleeting, heated kiss, tugging at your lower lip as you pulled away.

"Then prove it," he orders lowly. You nod rapidly, sliding off his lap and sinking down on to your knees in front of him.

Eager to please him, you urgently unbuckle his belt, pulling his pants down to release his aching hard cock that fall straight on to his torso.

Axel lets out a low groan the minute you free him. Your eyes met his full blow dilated ones as you press a soft kiss to the tip of his member, gently starting to stroke your hand up and down his shaft,

He reaches a hand out to instinctively tangle it through your locks as you fully take him in your mouth, humming at the taste of him.

His chest rose up and down heavily feeling the vibrations of your throat around him.

"That's it, atta girl," Axel murmurs, brushing his fingers through your scalp, pushing your head further down on to him.

Tears begin to swell in your eyes as you feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, however you push through the burn and continue your motions to prove your loyalty.

Your tongue ran up and down his veiny member, swirling around the tip occasionally, driving Axel wild. His grunts and moans sent an ache to your core, making you squeeze your legs together.

You hollow your cheeks as you fasten your speed, his hips rocking up to meet your speed.

"My filthy girl, look me in the eyes, baby," he commands as the sound of your gagging fills the room. You stare up at him innocently through your doe eyes that drives him crazy.

Axel lets out a deep guttural moan as he spills his seed into your mouth, your fingers still wrapped around the parts your mouth can't reach.

Both of his hands have made their way to your head as you milk him through his release, swallowing every last drop.

When Axel catches his breath, he pulls you off him, tugging your head back so he can lean over and give you an opened mouth kiss.

Your head is spinning as he breaks away, rubbing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

"Such a good girl," Axel cooes, his voice still rough, laced with satisfaction. His thumb drifts lower, tracing over your swollen lips, his gaze dark and unreadable.

"Only for you, Axel," you reaffirm.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he guides you up on to the bed, pushing you down to lay on your stomach.

His hands smooth over your back, slow and deliberate, before tightening around your waist, just enough to keep you there.

You bite your lip as he leans over you, his mouth hovering just above your ear as he whispers, "I'm not done with you yet."

Axel was all you wanted. And if this was what it took to keep him happy, you’d do it over and over again.

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

MASTERLIST

Taglist: @ggrgcribg @obsidian-fury @shimmerfrye

(a/n: um WOAH that was dark, and I actually quite enjoyed it. I've never written something like that before, I might have to do it again bc I liked it so much. Also huge shout out to @obsidian-fury bc I had no idea this post/audio existed and now it is saved to my gallery lmfao. The requests are getting spicer and I am GAME.)

[inky-writing]

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: my bad writing, stalker Carlisle, revelationnnns

Word count: 3, 113

<<< Previous Chapter

Book II, Chapter 6: Whispered Truths

Y/N's pov

The house was quiet. 

Charlie was on patrol, Bella was at Jacob's, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N had the house to herself. She sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, her grimoire open in front of her, the amulet resting on her chest. The air around her pulsed, electric, as she focused on her breathing.

She'd been practicing simple spells, ones that Callista had assured her were safe: telekinesis, minor elemental control, protection wards. Today, however, she felt like challenging herself. She was determined.

She reached out her hand, concentrating on the candle that sat on her bedside table. The flame flickered as though in response to her energy. She took slow breaths, willing it to move, to curve to her will.

The flame stretched out, reaching towards her palm, and for the briefest instant, she felt its heat dancing tantalizingly just above the surface of her skin.

And in just a moment, it was gone.

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. "So close."

Then, a cold chill ran down her spine.

Her body tensed in reaction. Gradually, she turned her head to the opposite corner of her room.

There was a shadow.

It was not firm, it danced, weaving as if it were held suspended between worlds.

Her breath caught in her throat. She blinked.

And it was gone.

Her heart was pounding. She could still feel something lingering in the air, a presence just out of reach.

Maybe she was pushing herself too hard. Maybe she was imagining it.

Or maybe not.

Later That Afternoon in Port Angeles

The streets were alive with activity, filled with people who were waiting to escape their houses for a bit of weekend shopping. Y/N strolled along the sidewalk, her hands buried deep within the pockets of her leather jacket, the chill of February biting into the skin of her cheeks.

She had had an overwhelming urge to get out of her house. With what had happened before, the tension wound up inside her belly couldn't seem to unwind.

And then, she felt it again.

She was being watched.

It had been occurring with such frequency of late that it could no longer be dismissed as coincidence. It wasn't like when her magic was manifesting last year, no. She was clearly being stalked.

Her fist closed on the bag she carried. She dodged into an alley between two shops. Her back against the wall, she closed her eyes.

Focus.

The world around her slowed. The noises on the street became a dull hum. Her breath left her in controlled, even sighs.

She extended her magic as unseen tendrils, probing and searching—

And then she felt it.

There.

Her eyes opened. She whispered the words beneath her breath, hardly making any noise at all, as the magic poured out of her like a disturbance in the air.

The world seemed to pause around her. The distant hum of conversation, the gentle caress of the wind, it all paused.

Y/N stepped out of the alley, her gaze sweeping slowly across the motionless individuals in the street.

And then she spotted him.

His golden eyes were trained on her, his entire body rigid, frozen in position like the rest of the world.

Her stomach twisted.

Carlisle?

Carlisle's pov

This had been an error.

Carlisle had promised himself that he would stay away, content to observe from a distance. But as soon as he spotted Y/N strolling through the streets of Port Angeles, he couldn't help it.

She was an irresistible force drawing him towards her.

And then, abruptly, he froze.

The world around him had paused, but he could sense her strongly. The twist of her body, the lock of her gaze onto his with a combination of shock and recognition. 

Panic built in his chest. 

She did this. 

But how?

Minutes passed, or maybe seconds, he couldn't tell, but then the invisible hold on him eased. The world jolted back into motion, people moved again, none the wiser that anything had changed.

But Y/N was walking up to him.

Carlisle drew a sharp breath as she stepped closer. "Y/N."

She didn't move. "You were spying on me."

He hesitated, searching for the right words to say. "I—"

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice lower now. There wasn't fear in her voice, but something else was there.

Carlisle swallowed. "I don't know."

And for the first time in over three hundred years, he was speaking the truth.

Y/N's pov

The tension was palpable between them as they walked silently towards a secluded café off the main road. Y/N didn't know why she'd offered to talk, but she couldn't allow Carlisle to simply walk away after what had occurred.

She had stopped time. And he had noticed.

The cafe was warm, dimly lit, and almost empty, except for an old couple who were having tea by the window. They sat at a table in the back, away from curious stares. Y/N dropped her bag, holding the table edge as she locked gazes with Carlisle's burning golden stare.

"Okay," she began, folding her arms. "Spill."

Carlisle let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair as he leaned forward slightly. "I don't fully comprehend it myself, but I felt a tug drawing me back to Forks in december. Something I couldn't dismiss." His eyes gentled. "And when I got here… the tug only intensified. I believe it was you."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she made herself stay steady. "You can't just say that," she said slowly. "You have a wife."

Something crossed his face, guilt? Frustration? She couldn't say.

"I know," he confessed. "And yet, that doesn't change what I'm feeling."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "Carlisle..."

"How did you do that earlier?" he interrupted, clearly switching subjects.

Y/N blinked. "Did what?"

"You froze everything. Time itself stopped." His eyebrows creased. "But I was still conscious of it."

Her whole body stiffened.

No. That was impossible.

Mortals weren't meant to be conscious when she cast that spell.

"Say that again?" she breathed, examining his face intently.

"I was conscious of it," Carlisle said again. "Everything around me froze, but I could still move, well, I couldn't physically, but my mind… I was still present."

She stared at him, attempting to understand what he was telling her. 

That was not possible. 

Unless—

No. 

She breathed out, rubbing her fingers over her temples. "You're not human." 

He gave a gentle laugh. "Neither are you." 

She glared at him, and he smiled faintly, reclining. 

"I think it's time we stop pretending," he ventured cautiously. "You already suspect, don't you?"

Y/N's fingers clenched subtly against the table. She'd had suspicions, naturally. The Cullens were always too perfect, too graceful, too inhuman.

She expelled a slow breath. "Say it."

Carlisle met her eyes. "I'm a vampire."

A shudder ran down her spine, but otherwise, she didn't move. She had read about them in her grimoire, but actually encountering one face to face, someone she had come to care about, was another thing entirely.

There was a long silence between them.

And then he inclined his head slightly. "And you?"

Y/N hesitated, but after all this, what was the use of lying?

She let out a breath. "I'm a witch."

Carlisle's pov

The weight of their words hung between them, unspoken truths settling into the air like dust refusing to be brushed away. A vampire and a witch. It should have been impossible, improbable, but here they were, two beings of different worlds, bound by something he couldn’t explain.

Y/N, for her part, looked exhausted. Her fingers traced the rim of her untouched cup of tea, her brows drawn together in thought. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady but firm.

“You still shouldn’t be here.”

Carlisle tensed, but she continued before he could respond.

“You have a wife, Carlisle. A wife. And yet, you’re sitting here telling me you felt pulled back to Forks because of me?” Her gaze hardened. “That’s not something you should be feeling.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning forward, resting his arms on the table. “I know.”

“Then why...”

“Because I can’t help it!”

His words cut through the air, raw and honest, and for a moment, Y/N just stared at him, as if searching for a lie in his expression. He wasn’t sure what she found, but eventually, she looked away, shaking her head.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Carlisle hesitated before speaking again. “In my world… there’s something called a mate bond.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered back to his.

He continued, choosing his words carefully. “For vampires, finding a mate is rare. It’s… different from human love. It’s a pull, an undeniable connection. You’re drawn to that person in every way. Their scent, their presence, their very existence becomes intertwined with yours. It’s unbreakable, unwavering.”

She frowned. “Like soulmates?”

“In a way, yes.” He studied her reaction carefully. “Alice and Jasper. Rosalie and Emmett. You’ve seen them. It’s more than just love. It’s like destiny. Fate.”

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she leaned back slightly. “And Esme is your mate?”

That question should have been easy to answer. It always had been.

“Yes,” he said automatically, but even as he said it, doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound so sure.”

Carlisle let out a breath, rubbing his temple. “I was sure.”

“Was?”

He met her gaze, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “Something is wrong. I don’t know how to explain it, but… for the past year, my thoughts have felt clouded. I don’t remember things I should. I can’t hold onto certain thoughts for long. Especially when it comes to—” He hesitated, voice lowering, “—you.”

Y/N stiffened slightly but didn’t interrupt.

Carlisle ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t have proof, but I think Esme… somehow lied? Manipulated me and the others?”

Y/N inhaled sharply, but Carlisle pushed on. “I don’t know how, or why, but something is wrong with the way I feel, the way I think. And now that I’m away from her, I can finally think about it. Like something is clearing.” His amber eyes locked onto hers.

The words felt foreign in his mouth, as if saying them aloud would make them more real.

"I don’t believe my connection to her is real."

Y/N hadn’t moved. She was still watching him, her fingers loosely curled around the cup of tea she hadn’t touched. There was something unreadable in her expression, hesitation, disbelief, maybe even fear.

Carlisle felt it too.

Because now that the words were out in the open, there was no taking them back.

Now that he had acknowledged the truth, he couldn’t ignore the inevitable answer staring him in the face.

Y/N was his mate.

The realization hit him with a force he hadn’t been prepared for. It sent a shockwave through his entire being, like the pieces of a puzzle snapping into place after being scattered for too long.

This was why he had felt the pull, why he had been drawn back to Forks despite every rational reason telling him to stay away.

This was why the thought of her lingered, why her presence soothed something in him he hadn’t even realized was restless.

Esme wasn’t his mate.

Y/N was.

He sucked in a breath, staring at her as if truly seeing her for the first time.

She didn’t know. Of course, she didn’t. How could she? She had no idea what it meant to be a vampire’s mate, to be the center of someone’s existence. And now, knowing that she was his, it changed everything.

“I think…” He exhaled, steadying himself. “I think it means you are my mate.”

Y/N flinched, her expression snapping from curiosity to something much sharper. “No.”

Carlisle blinked. “What?”

“No,” she repeated, shaking her head, eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s not possible. You—you love Esme. You’ve been together for decades. That’s...” She let out a breathless laugh, like this was some kind of sick joke. “You can’t just suddenly decide I’m your mate.”

Carlisle frowned. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then how does it work?”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “It’s never a choice, Y/N. It’s something that is simply known. A vampire doesn’t choose their mate. We feel it, in our very being. It is a bond that cannot be broken, cannot be denied.” His golden eyes searched hers. “That is why this is so impossible. Because all this time, I believed it was Esme. But now, I see the truth.”

She exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the cup in front of her. “So, what? She just lied to you? For how long?”

Carlisle swallowed, his throat tight. “I don’t know. But I do know that my thoughts… my feelings… have been manipulated for a very long time.”

Y/N stared at him, her breathing uneven. “And you think she’s the one who did it?”

“Yes.” His voice was steady, but the weight of the admission sent another wave of unease crashing over him.

Because if Esme had lied about their bond, if she had manipulated him into believing something so fundamental, then what else had she done?

And, more importantly… why?

Y/N ran a hand through her hair, looking away. “This is insane.”

Carlisle couldn’t argue with that.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the café carried on around them, muffled conversations, the clinking of cups, the quiet hum of the espresso machine—but in their little bubble of reality, none of it mattered.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. “Even if this is true… even if I am your mate… what does that mean?”

Carlisle met her gaze, his chest tightening. “It means that, whether you accept it or not, you are the person I am meant to be with.”

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.

He continued, his voice softer now. “It means that you are the one who is meant for me. That I am bound to you in a way that defies logic or time. And now that I know the truth, I can never see you as anything else.”

Y/N looked at him like she wanted to run. Like she didn’t know whether to believe him or call him a liar.

And maybe, in a way, he wished she would run.

Because now that he had found his mate, he wasn’t sure he could ever let her go.

Later that night - Y/N’s pov

Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, the dim glow of her bedside lamp casting soft shadows on the walls. The house was silent, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards. Charlie was working late again, and Bella had long since retreated to her room.

She exhaled shakily, staring at the grimoire resting in her lap.

The weight of Carlisle’s words still pressed against her chest, suffocating and impossible to ignore.

"You are my mate."

She swallowed hard, shaking her head as if that could dislodge the thought from her mind. No. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense.

She needed answers.

With careful hands, she pulled the ancient book from its protective cloth, running her fingers over the worn leather cover before flipping it open. The pages smelled of old parchment and herbs, filled with handwritten spells, rituals, and knowledge passed down through generations.

Soulmates. Mates. Bonds.

Nothing.

She flipped faster, skimming through pages on elemental magic, potion brewing, and ancestral connections. She frowned, frustration bubbling under her skin.

Then...

A low hiss.

Y/N froze.

Her cat, curled at the foot of the bed, had its fur bristling, back arched, and eyes glowing eerily in the lamplight. Its gaze was locked on the corner of the room, where the shadows stretched longer than they should have.

Something was there.

The air in the room grew heavy, thick with an energy she didn’t understand. A slow chill crawled up her spine.

She turned her head.

A shadow, darker than the rest, lingered just beyond the edge of the light.

Her breath hitched.

The pages of the grimoire began to turn on their own.

Wind, unseen but very much present, flipped through the book rapidly, the fragile sheets ruffling under some invisible force. Her pulse pounded in her ears as the movement slowed, finally stopping on a page near the middle.

Heart hammering, Y/N forced herself to look down.

The title at the top sent a shiver down her spine.

"Soulmates and the Unbreakable Bond."

Her fingers trembled as she traced the inked letters, her cat still growling low in its throat beside her.

The shadow had not moved.

Y/N swallowed, ignoring the way her hands shook as she read the first lines.

"For witches, the concept of soulmates transcends time, space, and even lifetimes. A soulmate is not merely a romantic partner but a tether—one soul split across two bodies, drawn together by an unseen force that cannot be denied. Their fates are interwoven, their destinies entwined. To deny the bond is to deny one's own essence."

Her breathing grew unsteady.

"When a witch meets their true soulmate, a connection is forged beyond comprehension. Some experience visions of past lives. Others feel their power strengthen in the presence of their other half. Many describe an unexplainable pull, as if drawn by invisible strings to the one they are meant to find."

A pull.

The very thing Carlisle had spoken of.

The thing she had felt when she had thought of him that night, that invisible thread tugging in her chest.

No. No, this was insane.

Her lips parted, but before she could even think to close the book, a sharp gust of wind blew through the room, snuffing out her lamp and plunging everything into darkness.

The shadow moved.

Y/N sucked in a breath...

And then the candle on her desk flickered to life, a single green flame dancing in the suffocating blackness.

The room was still. Silent.

The shadow was gone.

But the grimoire remained open.

And the words on the page burned themselves into her mind.

She was tied to Carlisle Cullen.

Next chapter >>>

Notes: here it is!!! I'm so sorry it took so long, I was so busy and tired that i took every chance I got to SLEEP... anyway it's here :)

Tag list: @inky-bonnie @irelanrose @i-cant-pick-an-aesthetic09 @wandererthemadhatter

[blckbrrybasket]

Say 1,000 words, moan 1,000 more

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: gender neutral reader, voice kink, teasing, anal (r receiving), mild hurt/comfort, aftercare, Gaz and the reader argue but it’s mainly pent up horniness, brief mention of Gaz being the reader’s sergeant

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.7k

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: somehow I completely forgot I wrote this a while ago whoops

It had never been an issue until Gaz bent down once to whisper in your ear, his hand resting on the small of your back. His warmth easily seeped through every layer of your clothes and you couldn’t help wishing it was his calloused hand sliding against your bare skin. The thoughts couldn’t fully flesh out before you realized what he had asked. Thankfully Gaz hadn’t seemed to notice the way your eyes darted away…or the subtle squeeze of your thighs. Up until then you could cover up the attraction to his voice, until he noticed.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you Gaz had noticed the change in your demeanor. He wasn’t entirely sure what did it though, so next time he was around you he slid his palm onto your back again. Under his watchful eye you shifted, but didn’t have the same reaction as before. Gaz tried to wrack his brain to figure out what it was. He replayed the moment over again in his head. Suddenly the realization dawned on him, the whisper. His whisper.

It would be too obvious to test it immediately so your interactions played by normally until you two were walking behind everyone in the hall. “Whaddya figure we’re havin’ for lunch?” Gaz’s voice came from nowhere, his breath fanning across your neck. Your body went rigid quickly to Gaz’s enjoyment. “You okay?” “Uh yeah yeah.” You cleared your throat and forced a step forward. Gaz watched you speed up with a triumphant smirk. He had you now.

From then on it only became more apparent what his game was. The moment people were looking away he’d find any reason to mutter something into your ear. Sometimes it was meaningful, most the time is was something stupid while his voice teetered on being a grumble. It began to snowball when he thought people were being too close to you and he began draping himself over you and whispering to you in front of them. They got the message.

All of it came to a head though on a mission when he had yanked you behind a crate and growled at you to stay low. His lips being too close to your ear to be professional had become second nature at that point. In the culmination of his antics and this finally being when he first fully rumbled into your ear you glared at him. “Shut up!” You hissed quietly, arousal building in your veins. Not now, this wasn’t the right time.

“What?” Gaz’s voice cut through the tense air, steely and steady. Your heart dropped to your feet at the sound. He leaned forward, forcing you to slide down to accommodate him. “I think you forget who’s in charge, yeah?” A snap shattered the atmosphere and as soon as it started it was over. Gaz darted up, shooting at the less than hidden targets. Not a single miss. Instantly he walked around the crate, stalking off somewhere else. You needed to learn, but not here in danger. The frustration built back up within you, unaware of the path Gaz was shooting to be free for you. Even if he was pissed he wouldn’t let you get hurt.

Walking off the tarmac to an empty room after a shitty mission was always the worst. This time the absence of Gaz clinging to you caused you to walk away faster. The moment you reached your room you slammed the door shut behind you. Closing your eyes, you turned to press your forehead to the cool door. A beat or two passed before you pressed off and stripped your shirt off, your back to the room.

“Already stripping for me? Didn’t know you were a slag.” Shit. Gaz had a wolfish grin when you whirled around to face him. His head was tilted to the side while his eyes scanned you. “Nothing to say now?” “How’d you get in here? The barracks shouldn’t be open to just anybody.” You countered. Gaz let the attitude slide for now. “Not why? Thought that’d be interesting.” Gaz nonchalantly leaned back on his hands like he hadn’t broken into your room.

“Pretty sure you could get in trouble for this.” He clicked his tongue and looked at you darkly. “Pretty sure you wouldn’t do that to me love. Nah, I think ya like me to much.” There was no refusal on your end. It would be pointless to lie. “I’ll answer anyways,” Gaz continued. “I’m here to teach you that lesson.” He smoothed your sheets before getting up to circle you, zeroing in. “If you don’t want it tell me. Tell me and I’ll leave right now.” Gaz whispered into your ear.

A shiver ran down your spine at the faint contact of his lips on the shell of your ear. “Please…” His smirk returned. “Please what?” “Please fuck me.” You swore you could feel the shudder of satisfaction from his chest. His hand moved to grip your ass, the muscle spilling between his fingers, blocked by the fabric of your uniform.

Gaz kept his grip on you, walking you forward till your knees hit the bed, threatening to bend and tip you over onto it. “Can you handle it?” He taunted. “Gaz,“ “Kyle.” A weight settled on your shoulder and you realized one of his hands moved to hold onto you. All of your thoughts left at his offered name.

“Kyle…” You breathed out. It was all you could really do. “Yes?” Amusement laced his sultry tone, “Are you done?” You bit back hollowly, “Fuck off.” A real chuckle escaped his lips, the lips that grazed the nape of your neck. “I’d much rather fuck you.” His hands still holding your ass and shoulder gave him the perfect grip to grind into your ass.

The feeling of his hard on under his pants pressed into you. Gaz squeezed his fingers on your shoulder before moving his hand to tug on your hair, pulling your head back. He was always confusing with you, except for now. Now, his intentions were crystal clear. “You thought you were so funny huh?” Gaz could handle what happened earlier and get over it, but with you he wanted to show you that he was the only one you needed. So he’d show you what happens when you talk to him like that.

Gaz’s lips crashed yours together at a slightly awkward angle. It was sloppy, but exactly what he wanted. Teeth clashed while spit swapped and your lips quickly became soaked and swollen. Gaz licked up into your mouth feeling your tongue tremble when it hit his. The feeling had him smirking against your mouth, moving his tongue to slide along yours, drawing a moan from your throat. A groan that rivaled yours came from his own mouth.

Panting, Gaz came up for air. His hand still held onto your hair keeping you against his swelling lips. “Gotta teach you a fucking lesson.” Gaz’s hips ground into your ass again. “Fuckin’ hell,” he grunted into your ear, losing the battle of holding himself together.

“Yes. Fuck yes.” You begged unabashedly. Shame was nowhere near to being in your thoughts. Your hips rolled back into his and Gaz sucked a breath in. His bottom lip was sucked under his teeth, biting down on it. “Keep fuckin’ teasing me.” Gaz huffed and removed his hands from you. Your needy whine didn’t miss his ears but he quickly pushed his pants down anyways. “Can’t fuckin’ wait anymore. Waited so long.”

He pressed his body against yours, feeling the warmth radiate between you, his dick nestling between your cheeks. His hand slid down to grip your ass, giving it a firm squeeze, before he tugged you closer. Gaz thumbed at your waistband, letting it snap back with a grin. At your gasp he feigned remorse. “Oh I’m sorry love, I’ll make it up to you.” His body guided you to bend over and he slid his hands under your waistband.

Gaz didn’t hesitate anymore, turning his hands over and slowly sliding your fatigues off your hips. It seemed his limited patience only extended to him revealing you like a precious gift. He stepped back, distracted by the sight of your ass in front of him he blurted out, “Lube. Where’s-“ You cut him off hastily, “Dresser, first drawer to the left.”

Gaz momentarily pulled off of you to rummage through your drawer. He was hasty, a man on a mission and grabbed the bottle quickly. Gaz made his way back immediately and popped open the top. “Gotta loosen you up.” He muttered and smeared lube on his fingers before leaning in and whispering in your ear. “Have to make sure you can handle my cock.”

Gaz coated himself with the lube that was smeared on his fingers. “I can handle it,” you protested quickly. “Oh can you?” He responded casually. He pumped his hand up and down slowly, making sure to thoroughly cover his cock. When he was done Gaz kept the lube soaking his fingers to help him circle the rim of your asshole. He pressed his thumb in gently and watched the pad of it disappear into you while you moaned.

A breath he didn’t know he had been holding escaped and he bit his lip. Gaz immediately wanted to pound into you but instead he let his thumb hang heavy, pushing his index finger in, to the knuckle with no resistance. Your low moan only fuel the raging fire in his gut. “That feel good?” Gaz egged you on with a smirk.

He looked down at his finger easily reaching deep inside of you before he pulled it back out. A second later two slick fingers penetrated again. Gaz took his time, curling them to scissoring them until he could slide in a third finger. He hummed appreciatively in the back of his throat. It was torturously slow and clearly a punishment for your outburst earlier.

“Gaz I swear-“ Once again you were cut off with a firm reminder. “I said call me Kyle.” You swallowed thickly and opened your mouth. Gaz thrust his fingers in harshly causing you to cut yourself off with a moan. “What was that?” He challenged.

Your mouth hung open, eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure. “Kyle please just fuck me already.” In an instant his fingers were gone making you slump against the bed, ass up for him. “Do you think you deserve it?” You heard his grumble over a rustling. “I’ve been good!” You retorted in a less than steady voice.

“I guess you have.” Gaz tutted. He looked down at what he had been doing. His precum had steadily leaked down and dropped onto his thigh from where his dick hung against it. Gaz scooped it up and smeared it back onto his dick before letting out a fake sigh. “We don’t have enough lube..”

“What? Yes I do!” You knew he was fucking with you but you didn’t know what he was aiming for. “Haven’t even fucked you and you’re already gone. So needy.” You supposed now that he was only messing around to use your reaction against. However, he wasn’t entirely cruel.

Gaz shuffled forward to grip the tops of your thighs, his thumbs coming up to spread your ass. “You ready?” He leaned to the side to see your dazed expression. “Mm yeah.” Gaz smiled at your response and slowly pressed in. His fat tip breached your entrance and he paused when it made a small ‘pop’, resting in it’s new home. He slowly pressed forward inch by inch listening intently to the moans spilling from your lips.

His throat bobbed when he groaned at your sounds. “You sound so fuckin’ good, feel so fuckin’ good.” Gaz watched your tight asshole take him to the base where he bottomed out. He held one arm under your waist, the other grabbing onto your hip. Your face scrunched up at the stretch but slowly relaxed when you adjusted to the intrusion.

A whine bubbled in your throat when he experimentally rolled his hips. “Yeah, you’ll take it well, darling.” He murmured mainly to himself. “Won’t you?” Gaz’s voice instantly switched to a sweet tone contrasting his previous timbre. He pulled out until the head of his cock was the only thing in your asshole, pausing then thrusting back in. “Yeah you’ll do nicely.”

You eagerly nodded your head at his husky words. Who wouldn’t do good for him? Gaz chewed his bottom lip in concentration building up to a steady rhythm. He slammed his hips back and forth, angling it differently little by little until he hit the spot that had you keening. “You want me, don't ya, love? You're fucking begging for it.” Gaz's voice was thick with desire. He merely laughed when you looked back with a cock drunk expression.

“Don’t worry I know darling, I know.” Gaz reached up from your hip to cradle your cheek. “Feels good don’t it? Being fucked on your Sergeant’s cock?” “Mhm!” The way you responded could barely be classified as a response, but he understood all the same. Your velvety walls welcomed every punishing thrusts that hit deep within you.

Gaz could hardly keep still as he trailed his hand to your shoulder and gripped it for purchase before speeding up. His dark eyes watched the ripple of your ass every time his hips slammed into you. The tip of his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth, focused on slamming into you over and over and over.

It wasn’t long before you were choking on air and grasping at the sheets, complete bent over the bed now. “‘M gonna-!” Gaz chuckled triumphantly and continued at his brutal pace. “Yeah yeah, you gonna come for me? Do it.” The encouragement was all you needed for you go cum, dripping onto your sheets. Gaz didn’t stop pounding into you while you came, wanting to prolong your orgasm.

A pornographic moan ripped itself from your mouth while you arched your back into the bed. “Yes yes yes! Kyle!” Your eyes rolled back, drooling onto the ruined covers, ropes of his come filling you up. Gaz leaned over you, only slowing down once he worked himself through his high.

He ducked his head into the crook of your neck and fought to catch his breath. Gaz sighed wistfully and pressed a chaste kiss there. “Perfect.” You whined and he looked up to see you looking at him. A smile parted his lips, “You were everything and more.” He studied your blissful expression and swiped a drop of sweat off your forehead with his thumb. You began to sit up when he gently guided you to stay still. “‘S okay, you don’t gotta do anything.”

Gaz pulled out slowly, not wanting to hurt you. His hands massaged the globes of your ass soothingly before he stood up fully to tuck himself back into his fatigues. Gaz helped you turn over, walking to your dresser to grab a rag. He came back to discover you staring at the ceiling and he smiled. “Anything interesting up there?” Gaz craned his neck. When he didn’t respond he laughed and began tenderly cleaning you up.

“Kyle..?” Gaz raised his eyebrows and looked down at you, not expecting you to speak up. “Yeah love?” Your nervous expression easily made him worried and he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to cup your jaw. “Can this happen again? Or is it a one time thing?” Gaz sighed in relief at your question and leaned forward. “We’ll do it as many times as you want.”

At your satisfied smiled he pecked your lips. “Now get some rest, I’ll wash your blankets later.” He grabbed the soiled blankets and tossed it to the side, letting you slide under the covers with him copying your movements.

Gaz rolled onto his side to see your peaceful expression, on the brink of sleep. The smile on his face was incapable of faltering when this was his view. He exhaled quietly and pulled your head to rest on his chest while he fluttered his eyes shut. No, it wouldn’t be a one time thing.

[physics-of-one-piece]

I am so sad to inform everyone that there is no Doffy for like 12 episodes since 629, he appears next in 642 which is a CRIME.

Anyway, Eng Doffy liveblog 642, let's gooo!

Doflamingo: Hey, Law! I hate to admit it, but you managed to impress me! Must've taken some effort to get a Navy admiral to show up. And since I'm no longer a warlord, I'm really shaking in my boots!

Hahahahahaha this bastard 🤣🤣🤣 also, the way he says "Law" oh the condescension. Fits.

Law: You're a damn liar!

Go, Law 😤 you tell 'im!

(skips the boring Colosseum parts cus we aren't here for that we are here for the sass fight between Doffy & Law in English)

"Haven't you ever seen a magic trick?" Did he just take a jab at Law's intelligence? I think?

See, Eng Doffy sounds so confident and smug but in that assholeish way, he gives me the "I want to punch him" feel. Meanwhile Japanese Doffy gives me the "I would not DARE punch this man bcs I know I will not live long enough to regret it" feel. I would not DARE go against Japanese Doffy, I would not dare speak or yell at him, while I would foolishly think of punching and attempting to punch English Doffy. Does that make sense? Eng Doffy would trick me into thinking I have a chance. Japanese Doffy I wouldn't even think about fighting him.

I love how you can already pick up on his "I am a god" thingy bcs Eng Doffy says "creates the blind spot in humans" he could have said "people" but nope. That's a nice little hint.

Also, once more, Eng Doffy is making my brain work for it with the "But it's the rigidity of the mind assuming no one would go to such lengths that creates the blind spot in humans."

RIGIDITY OF THE MIND

MAN, he makes me feel like I'm a silly little human with no knowledge of the world. Also, what a freakin scholar. I mean, we knew, and you can catch it in his Japanese vocabulary too, he is a royal for sure.

I gotta say, I remember the first time watching this and my brain was fckn THEORISING how the fuck Doflamingo could do that, get the newspapers to report fake news, did he threaten the newspapers, has someone in that branch etc etc...

Bcs at that point I don't think the OP lore made me aware Celestial Dragons have such influence? I just thought "rich ugly assholes who sit on their butts in Mariejois with no power of their own"

I think this was #1 reveal in One Piece for me cus like as Law slowly like figures it out and says "only celestial dragons have that power" my mind just blanked out from SHOCK bcs that means - Doflamingo is - but if he is, why is he a pirate - what - what - what - also how the hell is he so HANDSOME if he is a Celestial Dragon?

I think my reaction would be funny to Doflamingo 🤣

And then when the reveal happened I covered my face with my hands and said "Fuck, I want to fuck a Celestial Dragon. How far have I fallen?"

"Don't tell me... You're a..." The fckn FEAR in Law's voice. I got chills. I always get chills on this scene. The DREAD. THE ABSOLUTE DREAD. I'm glad it holds up in English.

"It's too complicated to explain right now." Keeping us at the edge of our seats, the bastard 🤣

"You know why I went to so much trouble, Law? Huh?" OH MY GOD AAAAA 😭😭😭 the way he says it is scary!

"No secret. I just really wanted to kill you."

RUN, LAW. RUN. AAAAAAAAAAA 😱😱😱😱😱

It's interesting how I can sorta pick up on the hatred Law feels for Doflamingo in English. Law has quite a calm voice in English, but it gets ROUGHER and RUDER in tone when he talks to Doflamingo. In Japanese, he tends to raise his voice so he's LOUDER than Doflamingo when he talks to him so both VAs have their own very good takes on the approach of Law's emotions. Very nice.

Doflamingo in English speaks like an angry dad who is trying not to show anger but is still angry and is about to beat the shit out of his son, and also condescending as hell. Like oooh, damn, the condescension when he talks to Law like Law is a kid (he does this in Japanese too just in a bit of a different tone but you still feel the "angry dad disciplining his kid who did sth extremely extremely stupid" so the shoe fits)

Onto Ep 643

Law: There's no way in hell you're getting Caesar back now!

HOLY HELL, HELL YEAH, FIERCE ENGLISH LAW, GO LAW!

Okay, so the way "Doflamingo" is said by Law is so very English it took me off guard. (pronouncing flamingo aloud to myself) Oh okay, that's accurate. Huh. I myself don't really enunciate the go as much as Law does. Okay. Sounds cute, though. Very cute 😊😊😊😊

"We've hardly spoken in ten years and this is how you act? Treat your old boss nicer, won't you, Law?"

OH SHIT OH SHIT. OKAY. OKAY. SO LIKE. WAIT IS THERE A WAY TO SEND A MP3 thingy, BCS YOU ALL HAVE TO HEAR THIS ONE. His voice softened when he said the "won't you, Law" and I fckn melted (again)

Oh, that softer "won't you, Law" I'D YIELD. NO, NO, HE SAID IT SO MUCH SOFTER OH GODDAMN FUCK FUCK THAT DIRTY - THAT'S CHEATING - THAT'S NOT FAIR, I CAN'T BE SCARED OF HIM IF HE TALKS LIKE THAT TO ME. I literally went "awww 🥺🥺🥺" after I heard this. I had the urge to just hug him and caress his hair and say "it's okay, Doffy, Law didn't mean it, there, there (pats him on the head)"

I am weak 😭😭😭😭😭 FUCK YOU, ENG DOFFY. DAMN YOU, ENG DOFFY. It's bad enough Japanese Doffy's voice softens when he talks to Cora, now I find Eng Doffy does it too (even if this is the manipulative thing he does for Law)? FUCKING SHIT FUCK.

DAMMIT!

I love how Doffy says "Hello there. 😄" to Fujitora! Haha.

"If you want to dig into my past, you better be willing to get your hands dirty. It'll take a mountain of evidence to topple me."

Or... You know... A crazy 19-year-old who you pissed off and who doesn't care about evidence 🤣🤣🤣

"Speaking of naughty warlords -" I JUST SQUEALED. HE DID NOT. HE DID. HE SAID IT. Naughty warlord. And the way he said it, too. Oh he is very aware. Adding that to my list of affectionate nicknames for Doffy.

"My plan completely fell apart. The Navy shows up and now I'm the target." Welcome to the life of being Luffy's ally, Law 🤣🤣😭😭

"Hehe. Just can't take the easy way, can you?" SAYS THE GUY WHO MANIPULATED THE WORLD NEWSPAPERS TO TRICK 10 PIRATES.

Excuse me while I go have a nerd timeout for Fujitora cus goddamn his gravity's COOL

Doflamingo: "That's a bit overkill, don't you think?"

I THINK SO, TOO! Japanese Doffy was def freaking out more 🤣

Oh, Eng Law saying "Room" sounds cool!

"Is this how the Navy acts now? Show some restraint! ARE YOU INSANE?!" Doffy freaking out 🤣🤣🤣🤣 this is hilarious!

"What now, Law? You aren't thinking about running away, are you? Because you won't get far here in my kingdom." Yikes.

Tagging @moonbaby26

[sentientcave]

It's WIP Wednesday once again! I've got some Impound for you because it's been a while and it's still not finished (I've been working on Sparrow instead and just hit 55k today which is pretty exciting).

Contains: Blue collar Simon, Price as a cop, petty nonsense from men who should know better, but they're unfortunately not very emotionally intelligent

That’s when he saw the cruiser, parked on the street out front, too close to the fire hydrant.

Not blocking it, exactly, but still too close. If it were anyone else, he’d’ve let it slide, since the fire crew would still be able to get to the hydrant. But it was Price, and he’d just warned him about this very thing.

He pulled out his phone. “Hey, Johnny?” he said as soon as the line picked up, not waiting for Johnny to speak. “Send Roach out to city hall. Got someone parked by a fire ‘ydrant.”

“Fer fuck’s sake, Si, isnae the feckin’ cop again?”

“It is. I’ll come round to handle the paperwork. Won’t make you do it.”

“Awlright, but dinnae let him catch Roach at it neither. Ye know he’ll say somethin’ stupid and get his arse arrested.”

“Oh I know. Lad dun’t know ‘ow to keep his trap shut.” Simon hung up and headed back inside, hardly paying attention to the meeting, his eyes flicking back to Price over and over again, and holding whenever he found Price looking back. It was clear that neither of them retained anything said, too busy glaring at each other over the heads of the people sitting between them.

Simon got out of the building first, and stood off to the side to smoke another cigarette, leaning against a tree where he could get a good view of Price’s reaction when he came out to find his cruiser missing yet again.

He didn’t disappoint. He came out of the building a few minutes after the initial crush of humanity, talking to Kate and Nikolai. Price stopped in his tracks a little ways out the door, focused in on where his cruiser was supposed to be, and immediately scanned the vicinity, his whole body going rigid, hands tightening into fists, shoulders squared up for war, jaw set like concrete. His blazing blue eyes found Simon, and he marched over without saying a word, leaving Nikolai and Kate looking confused, and then amused when they realized what must have happened.

Price stopped in front of him, fury radiating off of him like heat off an engine, all that energy practically warping the space between them. “What’s your fuckin’ problem, mate?” he asked, jabbing a finger against Simon’s chest.

“No problem. I was ‘ere the whole time, wasn’t I?” Simon batted Price’s hand away, resisting the impulse to punch him for having the nerve to lay his bloody hands on him in the first place. Price was lucky that Simon was so rehabilitated now. That he had his temper on a good strong leash these days. “If you din’t want to get towed, you shunt’ve parked there. Not my problem if my people know ‘ow to do their jobs and you ‘aven’t got a clue ‘ow to do yours.”

“You don’t want to start a war with me, son,” Price growled.

Simon leaned forward, the barest curve of a smile on his lips, eyes narrowed and flinty. To his credit, Price didn’t flinch, didn’t move back, didn’t drop his eyes. He wasn’t intimidated by Simon’s size, like a lesser man would be. “You don’t want to start a war with me, old man.” He wasn’t sure there was much difference in their ages, if any, but if Price was going to try and talk down to him with the son shite than Simon was going to shovel it right back, like he was an unruly teenager in a rebellious phase. “I’m not goin’ to be pushed around by a fuckin’ badge. You don’t get special treatment because you wear a bloody uniform.”

Price’s jaw clenched even tighter. He had an impressive scowl, one that could probably level anyone else. “Watch yourself,” he grit out, like each word cost him something to force from his mouth.

Simon leaned a little closer. Their noses were almost touching. He could feel the currents of air stirred up by Price’s breath on his own face. “Or what?” he asked.

“Or else,” Price said, too angry to come up with anything resembling a real threat.

Simon pulled back with an amused grunt, and turned away, glancing over his shoulder dismissively. “See you as the impound lot, hm? I’ll be waitin’.”

In the end, it was Gaz who came around to pick up the cruiser.

[freeeggbailiffcash]

[Another sneak peak from Mountain Sounds (part of soulmate au)]

Kahar should’ve known something was off when Hakeem, Fahmi, and Zahrin stopped whatever they were doing to gawk at him mid-pack.

“Lain macam kau pack, nak jumpa mertua ke, Kahar?” Hakeem had said, trying (and failing) to suppress his grin.

“Aku rasa kau boleh muatkan Keem dalam luggage tu,” Zahrin added wryly.

Fahmi just blinked twice and said, “Kau… bukan terus menetap sana, kan? Ni dah kalah kes orang kene bawak lari bunian ni.” he muttered the last part under his breath.

Kahar had glared at them all like they’d just insulted his ancestors.

At the time, he didn’t get the joke. He still didn’t, really. What, was it wrong to pack responsibly? He had no damn clue what the trip would be like.

Plus, this was the first time he was actually going somewhere that wasn’t with Beja… or his father’s chauffeur.

In his five years at Kudrat, every outing or balik bermalam was either that or nothing. Once or twice, he tried asking if he could follow Hakeem or the others.

The answer was always the same: No. Usually followed by some snide remark from his father about “the kind of people” he mixed with. Not prestigious enough. Not “proper.”

But the day he became Kapla, his father didn’t even bother asking if he’d be coming home anymore.

Kahar hadn't really unpacked what that meant yet. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Still, standing there with his luggage that could probably hold a small body, watching Fakhri toss clothes into a backpack like a survivalist preparing for a weekend apocalypse, Kahar had felt a little ridiculous.

Then again… they were going to Fakhri’s place. Dude probably had half his life stashed there already. It made sense.

This was—what? His third or fourth time riding a public bus anywhere? Maybe fifth?

He couldn’t recall.

The gentle rumble under his feet, the stale air, the mix of people—adults, some old folks with plastic bags between their feet, a kid staring blankly out the window across the aisle—all strangers.

No uniforms, no rigid Kudrat rules.

And for once, no chauffeur waiting with polished leather seats and cold silence.

Kahar didn’t mean to smile, but he did. Just a bit.

Not that he wanted anyone to notice. Especially not Fakhri, who was currently pointedly ignoring him with his earphones shoved in, staring dramatically out the window like he was the brooding lead in a Malay drama.

Still… Kahar could feel the tension.

That thing Fakhri had said about Puteri Enam earlier had stuck with him. Gnawed a little. The way he’d gone all quiet after mentioning Puteri Empat—the way he rushed to change the subject after.

What did that mean, anyway? If Puteri Empat was during the time when they were about to Manifesto, then was it that bad?

Suddenly Kahar remembered the dark bags under Fakhri’s eyes, the bouts of tiredness, the spacing out.

The times he caught him with Ariz.

Immediately, his mood darkened.

Kot Puteri Empat teruk sampai dia biar Ariz dekat, Puteri Enam camner pulak?

Welp. At least Ariz wouldn’t fucking be anywhere near them for the week.

An hour passed.

Kahar tried distracting himself by people-watching. A grandma trying to unwrap a sweet. A guy at the front nodding off with his head bobbing like a loose maraca. The kid still staring blankly.

His leg bounced.

Maybe he should ask again. Either to get actual answers—or to piss Fakhri off just enough to get a reaction. He was already reaching out, elbow cocked, about to nudge—

—and then a weight fell against his shoulder.

Kahar froze.

Slowly, he turned his head.

A tousled mess of hair was now firmly in his line of vision. Close. Soft. Fakhri was slumped against him, cheek pressing into the side of his shoulder like he meant to do that. Like he trusted him not to move.

Kahar didn’t breathe.

Not for a solid ten seconds.

He didn’t dare.

Because for someone who always looked constipated with heavy eyebags that made him resemble a broody panda, Fakhri’s face—relaxed and quietly vulnerable in sleep—was… something else entirely.

And all of a sudden, Kahar wasn’t thinking about the Ulek Mayang. Or his father. Or the soulmark hidden beneath Fakhri’s sleeve.

He was just thinking—Shit, shit, shit

Siot… nak kejut ke tak ehh budak ni? Kahar’s brain had been looping that question like a broken radio for the past few minutes.

Fakhri hadn’t moved. Still dead asleep. Still slumped on Kahar’s shoulder like he fucking owned it.

Cemana kalau terlepas rumah nenek dia?

Takkan aku nak buat announcement dekat driver—“Abang, budak ni tidur mati, nanti dia nak turun mana?”

Macam bangang sangat pulak.

Another glance. Fakhri’s lashes fluttered faintly in sleep. His breathing slow and steady.

Dia betul-betul ngantuk ke ni…? Takkan aku nak kejut… buatnya dia tumbuk aku camner?

Fakhri had a mean punch and Kahar really wasn’t looking forward to possibly meet Fakhri’s wan with his face all shades of blue (not that he wanted to impress her or anything).

Kahar scrubbed his face with both palms, trying not to scream into them.

And then—movement caught his eye.

At the front seats, two boys—maybe 10, 11?—sitting beside what looked like their mother, were staring at them.

Like, full-on staring. The older one nudged the younger, and the younger made a ridiculous fish face before giggling.

Then they both started silently mouthing "aaaaawwwww~" while pointing discreetly (but not really) toward Kahar.

Kahar narrowed his eyes at them. Real slow. Real deadly.

They didn’t stop. If anything, they giggled louder.

He was this close to mouthing "kau nak penumbuk?!" when he heard another soft giggle—from further back, just a couple seats before him and Fakhri.

Kahar turned slightly, and there they were.

Two girls, probably around their age, sitting a few rows on the other side. They weren’t even being subtle—one of them straight up gave him the cheeky thumbs-up.

The other one just smiled in that annoying knowing way.

Kahar faintly scowled, slouching lower in his seat.

Takde kerja ke semua orang sibuk tengok sini lak? Macam bodoh.

He seriously debated throwing his hoodie over both their heads just to make a statement.

But before he could settle on an actual plan, the bus suddenly lurched forward, hitting a bumper way too fast.

BUMP!

And just like that—Fakhri’s head lolled closer.

Kahar’s eyes widened as he felt the full weight shift from shoulder to neck. And—

wait—

Was that—

was that softness—

was that Fakhri’s lips just now???

SHITSHITSHITSHIT—

Kahar didn’t know what to do with his body. His soul. His breathing. His neck.

Was he supposed to move? Pretend he didn’t feel that? Tap Fakhri awake? Lean into it?! (NO! WHAT THE HELL!)

His heart was pounding like a damn war drum in his chest.

He stared straight ahead, vision unfocused, entire body rigid like a corpse.

He couldn’t look. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think straight.

The fish-face boys were now losing it. One of them was hitting the other with a rolled-up comic book, trying to hold in laughters. The girls were clearly whispering and giggling louder now.

Unabashed, Kahar shot all of them the middle finger.

Then he slowly, very slowly, tilted his head the other way, neck cramping slightly just to create an inch of distance.

Not enough to wake Fakhri—God forbid—but enough so his skin didn’t feel like it was on fire.

And still…

Even with that inch between them, the ghost of that warmth lingered.

Kahar didn’t want to admit it—but his right hand, clenched tight in his lap, wouldn’t stop trembling.

There was a small shuffle.

Just a subtle shift in weight. The brush of soft fabric. The ghost of warm breath along his jawline.

And Kahar froze, yet again.

Fakhri stirred faintly, the top of his head nudging under Kahar’s chin for half a second before he—thankfully, mercifully—leaned away.

One eye blinked open groggily. Then the other.

Still dazed with sleep, Fakhri frowned slightly and raised his wrist to squint at his watch. He turned lazily to the window, gaze sweeping over the scenery now dotted with faded shop signs and dusty roads.

No panic. No embarrassment. Not even a hint of awareness that his nap had involved accidental shoulder intimacy.

Just a sigh and the way he visibly relaxed into his seat, slouching deeper with that same disheveled, half-asleep look.

Like nothing had happened.

Like Kahar wasn’t still sitting like he’d just been electrocuted.

He stared at Fakhri in disbelief.

The idiot didn’t even fucking know.

For a second, Kahar’s fingers twitched with the temptation to say something. To tease. To smirk and lean in and go, ‘Oii sedap ehh kau tido kat aku free-free gitu?’

Just to see how Fakhri would react. Watch his face go red or maybe hear him swear and try to punch his arm.

But before he could even open his mouth, Fakhri beat him to it—murmuring sleepily, voice still heavy with drowsiness, “Nanti jap gi bas ni stop jap nak isi minyak…”

He paused, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand.

“Aku nak turun jap beli barang. Kau jangan merayau lak, kang kene tinggal, Aku tak tahu.”

The words weren’t scolding. Not really. More like autopilot from someone who was too used to dealing with chaos.

Kahar almost rolled his eyes. Almost snapped something smart back like, ‘Kau ingat aku ni budak ke?’

But he didn’t.

Instead, he shut his mouth. Let the moment pass.

Because somehow… somehow that sleep-heavy voice, that unthinking trust, that ordinary familiarity—it made something in his chest squeeze.

So Kahar just leaned back, arms crossed, gaze turned toward the seat in front of him. He could feel Fakhri still shifting beside him, now rummaging in his pocket for coins or checking his phone.

There were still people throwing glances at them.

The girls in the back giggling. The fish-face boys looking smug like they were in on something.

“Apehal diorang tengok sini macam tuu… pelik-pelik je laa,” Fakhri muttered, glancing around, puzzled.

Kahar didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at him.

He just closed his eyes, let his head thump softly against the solid back of his seat, deciding to keep what just happened to himself just a little bit longer.

His mark on the nape of his neck burned the whole way.

[darkfruhlingsgefuhle]

Shy Eyes and Sugar Cubes

Part 1/9

Borowski und das Haupt der Medusa

Pairing: Robert Frost x Reader

Tags: Slow Burn, Office romance

The first time you noticed Robert, really noticed him, was when you caught him staring.

Not in a creepy way—well, maybe a little—but in that wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights way that made your heart squeeze just a little. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him before; after all, you worked together. But Robert was one of those people who somehow blended into the background, the kind of guy who slipped in and out of rooms unnoticed, always hunched over his computer with his noise-canceling headphones clamped tight over his ears.

You, on the other hand? You were the opposite. The sun of the team, as they jokingly called you. The one who brought in homemade brownies on Mondays and surprise donuts on Fridays, who always had a warm smile and a joke ready to lighten the office mood.

Robert never took any of the treats you brought—at least, not when you were watching. But you started noticing the way his gaze would flicker toward the snack table when he thought no one was looking, the way his fingers would twitch like he wanted to reach out but stopped himself.

So, one day, you decided to change that.

You walked right up to his desk and placed a small chocolate next to his keyboard. “For you,” you said, tilting your head with a smile. “Since you never take any from the table.”

Robert’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, his entire body going rigid. His blue eyes darted up to you, then back to the chocolate like it might explode. “…Thanks,” he muttered, barely audible.

Cute, you thought. Really cute.

After that, it became a game.

Little things, small gestures—like brushing against his arm when you reached for the stapler, leaning just a little too close when you checked his screen, resting your hand on his chair when you talked to him. You caught the way his breath hitched, the way he’d freeze up like a rabbit in front of a wolf. But he never pulled away. Never told you to stop.

And then there were the subtle flirts.

“Robert, you’re the only one who actually understands the office printer. I think that makes you the most powerful person here.”

“I bet you have, like, a secret lair filled with computer monitors and energy drinks. Do you even sleep?”

“You’re seriously smart, you know that?”

Each time, Robert’s face would turn a brilliant shade of red, and he’d stammer out something that barely resembled words before escaping into his work. But what really gave him away—the thing that made your stomach flip with excitement—was the way he always, always, looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

Like he couldn’t help himself.

Like he was completely and utterly lost in you.

And God, did that intrigue you.

You had a feeling Robert had never had a girlfriend before. He never mentioned dating, never talked about weekends spent with anyone, never joined in when the other guys in the office made offhand jokes about relationships. He always sat alone at lunch, eyes locked on his laptop, fingers tapping at the keyboard like the world outside didn’t exist.

But you existed.

And you were going to make sure he knew that.

So one evening, as most of the office had already cleared out, you walked over to his desk, perching yourself on the edge of it. He stiffened immediately, looking up at you like you’d just short-circuited his entire system.

“Still here so late?” you asked playfully.

Robert swallowed. “Uh… yeah. Just finishing some… things.”

“You always work so hard,” you mused, then reached out—your fingers barely grazing his forearm as you leaned in, just enough to watch his reaction. He went completely still. Like he forgot how to breathe.

Adorable.

“Robert,” you said softly, your voice teasing but warm, “do I make you nervous?”

His throat bobbed. “No,” he lied.

You smiled. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I like talking to you.”

And before he could self-destruct from sheer panic, you stood up, giving his arm a quick squeeze. “Don’t stay too late, okay?”

Then, just as you reached the door, you glanced back over your shoulder—just in time to catch him staring again.

Only this time, he didn’t look away.

And that? That made your heart race.