#but i did my part and its still not done !! and i still have a future phone call to be anxious about!!

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - Before

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Being in love with Azriel wasn’t hard; you’d been doing it for over 400 years. But things were changing, and soon, you would be changed. 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Angst, pining

a/n: This is part of a mini-series but each part can be read on its own/out of order. I know I'm like attacking everyone with this random fic I just started but it's getting my writing muse going and it's exciting!! Enjoy :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

“Do you think that’s the best idea, Az?” you promoted, cringing a bit as you hid your face in the racks of clothing along the store’s edge. “I mean, Rhys seemed pretty adamant that you… I don’t know—not pursue her?”

Azriel tsked, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he passed behind you. You turned your wings in. “Rhys doesn’t understand. He only understands the pull of the mating bond and nothing else. But Elain doesn’t want Lucien, I’m sure of it.” 

Something twisted in your gut. “Okay, I believe you. But what if—” 

“Please, y/n, something else now. My failure of a love life must bore you.” 

You bit into your lip as you contemplated ignoring his request. He had done nothing but speak of Elain since you started your outing this evening, but the moment you questioned the feasibility of his plans, the topic was suddenly moot. 

“I was just going to ask,” you broached, turning from the clothes to face the shadowsinger. A necklace display enthralled him. “What if you found your mate? What then?” 

Azriel broke his gaze with the jewels. “That wouldn’t matter. This is different, y/n. You must see that. Three sisters for three brothers. It’s as if it’s a test of fate.” 

“Right,” you nodded, fighting off the urge to throw up or scream. “Destiny, maybe.” 

Azriel’s responding grin did little to soothe you. “Exactly. I knew you would understand. You’ve always understood me.” 

You offered a weak smile, biting the inside of your cheek as he ushered you out of the store with a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

This was getting more and more difficult to tamp down. 

When Azriel first became enamored by Elain, you thought it temporary. He had been chasing after Mor for so long; that wouldn’t be trumped by a woman he just met. And you were used to the way he pined for Mor. It hurt, but it was familiar. 

Azriel never seemed to think he had a real chance with her. 

But with Elain—with Elain, he figured he had a fighting chance. He saw the success of his brothers and felt that this was his chance at happiness. He never looked at you the way he looked at her, and he had had so many opportunities to do so. 

He never spoke of you the way he spoke of her. 

This hurt more than it did with Mor.

But still, Azriel was your family, so you pretended that it didn’t. You sat back and listened as he spoke of his grand plans to court her and sneak past Rhysand. You tried your best to provide good input and smiled when you were supposed to. 

You loved him from afar. 

He loved you differently. 

It wasn’t his fault.

“Did Rhys ever say what he wanted to talk to you about?” Azriel asked after a short stint of silence, the sounds of your steps along the streets of Velaris rhythmic and soothing. 

You blinked and focused your attention back on Azriel. “Oh, um, some mission at the camps I think.” 

“Anything big?” 

“I don’t think so. A little unrest but I think he just wants me to make sure the women are training.” 

“Need me to come?” 

“I would, but I leave tomorrow night. Isn’t that when you—you know…” 

Azriel sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Oh, that’s right.” He tilted his head to the side, weighing his internal conflict. “I could try to move some things around. Elain could—” 

“No, Az, it’s fine,” you interrupted, trying to forget about the times he would restructure his entire schedule to accommodate you. “You have to be diligent with the times you see her. I can see if Cass can come with me.” 

“Are you sure?” he posed, the question twisting his brow. 

You looked up at him, examining each tell on his face. You’d known him so long you were sure you would never forget his face—never scrub your mind of the intricacies that told you of each emotion he felt. 

Many claimed that Azriel was hard to read. As a Spymaster, that was the goal. But you saw through it all. You’d seen him as a boy and you saw him now. 

There was something unfamiliar on his face as you looked at him now. 

“You really like her, don’t you?” The words hurt as they came out. 

Azriel breathed through a smile. 

“I like my chances this time.” He curled his finger beneath your chin in a playful tap. 

That sounded the same. 

~~

“You sure you don’t want me to come, sweetheart?” Cassian asked for the fourth time, the table between you filled with a plethora of distractions that you were all too grateful for. 

You darted your gaze to the side, eager to ensure that Azriel hadn’t heard the loudmouth in front of you. “Yes, Cass. Now quit it. I got it, okay?” 

Cassian sent the pair at the end of the table a perfunctory, almost irritated glance. ���It’s a pretty hostile camp you’re headed into. I feel like you should bring backup.” 

“And I feel like you have four other camps to go to today. And a pregnant mate to tend to, no?” 

“Nesta would sooner bash me over the head with her books than let me coddle her. I’ve tried.”

“Well, just… linger around her, I don’t know. Just know that I’m fine and don’t need a babysitter.” 

From the other end of the table, Elain giggled, the sound light and airy. You snuck a glance out of the corner of your eye to find the shadows along the table retreating to the floor. A few had begun to creep towards you, but you shooed them away with a flick of your foot, wanting to keep the conversation away from Azriel’s ears. 

They listened to you—for the most part. 500 years of pestering them made them give a little. 

“Az can’t come?” Cassian asked, his mouth half filled with roasted potato. “He’s not on anything this week.” 

You raised your brow and stared back at the sheepish look the general offered, waiting for him to chew his breakfast before you replied. “He can’t. Spy business.” 

“Spy business.” Cassian deadpanned.

“Uh-huh.” 

Cassian’s skeptical look rivaled your chastising one. “This doesn’t need to go like this and you know that.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Right. I’ve only known you since we were twelve but I’m going to pretend that you aren’t covering for the one person you—” 

“Cassian.” 

“I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

“Why would she be getting hurt?” Azriel spoke up, his head finally turned from his near-permanent gaze on Elain. 

“I wouldn’t,” you cut in, speaking over the beginning of Cassian’s sentence. “You know how Cassian is, always worrying too much.”

“Is there something to worry about?” Elain asked, looking between the members of the table, her question sweet and ironic coming from her mouth. 

“No—” 

“Yes.” 

“No, there isn’t” you gritted out, throwing Cassian a look. The smile you sent to Elain took effort. “I’m just going on a routine mission, but you know how Illyrians are—overprotective to a fault.” 

Elain nodded and blushed with a soft gleam in her eye, and, Gods, you were reminded why you’d stopped eating breakfast at the House. You bit the inside of your cheek to fight the swell in your throat. 

“I thought Cassian was going to go with you,” Azriel questioned. “You said he could.” 

Cauldron, you really should have taken breakfast in your room. 

You tore your gaze from Elain’s shy expression and blinked at Azriel. He was sat up straighter, brows shot upwards in an accusatory fashion that made you feel that you were in trouble. When you took a moment to respond, he tilted his chin forward, ready to catch you in a lie. 

And you were an awful liar. 

When you were thirty, Azriel had to teach you how to lie to help stave away the men that came with emerging adulthood. That had been mortifying for many reasons, but mainly because he was having you lie about being his mate. Your feelings had become complicated around that time and Azriel did not seem to share the sentiment. 

But you could lie about this with ease. You had become a practiced liar over the years—when it came to hiding your feelings. 

“I-I got an update from Rhys. He said the camp is more settled. I’m only going to watch from afar. They won’t even know I’m there.” 

A lie—a fat lie. But Azriel should be happy. He should pursue Elain as he wanted. You shouldn't get in the way. You needed to get away from them, actually. 

You needed the space. 

You felt Cassian’s disappointed stare on the side of your face but ignored the hole it was burning into your skin. 

“He didn’t inform me of that,” Azriel muttered. He looked to Elain—sweet Elain with her soft eyes and gentle features—and contemplated his night once again. “I think I should come with you. Reports could be conflicting or fabricated.” 

And the way Elain deflated made you press your lips together in a line. Azriel sent her an apologetic, downturned smile and you gathered that he was apologizing for you. You would always be an apology for him, a responsibility. 

Your foot had been shaking under the table without you noticing it, but the moment Azriel’s eyes wandered to Elain, the motion abruptly stopped. You gathered your resolve, sent Cassian another warning glance, and looked back to the man who never saw you. 

“I don’t want you to come, Azriel. I’m bringing Lucien.” 

A low blow, but not one that was uncalled for. 

It had the effect you were hoping for, with both Azriel and Elain sending shocked expressions your way, the former affronted and the latter looking lost. 

“Lucien?” Azriel parroted. 

“Yes,”  you confirmed, taking a causal sip from the cup before you. “Rhys thought it would be good for him to see more than just Velaris and the mortal lands. I’m picking him up before I leave.” 

“And you think he would protect you if the Illyrians went rouge?” Azriel’s tone was bordering on aggressive, his question pointed towards Cassian. 

“The Illyrians are always rouge, Az. That’s kind of the point of all this,” you joked, but the joke didn’t land.

Tension at the table remained. Cassian wasn’t saying anything, his arms crossed and his eyes locked on yours. Your foot started shaking again. Elain, of all people, was the first one to speak. 

“Lucien would protect her,” she nodded, pushing her food around her plate. “He would. He’s… a good male.” 

That altered Azriel’s train of thought very evidently if one were able to pick apart the soft widening of his eyes and the slight twitch of his mouth. All things you caught so easily. 

All things that led him to agree that you should go with Lucien. All tells that made him refocus his attention on Elain and ignore the shallow breaths you let out when you lied.

Because you would be fine with Lucien. Maybe if you went with Lucien, one of Azriel’s suspected obstacles would be removed. Maybe Lucien would start to want you the same way he wanted Elain. 

Only, Lucien wasn’t going with you, and there would never be a time that a conversation like this would happen again. 

A different obstacle, for a different time. 

[theonottsbxtch]

FOR YOU, ALWAYS | CL16

an: this was a request! i loved wiritng it and now i love the idea of historical romance prince!charles, thank you for requesting it 💞 also i listened to experience by ludovico einaudi the entire time i wrote this

summary: charles has always hated his life, he thinks, he doesn’t know really. but then he meets someone, she challenges him, she makes him try and all of a sudden he knows what he wants.

wc: 12k

The grand dining hall of the Château de Monte Carlo was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through its ornate windows. Prince Charles of Monaco sat at the long mahogany table, his jaw tight as his parents, the Sovereign Prince and Princess, laid out their expectations with the weight of unshakable certainty.

"You must understand, Charles," his mother said, her voice poised yet firm, "a union with Princess Evelyn of England is not merely desirable—it is necessary. The alliance could strengthen our position in ways you cannot yet fully grasp."

His father leaned forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the table. "This is not a matter of choice. You are the crown prince. Your duty outweighs any personal hesitation."

Charles’s fingers tightened around the stem of his untouched glass. “And what of my life? Am I to simply be a pawn in your political games?” His voice was calm, but a sharp edge lay beneath the surface.

His mother’s gaze softened slightly, though not enough to dissuade her resolve. “You are the oldest, my son. The weight of the crown has always been yours to bear. This... is part of that burden.”

He didn’t argue further, though every fibre of his being resisted. Instead, he rose, offering a clipped bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Moments later, Charles pushed open the heavy doors to his private chambers, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of his room. His temples throbbed with the remnants of the conversation, and he felt the weight of his parents’ expectations settling heavier than the crown he would one day wear.

Inside, the faint rustle of fabric caught his attention. The servant girl—her name unknown to him, as it was meant to be—was smoothing the fresh sheets over his bed. She froze upon seeing him, her hands faltering mid-motion.

“Your Highness,” she said quickly, dipping into a small, practised curtsey. “I didn’t realise you were returning so soon. Shall I leave and return later?”

He waved a hand absently, stepping toward the settee by the window. “No. Stay. Finish your work.”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to his face, then back to the task at hand. He sank into the settee, his head tilting back against the carved wood as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Do you ever wonder,” he began, his voice soft yet tinged with frustration, “why some of us are given so much freedom, yet chained in ways that others cannot see?”

She paused, her hands gripping the edges of the linen she had just tucked in, unsure if the question was meant for her.

When she did not answer, he looked at her—truly looked at her—for the first time in a long while. Her expression was guarded, her posture poised, as though expecting reproach. “You can speak freely,” he said, a rare hint of gentleness colouring his tone.

Her lips parted slightly, then closed again before she carefully responded, “I think, Your Highness, that even those with freedom often long for something else.”

He smiled faintly, though there was no humour in it. “Something else,” he echoed, the words hanging between them like a challenge to a fate he could not escape.

She quickly turned her attention back to the task at hand, smoothing the sheets in swift, precise movements, as if afraid that lingering would invite trouble. Charles, however, was not done with the conversation.

“And what would you long for?” he asked, his voice quieter now but laced with curiosity. “If you could have… anything?”

Her hands stilled, though she didn’t lift her gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Your Highness. People like me don’t waste time with such thoughts.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The firmness in his tone made her look up briefly, her eyes meeting his for the first time. They were dark, unyielding, yet not unkind. She hesitated, as though weighing the consequences of speaking too openly.

Finally, she murmured, “I suppose… I’d long for choice. To decide my own path, no matter how humble.”

Charles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her with an intensity that made her shift slightly under his gaze. “Choice,” he repeated, almost to himself. “The one thing I’ve never had.”

She blinked at his words, her brow furrowing in confusion. He noticed the look and gave a soft, bitter laugh.

“You think I have everything, don’t you?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the opulence surrounding them. “All this, and yet I’m to marry a woman I’ve never met. Smile on command. Produce heirs like some stud horse for the dynasty.”

“Your Highness—”

“Spare me,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “I’m aware I sound insufferable. Poor me, the prince in his gilded cage.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile threatening to appear, though she suppressed it quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say so, Your Highness.”

“And yet you’re thinking it,” he said, leaning back against the settee, a faint smirk tugging at his lips now. “Go on. You’ve already said more than most would dare. Speak freely.”

She hesitated, then, emboldened by his unusual mood, offered carefully, “I think… it’s easier to envy a cage when it’s lined with silk.”

Charles let out a bark of laughter, surprising them both. For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by something lighter.

“Touché,” he said, shaking his head. “Perhaps I deserve that.”

She resumed her work in silence, and he watched her, his mind turning over her words. There was a simplicity in her presence, a quiet sense of purpose that felt like a reprieve from the endless demands of court life.

As she moved to leave, her task completed, she paused by the door. “Your Highness,” she said, her voice tentative.

He glanced up, his expression expectant.

“Sometimes… cages are only as strong as we believe them to be.”

Before he could respond, she slipped out, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and the echo of her words, which refused to leave him in peace.

The words haunted Charles for days. Cages are only as strong as we believe them to be. They played on a loop in his mind, following him from morning meetings with ministers to the hollow dinners with his parents, where talk of his engagement to Princess Evelyn consumed every conversation.

By the third day, he relented. Not to the sentiment behind her words, but to the reality of his life. Duty, it seemed, would always triumph over desire. He formally agreed to the arrangement in a cold meeting with his father, his voice devoid of emotion as he signed the papers that would announce his betrothal to the world.

That evening, restless and seeking solace, he ventured into the royal gardens. The roses were in full bloom, their scent heavy in the warm air, yet they brought him no comfort. The paths, so meticulously maintained, felt as constricting as the marble walls of the palace.

The crisp evening air offered a solace the grand halls could not. He strolled along the manicured paths, his mind still heavy with the decision he had made, when movement near the servant’s entrance caught his eye.

It was her.

She was dressed simply, carrying a basket as she slipped through the narrow door at the edge of the palace walls. For a moment, he simply watched her, a sudden curiosity flaring to life. Then, before reason could temper him, he followed.

She moved with purpose, her steps quick as she crossed the gravel path leading to the servants’ gate. Charles kept his distance, careful to stay within the shadows. The sound of the gate creaking open carried through the still night, and he quickened his pace.

“Wait,” he called softly as the gate began to swing shut behind her.

She spun, startled, her hand flying to her chest when she saw him. “Your Highness!” she whispered, her tone panicked. She glanced around quickly, as though expecting someone to appear from the darkness. “What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you,” he said simply, his voice low, “and I followed.”

Her expression shifted from shock to alarm. “You shouldn’t have. If anyone sees you out here with me—”

“They won’t,” he said firmly, stepping closer.

“But if they do…” Her voice dropped further, almost a plea. “I’ll be dismissed—worse. Do you know what they’d do to me for leaving the palace grounds with the prince?”

He stared at her, and for the first time in days, he felt a flicker of something other than despair. “Please,” he said, the word escaping him softly but with undeniable weight.

Her eyes widened at his uncharacteristic vulnerability. She shook her head, taking a step back. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

“I’m not ordering you,” he said quickly. “I’m asking.”

For a moment, she stood frozen, her mind clearly racing. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she pulled the cloak from her shoulders and thrust it toward him.

“Fine,” she said, her tone sharp but her movements careful as she draped it around him. “If anyone asks, you’re my cousin visiting from the countryside. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

Charles nodded, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Understood.”

She turned and began walking quickly down the narrow dirt path beyond the gate. He followed, cloaked in her simple, worn garment, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the fabric.

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity before the lights of a small village came into view. She turned onto a side lane, leading him to a tiny house at the edge of town, its thatched roof weathered but charming.

“This is it,” she said, her voice clipped as she gestured to the modest dwelling.

He stared at the house, a stark contrast to the palace he called home. “You live here?”

“Yes,” she said, clearly defensive. “It’s small, but it’s mine. No one tells me what to do when I’m here.”

He didn’t respond, too busy taking in the details: the flower boxes beneath the windows, the faint glow of a single candle in the window.

“Now you’ve seen it,” she said, her tone impatient. “You should go back before someone notices you’re missing.”

But Charles shook his head. “No,” he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the little house. “Not yet.”

Her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, finally looking at her. “But now that I’m here… I can’t imagine wanting to leave.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. The quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she sighed again, softer this time.

“Fine,” she said, stepping toward the door. “But if anyone asks, I don’t know why you’re here, and I definitely didn’t bring you.”

She pushed the door open, stepping inside with a cautious glance behind her. Charles followed, ducking slightly to avoid the low wooden beam over the doorway. Before she could say a word, a voice called from inside.

“Back already? I thought you—”

The voice cut off as a man, younger than Charles but older than the servant girl, appeared from the far corner of the small room. He froze, his sharp blue eyes flicking between her and the prince. “What in God’s name…”

“Damn it!” she hissed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought you were working the late shift at the docks tonight!”

“I was,” her brother said, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders. His rough shirt and patched trousers bore the telltale marks of dock work—salt stains and grime clung to the fabric. “But the shipment was cancelled. Now you tell me why the bloody prince of Monaco is in our house. Did you kidnap him?”

“Kidnap him?” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous. He followed me!”

Charles, for his part, seemed utterly unconcerned by the commotion. His gaze wandered over the small room with childlike fascination, taking in the chipped table, the cracked ceramic plates stacked neatly in the corner, and the patchwork curtain separating the single sleeping area. He paused to admire a string of dried herbs hanging near the hearth, as though he’d never seen anything so fascinating.

“Your Highness,” the brother said, stepping in front of him with an awkward, hesitant bow. “I mean no disrespect, but do you… do you need me to call someone? Or are you in danger?” He looked over his shoulder at his sister. “Are we in danger?”

“No one is in danger,” Charles replied, his voice calm. He turned to her brother with a polite nod. “Thank you for your concern. I’m here of my own accord.”

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes landed on a wooden crate near the wall, and before either sibling could stop him, he lowered himself onto it. The crate creaked but held, and he leaned back with a sigh, a serene smile spreading across his face.

The girl spun on him, her exasperation bubbling over. “What are you smiling about?”

He looked up at her, his expression earnest, almost boyish. “It’s beautiful.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Here,” he said, gesturing around the room. “It’s so cosy. Everything has its place. It’s warm, lived-in… peaceful.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “You call this beautiful? Your palace is five hundred times the size, and you think this is—”

“I know what my palace is,” Charles interrupted, though his tone held no irritation. “Cold. Grand. Silent. This… this feels alive.”

She crossed her arms, her brow furrowing as she stared at him. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him. “It’s a shack,” she said finally, her voice softer but still tinged with disbelief.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “But it’s your shack. And it’s more honest than anything I’ve ever known.”

Her brother exchanged a glance with her, his expression suggesting that he thought the prince might have lost his mind. She only shook her head, sighing heavily as she walked to the table and placed her basket down.

“This is a mistake,” she muttered to herself.

“Perhaps,” Charles said, still smiling, “but it’s the best mistake I’ve made in a long time.”

She busied herself unpacking the basket, placing a few withered carrots, a handful of potatoes, and some crusty bread onto the table. Her brother leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still watching Charles with wary eyes.

“If you’re staying, Your Highness,” she said, her tone clipped as she focused on the food, “I hope you don’t mind scraps.” She hesitated, then glanced at him. “And you can’t tell anyone at the palace that I take the extras. They’d—”

“Dismiss you,” Charles finished, his voice soft. “I won’t tell. You have my word.”

She gave a small nod, her shoulders relaxing slightly, and began peeling the potatoes. Her hands moved deftly, her brother stepping in to fetch water from the small barrel near the door. Charles sat quietly on his makeshift chair, watching the two of them work in a rhythm.

“Do you need help?” he asked after a moment.

Her brother let out a short laugh, but she only shook her head without looking up. “No, Your Highness, but thank you for the offer. I imagine peeling potatoes is beneath you.”

“Not everything is beneath me,” he replied, and while his voice was carrying a hint of dry humour, there was some seriousness to it.

She didn’t respond, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she chopped the vegetables and tossed them into a battered pot over the small fire. Soon, the room filled with the simple, comforting aroma of soup.

When the meal was ready, she placed three mismatched bowls on the table and ladled out the steaming broth. She set one in front of Charles without ceremony, then handed one to her brother before sitting down herself.

Charles took a tentative sip, and his eyes widened slightly. “This is excellent.”

Her brother snorted. “It’s boiled scraps, mate. You must really have it rough if you think this is fine dining.”

“Max,” she warned, shooting her brother a glare.

Charles chuckled, dipping a chunk of the crusty bread into the soup. “Maybe it’s not fine dining,” he admitted, “but it tastes real. Honest.”

Her brother rolled his eyes but said nothing more, focusing on his meal. The three of them ate in relative silence, the tension in the room easing slightly as the warmth of the food spread through them.

When the bowls were empty, she cleared the table, stacking the dishes neatly on a small shelf. Charles leaned back, his contented smile returning as he watched her move about the room.

“You should go,” she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet. She didn’t turn to face him.

His smile faltered. “I don’t want to.”

Her hands paused for a moment before she resumed tidying the table. “You’ve seen what you wanted to see. This is my life. And you… you have your own life waiting for you back there.”

Charles stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

She walked toward the door, not meeting his eyes as she grabbed her cloak and gestured for him to follow. Her brother gave Charles a long, unreadable look as he rose to leave, but he said nothing, only shaking his head as the prince ducked back out into the cool night air.

They walked in silence down the dirt path, the lights of the palace glowing faintly in the distance. When they reached the servants’ gate, she stopped and turned to him, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“This is where we part ways,” she said firmly.

He took a step closer, and when she looked up, she saw something in his expression—gratitude, yes, but something deeper, too. Without a word, he reached for her hand, his touch gentle. He held it for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over her calloused fingers.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For the soup. For everything.”

Before she could respond, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was brief, but it sent a wave of warmth up her arm, leaving her stunned.

He stepped back, releasing her hand, and gave her one last look before slipping through the gate and disappearing into the shadows.

She stood there for a long time, staring at the empty path, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

The next few days at the palace dragged on in a monotonous blur for Charles. His mornings were filled with tiresome meetings about the engagement, his afternoons with rigid etiquette lessons to prepare for public appearances with Princess Evelyn. Every second felt like a tightening noose around his neck.

Finally, the day came for him to meet her. Princess Evelyn of England arrived with her entourage in an ornate carriage, her entrance every bit as grand as expected. She was perfectly polite, perfectly poised—and, to Charles, perfectly insipid.

They sat across from each other in one of the palace’s many drawing rooms, chaperoned by a small battalion of attendants and his ever-watchful parents. She spoke at length about her family lineage, her charity work, and her plans to modernise court life, but her words washed over him like a stream of lukewarm water.

When it was his turn to speak, he managed only the barest pleasantries. He was certain she noticed his lack of enthusiasm, but if it bothered her, she gave no indication.

By the end of the meeting, he felt more drained than he had in years. As she curtsied and left the room, he caught his mother’s pointed glare, but he ignored it.

Before she could say anything to him, he glanced at the ornate clock on his wall. It was nearly the same time as the day she would be fluffing the pillows on his settee. A peculiar sense of anticipation stirred in his chest.

Without a second thought, he made his way to his bedroom. As he opened the door, his eyes immediately fell on her.

She was there, as if summoned by some unspoken wish. She was standing by the settee, her back to him as she carefully fluffed the pillows. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, and entirely unlike the flurry of maids bustling about elsewhere in the palace.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Perfect timing,” he said loudly, causing her to jump slightly.

She turned, clutching the pillow to her chest. “Your Highness!” she said, startled. “I— I can come back later if—”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted dramatically, throwing himself onto the bed with a theatrical sigh.

She froze, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed, as he sprawled across the silk covers, one arm flung over his face.

“Let me tell you about the most dreadful afternoon of my life,” he groaned.

Her brow furrowed as she set the pillow back in place. “The dreadful afternoon where you met the woman you’re going to marry?”

“Precisely,” he said, sitting up slightly to gesture at her. “You understand my plight already.”

“I understand you’re being ridiculous,” she replied, smoothing the cushions on the settee.

“Ridiculous?!” he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. “Do you know what she said when I asked her about her favourite pastime?”

“I don’t,” she said flatly, clearly trying to stay focused on her task.

“She said,” he continued, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm, “Oh, I do adore embroidery. There’s something so meditative about it.”

She stared at him. “That… doesn’t sound terrible.”

He sat up fully now, gesturing emphatically. “Doesn’t sound terrible? It’s horrific! What am I to do with someone who finds stitching flowers onto fabric the height of excitement?”

“You could try embroidery yourself,” she suggested dryly, unable to resist a small smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Very funny. No, what I need is someone who… who challenges me. Someone with fire.”

She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back to the pillows.

“Instead,” he muttered, flopping back onto the bed, “I’m shackled to a walking lesson in decorum.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted the settee. Finally, she turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable.

“Maybe,” she said carefully, “you should spend less time thinking about what you don’t like about her and more time figuring out what you’re looking for.”

Charles opened one eye to glance at her. “And if what I’m looking for isn’t an option?”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then, she shook her head and turned back to her work.

“Then you make do,” she said simply.

He watched her for a long moment, his chest tightening inexplicably.

“Is that what you do?” he asked softly.

She paused but didn’t turn around. “Every day, Your Highness.”

Without another word, she grabbed her items and walked out, softly closing the door behind her.

Charles had barely settled back on the bed, still pondering her cryptic answer, when the door to his chambers burst open.

His younger brother, Arthur, strode in, his golden hair slightly dishevelled and a boyish grin plastered across his face. “Charles! I just saw her—the princess of England. She’s… stunning. Gorgeous. A masterpiece, really. You lucky bastard.”

Charles groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Arthur, must you always barge in uninvited?”

Arthur ignored him, plopping himself unceremoniously into one of the velvet chairs near the fireplace. “I mean it. If I were you, I’d have proposed on the spot. Did you see her eyes? Like polished emeralds.”

“She’s… fine,” Charles muttered, his tone flat.

“Fine?” Arthur’s voice rose in mock indignation. “Brother, I’d trade places with you in an instant.” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “What is it? Not enough excitement for you? Too… proper?”

Charles sat up, his expression exasperated. “If you find her so attractive, Arthur, marry her yourself.”

Arthur laughed, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Oh, if only it worked that way. But alas, you are the crown prince. The heir. The one who gets the girl and the throne, while I’m left to look charming at parties.”

Charles shook his head, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t help but wonder how different his life might be if the roles were reversed. Could Arthur really be happy living a life of obligation, of gilded cages and loveless arrangements?

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the servant girl. Her small house, her laughter with her brother over bowls of soup, the way she moved through life with an independence he’d never known.

“What would it be like,” he murmured, almost to himself, “to marry someone who isn’t royalty? Someone who isn’t bound by these ridiculous rules?”

Arthur blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. Then he laughed, loud and incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”

Charles turned his head sharply, fixing his brother with a challenging look. “I’m serious. What would it be like to marry a commoner? To live a life free of all this… pomp and pretence?”

Arthur’s laughter faded, replaced by a look of disbelief. “You are mad. Do you have any idea what that would mean? The scandal? The uproar? Father would have a fit. Mother would faint on the spot. And the people? They’d riot.”

“Would they?” Charles asked, his tone calm but insistent. “Or would they understand? Would they respect a prince who chose love over duty?”

Arthur shook his head, a faint sneer creeping into his expression. “You don’t know what you’re saying. A prince doesn’t marry a milkmaid or a seamstress. It’s not a fairytale, Charles. We’re not… like them.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

“Not like them,” Charles repeated softly, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Arthur hesitated, then shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “It means we have a responsibility. A legacy to uphold. Marrying into royalty isn’t just tradition—it’s survival. You think Father and Mother arranged your engagement for fun?”

Charles didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, his mind churning. Arthur’s words grated against something deep within him, something that longed to push back against the boundaries of their carefully constructed world.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low, “the legacy isn’t worth the cost.”

Arthur stared at him, his disbelief giving way to concern. “Charles… you’ve been spending too much time alone. Or worse—reading poetry again. Get your head out of the clouds, brother. This is your life. Learn to accept it.”

With that, Arthur rose, clapping Charles on the shoulder before striding toward the door. “And if you won’t,” he added with a grin, “I’ll gladly keep the princess company. You’re a fool not to appreciate her.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Charles alone in the echoing silence of his chambers.

But his mind wasn’t silent.

It churned, restless and defiant, filled with images of a life he might never know.

The chill of the autumn night bit at Charles’s skin as he hurried along the winding path toward the small house. A week had passed, and though he told himself repeatedly that it was improper—foolish, even—he couldn’t shake the gnawing thought of her.

He hadn’t seen her since their last conversation in his chambers. Every day without her had stretched longer than the last. No wry comments while she smoothed the wrinkles from his sheets, no gentle jabs at his dramatics.

The house appeared before him, small and humble against the starlit sky. Light peeked through the cracks in the shutters.

He hesitated, his heart pounding. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked.

The door opened a crack, her face appearing in the dim light. The moment she recognised him, her eyes widened in alarm, and she yanked him inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Your Highness!” she whispered fiercely, pressing her back against the door as though to block the outside world. “Are you out of your mind? I’ll be hung if they find you at my door!”

He tried to smile, though he knew she was right. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

Her expression turned exasperated. “That’s not a valid reason to sneak out of the palace, Prince Charles.”

“Isn’t it?” he countered lightly, though the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed the truth of how much he’d missed her.

Her sigh was heavy with frustration, but something softened in her gaze. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said again, though her voice lacked its earlier sharpness. She moved away from the door, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders.

It was then that he noticed the redness around her nose, the slight rasp in her voice.

“You’ve been ill,” he said, stepping closer.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, waving him off as she moved toward the small kitchen space. “A cold. Happens every year when the weather turns. I’ll survive.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly, glancing around the room.

“Life doesn’t wait for the sniffles,” she said with a faint smirk, though her movements were slower than usual as she reached for a bowl.

“Then let me help,” he said, surprising both of them.

She turned, raising an eyebrow. “You? Help? What do you know about cooking?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he admitted, grinning. “But I’m an excellent student.”

She stared at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to humour him. Finally, she handed him a knife and motioned toward a small pile of vegetables. “Fine. Peel those. Try not to cut yourself.”

He took the knife gingerly, studying the carrot as if it were a puzzle. She chuckled softly, the sound warming the small space, and stepped beside him to show him the proper angle for peeling.

The next hour passed in a flurry of quiet laughter and careful instructions. He fumbled with the knife, his first attempts earning teasing remarks from her, but he improved quickly under her guidance. Together, they chopped, stirred, and seasoned until the small pot on the stove began to bubble with a fragrant stew.

As they worked, the conversation drifted.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” she said, handing him a spoon to stir.

He smiled. “Careful. If you keep complimenting me, I might come back for more lessons.”

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Cooking isn’t glamorous work, Your Highness. It’s just… survival.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “but there’s something… grounding about it. It feels real.”

She looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You really hate that palace life, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead focusing on the steady motion of the spoon in the pot. “I don’t hate it,” he said eventually. “It’s just… hollow. Every decision is made for me. Every word is calculated. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be in all of it.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “You’re lucky, though,” she said softly. “Even if it’s hollow, you have a place. A name. People like me… we’re just the shadows keeping the fire alive.”

He stopped stirring, her words settling heavily in the space between them. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said after a moment.

She tilted her head, her expression sceptical. “No?”

“No,” he said firmly. ���You’re more than that. You’re clever. Strong. Independent. You see things I never could.”

She blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his voice.

“That’s what I like about you,” he added softly, almost without thinking.

The words hung in the air, and he froze, realising too late what he’d said.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she turned away quickly, pretending to adjust the pot on the stove.

His own face burned as he fumbled for something to say, but nothing came. The silence stretched on, heavy and charged, until she finally spoke, her voice quieter than before.

“You should taste the stew,” she said, not looking at him.

He stepped forward, dipping the spoon into the pot and taking a tentative sip.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice softer now.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, though she still didn’t meet his gaze.

The evening deepened, the chill of the autumn air seeping through the thin walls of the small house. Charles noticed her slight shiver as she ladled the stew into two mismatched bowls, the threadbare shawl around her shoulders doing little to shield her from the cold.

He stood abruptly, unfastening the clasp of his heavy cloak. She turned to look at him, startled, as he stepped behind her and draped it gently over her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling the thick fabric around herself instinctively.

“You’re cold,” he said simply, sitting back down and picking up his bowl.

She hesitated, looking at him with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “But you’ll freeze without it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a small smile. “I’ve survived colder nights, army and all of that.”

The warmth of the cloak seemed to envelop her, and she relaxed slightly, sitting down across from him. For a moment, they ate in silence, the quiet clinking of their spoons the only sound.

When their bowls were empty, Charles glanced around the modest room, noticing for the first time the lack of a hearthfire.

“Do you light a fire at night?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

She shook her head. “Can’t afford firewood,” she said matter-of-factly, collecting their bowls. “It’s not so bad. We manage.”

“Oh,” was all he managed to say, though the thought of her and her brother enduring nights in such cold unsettled him deeply.

She didn’t seem to notice his reaction, busying herself with tidying up.

Later, as he prepared to leave, she hesitated by the door, holding his cloak out to him.

“Take this back,” she said softly.

He pushed her hand gently back toward her. “Keep it,” he insisted. “For tonight.”

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, the words faltering. Finally, she nodded, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

He smiled at her one last time before stepping out into the night, the chill biting at him instantly as he made his way back to the palace.

She played with the royal clasp of his cloak as he left and wondered what her life would be like if she wasn’t just a servant and he wasn’t the Crown Prince of Monaco.

No less than a few days later, her brother barged into the small house, his footsteps heavy against the creaking floorboards.

“Why,” he began, his voice loud and incredulous, “is there months’ worth of firewood outside the house?”

She looked up from where she was patching a worn-out scarf, distracted. “What are you talking about?”

“The firewood,” he repeated, gesturing wildly toward the door. “There’s a mountain of it, just sitting there! Did you rob a lumberyard?”

She frowned, setting down her work and walking to the door. When she stepped outside, her eyes widened at the sight of the neatly stacked pile of firewood by the side of the house.

“I… I don’t know,” she stammered, completely bewildered.

It was then that she noticed a small slip of paper tucked into the top of the stack. Pulling it free, she unfolded it to reveal a note written in a familiar, elegant hand.

Keep warm – C

Her cheeks flushed, and a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Her brother leaned over her shoulder, reading the note. “C?” he asked suspiciously. “Who’s C?”

She folded the note quickly, tucking it into her apron pocket. “No one,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

Her brother narrowed his eyes but didn’t press further, shaking his head as he muttered something about princes and their peculiarities.

She was fluffing the pillows on the freshly made bed when the door to the prince’s chambers swung open. Charles strode in, his expression lighting up the moment he saw her. Without hesitation, he leapt onto the bed, landing with a dramatic bounce that sent a pillow tumbling to the floor.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed, grinning. “And you’re better!”

“And you just ruined the bed I made.” she chided but then moved on to adjusting a vase on the side table. “Well I must say, a lit fire at night changes a whole lot.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, then sat up, feigning ignorance with an exaggerated shrug. “Oh? A fire, you say? That’s… good to hear. Fires are quite helpful, I’m told.”

Her smirk widened. “I’m sure someone told you that.”

“Perhaps,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But we’re not here to discuss firewood logistics, are we?”

She rolled her eyes, walking around the room to dust the mantel. “Then what would you like to discuss, Your Highness?”

He sighed heavily, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face. “The princess of England.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. “Oh?”

“I have to meet her again,” he groaned. “Another tea, another tedious conversation about fabrics or her needlework or some other mind-numbing topic. I swear, I’d rather duel blindfolded than sit through it.”

She snorted, biting back a laugh. “Blindfolded? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said, peeking at her from under his arm. “It’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Of course it is,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Because what’s more reasonable than a prince skewering himself just to avoid small talk?”

He sat up, clutching his chest theatrically. “You wound me, madam. Truly, your lack of sympathy is cruel.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, shaking her head as she set the duster aside. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, grinning.

She turned back to the mantel, but when the silence stretched, she glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her, his expression soft, his eyes warm and intent.

Her brow furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and quickly looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

“You absolutely were,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a suspicious look.

“No, I was… thinking,” he said, his voice a touch too casual.

She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”

“About…” He scrambled for an answer, then pointed toward the bed. “About how well you made this bed. Truly impressive. Best I’ve ever seen.”

She rolled her eyes again, but a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “Right,” she said, picking up her duster. “Well, I’ll leave you to your very important thinking, then.”

He watched her go, his chest tightening as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Over the next few days, Charles found himself increasingly distracted. Whether strolling through the palace gardens or enduring another tiresome tea with the princess, his thoughts invariably drifted to her. The way her wit kept him on his toes. The quiet determination in her movements. The occasional flicker of softness beneath her sharp remarks.

It was maddening.

When he was near her, he found excuses to linger. When she wasn’t around, he searched for her without realising it. And as much as he tried to push the growing ache in his chest aside, he couldn’t deny what was happening.

He’d fallen for her.

It was late afternoon when he returned to his chambers after a gruelling diplomatic meeting. To his delight, she was there, dusting the intricate carvings on the wooden frame of his bed. She didn’t notice him enter, humming softly to herself as she worked.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before clearing his throat.

She jumped, spinning around to face him, clutching her duster like a weapon. “Do you have to sneak up on me?”

“It’s my room,” he said, smirking. “I can hardly sneak into my own space.”

She scowled, turning back to her work. “You’re insufferable.”

“So you’ve said,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “But you keep coming back. Perhaps I’m growing on you.”

“I come back because it’s my job,” she retorted, moving to dust a nearby shelf.

He followed her, leaning lazily against the furniture. “A job you seem to excel at. Though I wonder… do you enjoy tormenting me as much as I enjoy tormenting you?”

She shot him a sharp glance, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Someone has to keep your ego in check, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, reaching out to pluck the duster from her hand. “You do it so well,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her breath hitched slightly as he leaned closer, her eyes darting to his before flicking away. “You should stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he leaned closer still, his face mere inches from hers.

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” she said, stepping back slightly, only to find herself against the edge of the shelf.

The tension in the air was palpable, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His gaze was locked on hers, and for a moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Charles?” his brother’s voice called from the hallway.

Panic flared in her eyes, and Charles acted on instinct, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the large wardrobe at the side of the room.

“What are you—” she began, but he pressed a finger to her lips as he opened the wardrobe door and ushered her inside.

The space was small, barely enough for the two of them. She pressed herself against the back wall as he stepped in, closing the door behind them.

The darkness was absolute, and the only sound was the quiet shuffle of their breaths.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

A beat passed, and she whispered back, her voice laced with frustration, “If we get caught, it’ll be my neck, not yours.”

“No one’s getting caught,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

In the confined space, his hand brushed against hers, and he froze. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers moved to her face. His touch was light, tentative, as though he feared she might vanish at any moment.

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, brushing against her skin with agonising slowness. Her breath hitched, and in the silence, it felt deafening.

“Why are you…” she began, but her voice faltered as his fingers brushed the line of her jaw, lingering there for a moment before sliding to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“You’re too close,” she replied, though her tone lacked conviction.

The faintest smile curved his lips, though she couldn’t see it in the dark. “You’re not stopping me,” he said softly.

Before she could respond, his brother’s voice echoed from the other side of the room. “Charles, where are you?”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers. “Stay still,” he murmured, his hand still cradling her cheek.

She closed her eyes, the tension in the small space suffocating and electric all at once.

Footsteps receded as his brother left the room, grumbling something about missing him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Charles let out a slow breath, his hand dropping from her face. He opened the wardrobe door slightly, letting in the dim light of the room.

“Safe,” he said quietly, stepping back to let her out.

She stepped past him, her cheeks flushed and her breaths uneven. “You’re reckless,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze as she hurried to gather her duster.

He smirked, leaning against the wardrobe door. “And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Get back to work, Your Highness,” she said, her tone sharp but her voice unsteady.

He chuckled softly, watching her go.

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Charles’s chambers, painting golden streaks across the plush rug. She was there again, this time at his desk, meticulously polishing the brass handles of the drawers. She worked with the same quiet efficiency she always did, her movements steady, purposeful.

Charles, reclining lazily on the settee, had been pretending to read a book for the past ten minutes. In truth, he’d barely turned a page. His attention was drawn, as it so often was these days, to her.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Have you ever taken a moment to rest?”

She glanced at him briefly before returning to her task. “I rest when my work is done.”

“And when is it done?” he pressed, setting the book down and rising to his feet.

She didn’t answer immediately, her focus still on the brass handle in her hand. “When your chambers sparkle, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “It already sparkles. You’ve polished this desk so many times I can see my reflection.”

She huffed softly, clearly unimpressed. “There’s still dust.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing hers as she gripped the cloth. She stilled, her breath catching as his fingers lingered over hers.

“You’re relentless,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her eyes flicked to his, wide and uncertain. “And you’re in my way.”

He smiled, his expression teasing but his gaze intent. “I’m rarely in anyone’s way. It’s a novelty.”

She tried to step back, but he moved with her, closing the distance between them. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Observing,” he said, his voice soft, warm, as if he were sharing a secret. “You’re endlessly fascinating to watch, you know.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, but he reached out, gently tilting her chin so she’d meet his eyes again.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Why not?”

“Because…” She faltered, her lips parting as she searched for words. “Because you shouldn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his hand still holding her chin. The air between them was heavy, charged with something neither of them dared name.

“You’re trembling again,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles.

“I’m not,” she said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.

“You are,” he whispered, his thumb brushing her jaw in the lightest of touches.

Her breath hitched, and her hands tightened around the cloth she still held. “This is dangerous,” she managed, though her tone was weak.

“For you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Or for me?”

She couldn’t answer, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

His hand moved, the backs of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, then down to her neck, where his thumb rested lightly against her pulse. He felt it hammering beneath his touch and smiled softly, almost as if he were marvelling at it.

“You feel it too,” he said, his voice low and intimate, as if the world beyond this moment didn’t exist.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she finally pushed lightly at his chest. “You… need to stop.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze locked on hers. Then, slowly, he stepped back, though the tension in the air lingered like a storm about to break.

She turned away quickly, grabbing her cloth and pretending to busy herself with the desk again, though her hands shook so much she nearly dropped it.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice stopping her in her tracks.

She didn’t turn back to him, but she nodded slightly, her voice quiet. “Don’t do it again.”

But neither of them believed that.

That night the crackle of the fire in the grand drawing room filled the silence as Charles poured himself another glass of brandy. His younger brother lounged in the chair across from him, a glass already in hand.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Arthur said, swirling his drink. “Even more so than usual.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “Have I?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You spent half of tea with the English delegation yesterday staring at the window. I’m pretty sure they could have declared war, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Charles chuckled, though it lacked his usual mirth. He stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the firelight.

“Arthur,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

His brother tilted his head, curious. “What?”

“What would you think of… being the next heir to the throne?”

Arthur blinked, then laughed, loud and incredulous. “What, you’re not planning on dying anytime soon, are you?”

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

Arthur leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Then why would you ask that?”

Charles swirled his drink, his gaze distant. “Just… wondering.”

Arthur snorted, leaning back again. “Abdicating is social suicide. If you’re even entertaining the thought, I’d advise you to stop immediately.”

Charles stayed silent, his thumb brushing idly along the rim of his glass.

The quiet stretched, and Arthur froze mid-drink, lowering his glass to the table with a sharp clink. His eyes widened, and his voice dropped. “You’re not thinking of abdicating… are you?”

Charles didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he stared into the fire.

“Cha,” Arthur pressed, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on with you? Who’s put this absurd idea in your head?”

Charles glanced at him, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not absurd.”

“It is when you’re the crown prince of Monaco,” Arthur snapped, sitting up straighter. “You’d give up everything—power, privilege, our family’s legacy—for what? A whim? A fleeting fancy?”

“It’s not a fancy,” Charles said sharply, his voice cutting through the room.

Arthur blinked, taken aback by his brother’s rare flash of anger. “Then what is it?”

Charles leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring hard at his brother. “What if I told you it’s something real? That I’ve found something—someone—who makes me feel more alive than anything this throne ever could?”

Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly serious,” Charles said, his tone firm.

Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t just about a servant, is it?”

Charles’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. “How—”

“Please,” Arthur said, waving a hand. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been sneaking out, the looks you give when you think no one’s watching? The firewood? You’re an open book.”

Charles leaned back, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I underestimated you.”

“And you’re underestimating the chaos you’d cause,” Arthur shot back. “Do you have any idea what this would mean for the family? For Monaco?”

Charles’s expression hardened. “For once, I’m thinking about what it would mean for me.”

Arthur stared at him, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “You’d walk away from all of this?”

“If it meant being with her?” Charles said, his voice soft but resolute. “Yes. I would.”

The weight of his words settled over them, and for once, Arthur didn’t have a quick retort.

The next few days were torturous for Charles. Each moment stretched longer than the last, his thoughts dominated by her. Every step he took through the palace halls felt meaningless without catching sight of her—her quick smile, her quiet resolve, the way she challenged him without fear.

He thought of her words, her laughter, the way her cheeks flushed when he teased her. More than that, he thought of the way she made him feel—seen, understood, even cherished in a way that no title or crown could replicate.

His heart ached with the weight of it, with the need to tell her, to unburden himself of the truth that had taken root so deeply he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

But how? How could he look her in the eye and admit what he was so sure would unravel the tenuous balance between them?

One morning, he found himself wandering aimlessly through the palace gardens. It was the time of day she often brought fresh linens from the storage to the castle, she usually crossed the gardens. He lingered, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Frustrated, he returned to his chambers, pacing the space restlessly, thinking. No, waiting to next see her. When she finally arrived, carrying a tray of fresh tea and biscuits, his breath hitched.

“You’re pacing,” she said, placing the tray on the table. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I’ve been restless,” he admitted, stopping mid-stride. “And you’re late.”

She raised an eyebrow as she set the tea. “Didn’t know I was on your schedule.”

He crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate. “I notice when you’re not here.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed arranging the tea things. “I’m just a servant, Your Highness. Surely you have better things to notice.”

“That’s not true,” he said, his voice dropping.

She looked up at him, her expression guarded. “It should be.”

He wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t her place to decide what mattered to him, but the vulnerability in her gaze stopped him. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Have you eaten today?”

She frowned, clearly caught off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d wager you haven’t,” he said, stepping closer. “You work yourself to the bone.”

She shrugged, turning back to her task. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, his tone softer now. “Come. Sit with me for a moment.”

She hesitated, glancing at the door. “If someone sees—”

“No one will,” he said, moving to pull a chair out for her. “Please.”

Her eyes darted between him and the chair before she sighed, giving in and sitting reluctantly.

He poured her a cup of tea, his movements unhurried. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, and he felt the now-familiar spark that always seemed to follow her touch.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, looking down at the tea.

“Do what?”

“Treat me like I’m someone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone important.”

His chest tightened. “You are.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of disbelief and something else—something that made his breath catch.

For a moment, he thought about saying it, about laying it all out before her. But the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the fear of what her reaction might be.

The next day, Charles found himself waiting for her in his chambers again, anticipation thrumming through him. When she arrived, her arms full of fresh linens, he immediately noticed the faint circles under her eyes.

“You’re overworking yourself again,” he said, standing from his seat near the window.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone brisk as she moved to change the bedding.

“You’re not,” he countered, moving closer.

She straightened, turning to face him. “Why do you care?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

“Because…” He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. “Because you matter to me.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching. “Charles, don’t—”

“I’m not trying to overstep,” he said quickly. “But you should know—I can’t ignore it anymore.”

“Ignore what?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. She stepped back instinctively, breaking the moment.

Over the next few days, he was quieter, more pensive. He found himself watching her more often, the words he wanted to say always on the tip of his tongue. But every time he opened his mouth, the weight of the risks stopped him.

What if she didn’t feel the same? What if she did, but couldn’t say so?

The questions tormented him, each one drawing him closer to the inevitable conclusion: he had to tell her.

But how could he make her understand the depth of his feelings without ruining everything?

Charles really tried to wait it out, he tried so hard.

But when the rain lashed outside his chambers where he sat in the dimly lit room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

He worried.

It was late, far later than when she usually came, but he had waited, a knot of tension in his chest.

When the door finally opened, and she stepped inside with her usual quiet grace, drenched from the rain with his laundry in a covered basket, his heart leapt.

“You’re soaked,” he said, standing quickly. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

She shrugged, setting the basket down by the door. “Work doesn’t stop for a storm, Your Highness.”

He frowned, crossing the room to her. “Take off that cloak; you’ll catch your death.”

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing past him toward the hearth, but her shivering betrayed her words.

He moved closer, pulling her gently toward the warmth of the fire. “Why do you always insist on pretending you’re fine when you’re not?”

She stiffened under his touch. “Because I have no other choice.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected. He reached for her hands, his thumbs brushing over her cold fingers. “You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

She pulled her hands back, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and caution. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, his heart pounding. “I can’t keep pretending. Not anymore.”

“Pretending what?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

“That I don’t feel this,” he said, stepping closer. “That I don’t feel everything for you.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching. “Charles…”

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out, raw and unguarded. “I’ve tried to fight it, to ignore it, but I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Before she could even stop them, tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head, stepping back. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

“I do,” he said firmly, closing the distance between them again. “I’d give up everything—this title, this life—if it meant being with you.”

Her tears spilled over then, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice breaking. “If I’m not happy here—if I can’t have the life I want—what good is any of this?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re saying,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve lived in a palace your entire life, with servants, banquets, comfort. You don’t know what it’s like to live without it. To go to bed on an empty stomach. To wake up not knowing if you’ll have work the next day. I can’t do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it to me,” he said desperately. “It would be my choice.”

She shook her head again, her tears falling faster now. “And what happens when you realise you can’t live like that? When the reality of it sets in? You’ll resent me. And I’ll lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice pleading as he reached for her hands again. “I swear to you, you won’t.”

“I don’t have a good life,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can barely take care of myself. How could I take care of you?”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he said, his hands tightening around hers. “I just need you. I don’t care about the rest.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his, her tears glistening in the firelight. “You’re asking me to believe in something that feels impossible.”

“Then let me prove it to you,” he said, his voice breaking as his own tears threatened to fall. “Please. Give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me. Let me love you the way you deserve.”

Her resolve wavered, her breath hitching as his words sank in. She wanted to believe him—desperately—but the fear of what they would face, of what they would lose, loomed over her.

“Cha…” she began, her voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Say yes. Just… say yes.”

For a long, agonising moment, the only sound was the rain pounding against the windows and the crackle of the fire.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “But don’t push me away. Not now. Not when I know you feel this too.”

Her lips quivered, and she closed her eyes, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“And you’re everything,” he replied, his voice trembling with emotion.

After pacing around his room for a few days, thinking of how he was going to tell his father, Charles went to his study.

The atmosphere in the king’s study was heavy with tension, the air almost crackling as Charles stood before his father. The older man sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, his expression dark and unreadable. The storm that had raged days earlier seemed to have shifted inside these walls, centering on the room as if the universe sensed the coming conflict.

“I need to speak with you,” Charles began, his voice steady but tight.

The king set down the pen he had been holding, his gaze sharp. “This sounds serious.”

“It is,” Charles replied, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve made a decision.”

The king leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I see. Go on, then.”

“I’m going to abdicate.”

For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the room.

Then, the king’s expression darkened further, his voice sharp and incredulous. “You’re what?”

“I’ve decided I don’t want the throne,” Charles said firmly. “It’s not the life I want anymore.”

The king rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he loomed over the desk. “Do you even understand what you’re saying? What you’re throwing away?”

“Yes,” Charles said, meeting his father’s gaze without flinching. “I’ve thought about this—more than you know. I don’t want this life. I want…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “I want to live my own life.”

The king scoffed, shaking his head. “And what life would that be? One of obscurity? Of poverty? You’ve never gone a day without comfort, without privilege. You know nothing of what it’s like out there, and you think you can just… give all of this up?”

“I do,” Charles said, his tone resolute.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “This is about her, isn’t it? That servant girl. Your mother mentioned her but I did not believe her.”

Charles’s chest tightened, but he didn’t deny it. “Yes. It’s about her. But it’s also about me. About what I want, who I want to be. And I know I don’t want this.”

“Don’t be a fool,” the king snapped, his voice rising. “You think love is enough to sustain you? That some fantasy of a simpler life will keep you warm when reality sets in? She can’t give you what you need, Charles.”

“She gives me what I want,” Charles shot back, his voice fierce. “And for once, isn’t that enough?”

“No, it isn’t!” the king roared, slamming his hand on the desk. “You’re a prince! You have a duty—to your family, to your people. You can’t just walk away because of some fleeting infatuation.”

“It’s not fleeting,” Charles said, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “I love her. And I’d rather live a life with her—whatever that looks like—than spend one more moment pretending to be happy here.”

The king laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You’re naïve. You don’t even know how to survive out there.”

“She’ll teach me,” Charles said, surprising even himself with the certainty in his voice. “I want to learn. I want that life—with her.”

The king stared at him, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “You’re throwing away everything you’ve ever known for a life of struggle. For what?”

“For love,” Charles said simply.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The king finally sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up again, his expression was weary but no less stern.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly.

“Maybe,” Charles replied. “But it’s my mistake to make.”

The king’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze searching his son’s face as if looking for a crack in his resolve. But Charles stood firm, his decision made.

“You’ll regret this,” the king said finally, his voice heavy with warning.

“Perhaps,” Charles said. “But I’ll never regret choosing her.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, leaving his father staring after him in silence.

The rumours spread like wildfire. Whispers followed Charles wherever he walked, his every step trailed by servants and courtiers exchanging furtive glances and hushed speculations. The air in the palace buzzed with the shock of his decision, but none of it mattered to him. Not the disapproval etched into his father’s face, nor the incredulous murmurs of the courtiers. His mind was focused solely on her.

He found her in the palace laundry room, folding linens with the quiet efficiency that always seemed to calm her. When he walked in, she froze, her fingers clutching the corner of a sheet.

“You,” she began, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “You really went through with it?”

He stepped closer, his hands tucked behind his back, his face calm but his eyes alight with purpose. “I told you I would.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “I thought—Charles, I thought it was just talk. Something you’d get over once you realised how insane it is.”

“Well, I’m officially insane,” he said with a faint smile, stepping closer.

She dropped the sheet onto the table and turned to face him fully, her arms crossed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The crown, the throne, your entire future—it’s gone. All of it. For what?”

“For you,” he said simply.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Finally, she shook her head, her voice trembling. “You’re impossible. Do you know what this means? I can’t work here anymore, not if you abdicate. The palace won’t keep me.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I wouldn’t ask you to stay here. We’ll leave—together.”

“Leave?” she echoed, blinking at him.

“Yes,” he said, stepping closer until he was just in front of her. “I’ve been thinking about it. We can go somewhere no one knows us, where we can start fresh.”

She stared at him like he’d grown another head. “Where would we even go?”

“Italy,” he said with a small smile.

“Italy?” she repeated, her brows furrowing.

“Yes, maybe Marenello,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “It’s beautiful, the weather is perfect, and… I don’t know, it just feels right.”

She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Charles, I don’t even speak Italian.”

He tilted his head, his smile widening. “Then, for once, I’ll get to teach you something.”

His words hung in the air, so tender and unexpected that she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled at her reaction, and before she could say anything else, he stepped even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

She closed her eyes, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through her. “You’re serious about this,” she whispered.

“Completely,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m not afraid of starting over, not if it’s with you.”

For a moment, she let herself believe it could be possible—this crazy, impossible dream of theirs.

“When?” she asked softly.

“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice full of quiet resolve. “After I sign the abdication papers.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, searching eyes. “And then what?”

He smiled, his expression both calm and full of determination. “And then we start the life we’ve always wanted.”

She didn’t want to be vulgar, she really didn’t but she had to be honest.

She was shitting herself at the thought of being summoned into the King’s office with the entire family.

The office was uncharacteristically quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the palace muffled by the thick doors. Charles sat at the massive oak desk, the official abdication papers spread out before him. Arthur stood off to the side, his arms crossed, watching the scene with a mix of bewilderment and unease while his parents stood by the desk with a clear look of disdain etched on their faces.

She stood near the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked smaller than usual, her nerves evident in the way her fingers twisted together. Her wide eyes darted between Charles and the papers, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them.

Arthur broke the silence first. “Are you sure about what you’re doing, Cha?”

Charles’s pen hovered over the signature line, but he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at her. She met his gaze, and in that instant, the rest of the room faded away. The worry in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together as if she was holding back words—it was as if he was falling in love all over again.

“You don’t have to do this for me, Cha,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He smiled at her, then, without hesitation, he bent his head and signed his name in bold strokes across the paper.

The moment was electric, the scratch of the pen on parchment the only sound in the room. When he finally set the pen down, it felt as if the world had shifted, as if something monumental had been set into motion.

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Well, there it is,” he muttered, his voice carrying a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “You’re officially insane.”

Charles stood, his movements deliberate as he turned to face her. “Go back to your house,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that made her breath hitch. “Pack your things. Tell your brother. We’re leaving at six.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting as if to protest, but before she could say a word, Arthur muttered something about needing air and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone, his parents following shortly behind.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, their gazes locked as the gravity of what had just happened sank in.

“You…” she began, her voice trembling. “You really did it.”

“I did,” he said, stepping closer to her.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, he cupped her face gently in his hands. The world seemed to pause, the space between them charged with an intensity that neither of them could deny any longer.

And then he kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if he was savouring the moment he had dreamed of for so long. But when she leaned into him, her hands clutching his jacket as if to anchor herself, the kiss deepened, becoming a silent promise of everything they were about to face together.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. He rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

She blinked, her eyes shining as she searched his face. “I love you too,” she said softly, her voice breaking slightly. Because she did, she didn’t know when she exactly fell in love with him. Maybe it was when he first came to her house and looked at it with wonder rather than judgement or maybe it was when they shared that intimate moment in the wardrobe.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Then go,” he said. “Pack your things. This time tomorrow, we’ll be miles away from here. Together.”

She nodded, her resolve strengthening as she stepped back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned and slipped out of the office.

Charles stood there for a moment, the weight of what he’d just done settling in his chest. But for the first time in his life, he felt truly free.

the end.

[keferon]

Ok i said i would do itater, but this was done for my sister who got really hurt and wanted comfort out of my drabble, shout out to you @saltynsassy31 XD

This will probably be very OOC bc again, i am NOT too acquainted with these characters

So apologies in advance, but i think this will still be very entertaining for you :]

So yeah, here's part 2!

---

Jazz was tired, they haven't given him much time to rest since he came back. And even if they did, it's not like he could rest anyways, thinking about....about Prowl.

No way he could have just left him, right? After everything....it just didn't feel right, and the way they spoke to him about it too. Call him crazy but something in his gut told him they were hiding something from him. But it just never seemed enough to push him to look into it (oh how he would regret that for the rest of his life)

Today was supposed to be a normal routine check to the new mechas, with new recruits coming in for him to teach.

Jazz was given a new mecha suit, despite his protests to it (which surprised even him honestly, but it just didn't feel right). He hadn't gotten the chance to see it yet, today was the day they would present the new model, though it was said to be in its early stages still.

...

He doesn't know how it happened, how he'd gotten here, but all he knew was that he had seen red. When he gotten to see his new mech suit, it seemed oddly familiar in touch, in fact something about it made him feel sick to his stomach.

Small dents and scarring coated the plating around the panels that opened to the cockpit. He recognised that plating, from crawling on it with his magnets, sleeping on them comfortably despite being made of metal (there was something so warm about it, but that warmth was....lost. He wanted to puke). But what broke the string holding him together, a scar, a scar so familiar it sent him back to the exact moment he witnessed his partner getting it in the first place.

Jazz had weilded that shut himself, they had gotten in a bad scuffle a while back, and with worry he wanted to try and make sure Prowl wouldn't be in too much pain before they could get some proper help.

"Jazz?" Someone called out to him. That was the last thing he remembered.

Now? Now he stood by the halls in which they didn't allow the likes of him inside, the halls in which the scientists worked on. He made a fast dash to the last room, the room one of the scientists told him had the one he was looking for (though he wasn't proud to admit he had perhaps aggressively gotten that answer out of the poor guy). He had a weird unknown blaster weapon with him that he had ripped from the mech suit he was supposed to try out (deep down, he hoped that weapon didn't belong to Prowl. He hoped that he wasn't too late), using that, he blasted the door open hoping that would keep anyone from stopping him from getting inside.

As soon as Jazz layed his eyes on the scene before him; his partner hanging from wires holding him into place, chain keeping him from leaving, mutilated almost beyong recognition save his face, and with a small weak staticked cry from his partner, "Jazz?" the small bit of awarness he had gained back was gone again. All he could do in that moment was to yell, a desperate cry that came from the pits of his lungs.

"GET AWAY FROM MY PARTNER!"

And in another flurry of motions he didn’t have complete control over, he was beating the ever living hell out of the prick who decided it was a good idea to mess with HIS partner! He didn’t even know how long he had been at it until the twisted man he called a boss scratched his face, small bits of blood flowing out. In shock and pain, he grabbed the man by the neck of his shirt and threw him to the otherside of the room. Once he was certain that he wouldn't be getting up again, he turned to face Prowl once more, running and calling out to him as he ran to scoop up his beloved's face, blurting out a mess of an apology.

"I'm so sorry, i shouldn't have brought you here- we, we need to get you out-"

Oh did the guilt eat him up from the inside, he- he shouldn't have brought him here. Prowl probably hated him right now, but the sudden distant bell of an alarm down the halls had him scrambling to his feet to try and make things right.

Suddenly, as adrenaline slowly faded off, he realised how much damage he had actually taken throughout his rampage, a limp on his left leg catching up to him. Stinging pain on his face and limbs, but he needed to keep moving, they weren't safe yet.

"I have to get you to a safe place," he mumbled, mostly to himself, "and- and then maybe call for help. Oh but who could i even go to?" As he spoke, he started to set Prowl's limbs free from it's chains, gods they were so damaged, he could barely look at the missing parts. But as he worked his way through, he let out small sighs of relief to see that at least, he seemed to not be missing some vital parts. He could still maybe make a run for it, if only he could stall the facility long enough-

"You really shouldn't have...."

Jazz turned in shock, Prowl's voice snapping him out of his panicked haze.

"Prowl..." if he wasn’t crying already, now he certainly was. Gods he fucked up badly.

Not having the courage to face the other just yet, he turned back to the chained leg he had been working on. Prowl didn't seem to have wanted an answer either way, sitting up as he watched the organic do his work (Jazz tried to ignore the missing arm).

As he finished getting rid of the chain, he got up again, letting out a hiss of pain from his injuries (which did not go unnoticed by the mech). Clutching his left side as a bleeding cut let out a terrible stinging sensation which he doesn't think he'll ever get used to, he walked over to the final limb stuck under chains. As he walked over, he briefed over the quick plan he thought of

"Look, i- i know you might not trust me right now-" a huff, almost soundling like a disbeliefing chuckle, was heard from the mech, Jazz ignored it. "But there is a place you can go to and hide, hide- hide until maybe i can get help or- or find a way to send you back-"

"You wouldn't make it that far." Prowl spoke, matter of factly, which got a hit under Jazz's skin

"I know that! Which is why you will make a run for it. There's an exit by the other side of this room where you can leave-"

A sudden realisation hit Prowl. Jazz wasn't planning on coming with him.

And the human nodded, seeming to understand that Prowl finally got what he was saying. As he reached the last final screw to Prowl's chains, he finished off what he was trying to say "I'll keep them busy long enough for you to leave," before he could finish, as the final screw was let lose and Prowl was free to move, he felt himself be lift up from the ground and let out a startled yelp. "Wha- HEY!"

It took Jazz being shoved inside Prowl's cockpit for him to realise that he had been picked up by the mech (maybe a possible concussion he thought to himself). Jazz couldn't even try to jump out as, despite it missing the plating to shut him inside, Prowl placed his servo up to close to exit.

Desperately and confused, Jazz called out, "What are you doing?!"

To be entirely honest, Prowl wasn't sure himself, he was just as confused as the human to his actions, usually so full of logic. This one was acted apon pure emotion. Emotion of fear, anxiety, anger but most importantly

Desperation

Because somehow, this stupid human had his spark between his fingers, and he'd be dammed if he let him get himself killed just for him.

This isn't how he would want to say goodbye

---

Thanks again, to my sister who pushed me to write this, and also helped out in some parts!

Might have done more if i could, but it's super late rn lol (it's 4am and our mon will kills us for staying up this late).

Again sorry for any OOC moments, but i hope this was to your enjoyment! Maybe i can do a part 3 to this, but idk enough about how things work to do that, so i let anyone be free to mess around with this :]

Oh my... oh fuck I can't. I just keep thinking about Prowl pressing his palm on his chest even when other humans eventually get to him and start shooting. He's a mess, half of his armor is missing he's probably leaving an energon trail behind him. But he knows that while it would take a lot of bullets to take him down, it would take only one lucky bullet to kill Jazz. I'm. AUGh

[lanroman]

Taking Care

first (and last) fic- wrote this a while ago, its been sitting in my docs for over a year and a half probably, i came upon it the other day and i figured... why not share?!

a fluffy one shot about reader taking care of lando after a race!

~5k words

WARNINGS: slight suggestive comments, nakedness but not in a sexual way... if that makes sense...

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet, which was slightly out of the ordinary. Race weekends were always exhausting for Lando, but he’d somehow always find the energy to talk and laugh with you up until the very moment he drifted off to sleep. And when you couldn’t be with him in person, he’d Facetime you and give you a rundown on the race for hours. But this time, he was silent. Today the whirlwind couple of weekends seemed to finally catch up to him, as the high hopes and adrenaline started to fade; he looked exhausted. Even with the exhaustion setting in, he was still sporting the same sweet smile he always did, leaning against your chest in the car's back seat. You’ve been together for about two years, but you still feel those butterflies in your stomach you got at the beginning of your relationship when looking at him even now.

You were the first one to speak up after a few minutes as you were almost to the hotel. “Who’s showering first?” You looked down at him and spoke softly. 

He perked up a bit, sitting upright, saying, “When have we ever taken turns?” He jokes as you shoot him a look and nudged his chest. He laughs and then speaks again, but his voice is low this time. “You. I’m about to crash. I’ll take one tomorrow.” He sighs rubbing his eyes, his head now leaning against the headrest.

“Baby, you have to take one tonight,” You say, running your fingers through his hair that was slightly tangled at the ends. “you’ll sleep better all cleaned up.” 

He doesn’t offer a verbal response, just a small nod of his head as he closes his eyes.

“I’m taking that as a ‘me first’.” You whisper to him as the car pulls up to the entrance of the hotel. 

You helped with his bags and was practically carrying him into the hotel and up to the room. 

After opening the door, Lando tries to break free from you and headed straight to the bed, with no luck as you drop your bags and clung to his abdomen.

“Y/N please, I’m too tired. I’ll drown.” He says in between laughs. “Baby come on, I’ll help you. I won’t let that happen.” You say directing him to the bathroom.

He sleepily plops down on top of the toilet seat as you crouch down to untie his shoes, taking them off along with his socks. You set them aside and start the water in the shower.

“Ok, arms up.” You say, grabbing the hem of his papaya shirt. He barely reaches his hands over his head as you pull it off him. He winces slightly, putting his hands down and grabbing one of his shoulders. “Lan,” Your eyebrows knit, watching the pain show and leave his face quickly in an attempt to try to hide it. Your hand goes on top of his.

“Just sore. I’m fine.” He says plainly, rolling his shoulders back. You look up at him, unsure if he was just saying that. 

He smiles and chuckles a little bit. “Really, I’m fine.” He grabs your hand that was still on his shoulder and squeezes it. “Well, tell me if it gets any worse, okay?” You said somewhat confident that we is truly fine. He nodded in response.

“Alright. Stand up.”

“I don’t think my legs will let me.” He wines.

“Your pants Lando. Unless you’d like to keep those on?” You laugh.

“I guess not.” He lets out a big sigh, standing up. You stood up too and was about to help him but he let out a weak laugh. “I think I can manage this part myself, baby.” 

“First time for everything.” You said cheekily, going to take off your shirt. He hopped in the shower first, and you followed behind him after everything was off. 

He did not get very far into his shower routine before giving up, only had body wash done by the time you were rinsing your hair. 

“I need help.” He said handing you a bottle of shampoo. You take some and gently work the product in till it bubbled, then washed it out. He let out a soft breath as your fingers went through his hair, making sure the conditioner was thoroughly massaged in. Once you finished rinsing his hair again, you grabbed both of your towels and dried yourself off before wrapping him up and walking him to the bed. 

He sat upright until you weren’t holding onto him any more. He laid down with his legs off the bed, the towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Come on, you just have to get dressed.” You say as somewhat of an encouragement, taking the opportunity to dig in your suitcase to at least put on your undergarments before helping him. 

You turn around once you were finished to see Landos eyes glued to your frame with a wide sly smile on his face.

”Please, you are wide awake, get dressed yourself.” You say, blood rushing to your cheeks, throwing some clothes at him from his suitcase. 

He lets out a chuckle and gets up from the bed walking to you. He moved your hair to the side and plants soft kisses on the back of your neck and shoulder.

“Finding some energy now, hm?” You say tilting your head to the side.

”Maybe just a little.” He lets out a big over dramatic yawn. With a shake of your head and a laugh, you continue to get dressed as he gets grabs his clothes and does the same. You pull him into the bathroom one last time to brush his teeth before he was in bed for good. You had a few more steps of your routine before you were ready for bed, so when you were finished, he was practically one breath away from being fully asleep. You crawled into bed beside him. His arms instinctively pulled you in closer and held you in a comfortable sort of hug.

He lets out a hum, “Thank you for taking care of me. And not just today.” He said barely above a whisper. 

“Of course baby. I love you.” You place a small kiss on his cheek. He smiles with his eyes still closed.

”I love you too.” 

“Goodnight sweet boy.” You said as the butterflies in your stomach flapped their wings again, lulling you to sleep.

a/n: i feel embarrassed, but thanks for reading <3 maybe throw it a like so im not so self-conscious :)

[missingininaction]

alright, friends, i might say something you don't like but i think it's important. not just to defend a character, but because i think this is literally making people's experience and relationship with this game worse.

give jimmy like two seconds to exist.

by hating jimmy so much you refuse to even say his name, and judge real, living people for liking him, you are cheapening your experience by boiling down the main character to the most ~yuckiest~ moments. and, by not making a seperate space for hating on him, you are drowning out the voices of people who actually have nuanced things to say about his character. you know, the skilled writers and artists that feed the fandom? limitation is what kills fandoms, you have to know that.

is jimmy a good person? no. is he a good captain/companion/worker? Absolutely Not! he crumbles like dust under any pressure and he immediately shifts blame off of himself, he is an actively harmful individual and it's right to be upset by his actions. i literally had to stop myself from saying "man FUCK jimmy." multiple times because i didn't want to spoil how terrible he got to my friends when i showed the game to them.

but you have to understand; people are more than their actions. thats part of the entire point of the game. thats why its so abstract. you are meant to think about the nuances of their situation.

we can agree that anya was way more as a woman than what happened to her and what she did as a result of it, right? that despite her best efforts, she was a victim of circumstance, and she deserves to be understood and analyzed fully?

then why, seeing a fictional man who has done immoral things, are you so disgusted you won't even draw, write or discuss him outside of hate? what is that doing for you, to ignore literally the main character of the game because of his actions?

now, this is not to say people can't hate jimmy. i understand it! as someone who has been a victim of s/a and abuse, i understand if you hate him and are even triggered by him to the point of avoiding mention of him. (but...why are you in this fandom? ((not aggressive im genuinely asking)))

you can feel however you want about any character, my goal is not to control people. but i thought it was common knowledge to not hatepost about someone in their tag? over actual insight into his character and, you know, the main themes of the game?

jimmy is a man who has struggled his whole life. both him and curly confirm that in the game. he's unable to control his emotional outbursts, and he likely had no idea what to expect from being in fucking SPACE for over a year with people he probably didn't even know before that trip. and pony express and their corporate safety corner cutting certainly didnt help, did it?

for one reason or another, he most likely was never actually taught how to manage his emotions. that's just how it is sometimes, growing up as a man. and it would make sense if he was forced to deal with everything himself, no? he always complains, but he still says he'll handle it. because that's what he's always had to do. and this is just the start of what i could say about what made him the way that he is.

he's a victim too, not only of his own actions.

surprise surprise, people who do awful things can also be victims.

honestly, this entire situation baffles me. how are you going to avoid one of the main characters of the game, let alone the one you play as ninety percent of the time? mind you, curly is also guilty, and i am happy to see at least some people giving him space for nuance. because he is also a victim!!! why is it so impossible to see jimmy as nuanced, when literally every other character also has incredible depth to them??

you're tarnishing and spitting on the beautiful writing of this game just because one character is too icky for you to feel comfortable thinking about for too long. it's horror, you absolute morons. it's supposed to make you uncomfortable.

if you hate jimmy, i dont blame you. but please, please, make your own space for it. be kind to people who want to explore jimmy and the darker themes, and like him for what his character represents. this is a video game fandom, not a witch hunt. and please, learn some fandom etiquette while you're at it, okay? okay. thank you

also just say his name. its not a slur youre not gonna go to hell if you say jimmy. like this isn't as important but still it just feels like a microcosm of this whole thing.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 05

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, bad words, drug addiction, violence, betrayal.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

If they thought you weren’t lucid enough to make decisions, now they could be certain of it. But the truth is, you had never been so sure about anything. All you wanted now was to quiet the storm of voices inside your head, and the environment you were in wasn’t helping much.

“Please, boys, give us some privacy,” Gerard, the executive, requested, never stopping the pen spinning between his fingers. Apathetic gaze, controlled breathing, minimal facial expressions. Let’s just say your current boss wasn’t an easy man to read between the lines.

The gum in your mouth gradually lost its flavor, and the rubbery texture sticking to your molars seemed stiffer with every chew. It matched the tension in the room as glances crossed over the table, both of you waiting for the boys to leave.

“This must be some kind of terrible joke.”

“At no point did I say it was a joke,” you replied simply, eyebrows raised, making it clear how little you cared about the conversation. “I want to go back to Richmond.”

There were things you had learned from Noah without much effort, and one of them was hiding everything behind a blank face and short sentences.

“Can I know the real reason you’re acting so high and mighty, throwing away your career and, as a bonus, sabotaging my band, where I’ve invested money, time, and effort?” he asked, tapping the pen against the wooden table. “But I mean a real reason, something I should actually take seriously. Not your tantrum with one of your colleagues after he got tired of screwing you!”

His words seemed deliberately harsh, and you had expected this, knowing that any weapon he had to hurt you, he would use. But nothing moved you so easily, and he would need to try a little harder.

“Gerard…” His name left your lips almost like a song. “I’d like to remind you that this band you’re so eager to protect when you throw in our faces every dollar you’ve invested belongs to me and the boys, nothing more. I don’t remember seeing you in any of those dark attic meetings when Bad Omens was nothing!”

With utter calm, you adjusted your posture in the chair and crossed your legs, never breaking eye contact.

“It’s so easy for you to come in now, after signing a piece of paper that grants you rights to four albums and a percentage of the merchandise, and act like that makes you the owner. But that’s not how it works,” you continued, leaning toward the table. “Bad Omens owes you the last album, which I just contributed to by writing the song. So my part is done. The tour can go on without me; Noah can handle it.”

Gerard listened attentively to every word, tracing an invisible line on the table. A raspy laugh escaped him, and it was impossible not to furrow your brows, wondering what the hell the old man found so amusing.

“Someone here didn’t read their own contract, did they?” Something about that question wiped the expression off your face instantly. “When you signed with the label, there was a clause in bold letters about all members remaining until the end of the contract. The absence of one results in a breach, with a penalty of up to 40% of the band’s earnings to date.”

“You…” you spat out in disbelief. “How dare you say that when you’ve spent the last few years sabotaging our band to favor your son’s? We can’t have our own marketing team, our social media is controlled by you, and we can’t even choose our release dates!”

If the band had ever played at big festivals, the credit should go to the connections they made along the way, using them as stepping stones. From the way Gerard spoke, it almost sounded like they did an excellent job and the members were ungrateful.

Five starry-eyed kids, elated at the possibility of someone finally betting on their band. All intoxicated by the promise of a better life and being heard, with zero knowledge of how things actually worked. Easy prey for a man like him.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, spinning his chair until he was facing you again. “You want to destroy the band, the same band you arrogantly claim as yours. But let me tell you, outside that door, you and those four idiots own nothing!”

He snapped his fingers in the air.

“Most of the money you’ve earned would be spent on penalties. The name Bad Omens belongs to me until the contract ends, as do the rights to the last three releases. Noah wouldn’t be able to sing Just Pretend even in the shower without paying me for every line. Got it? Or has the crap you sniff already rotted your head?”

Your fists clenched so tightly on the table that you could hear the joints crack from a distance. Gerard had never mentioned anything like this before; nothing had ever threatened you until now. From this vantage point, you were beginning to see a different side of him.

He walked around the table until he was beside you, and the warmth of his breath stirred strands of hair on your shoulder as he leaned in close to your ear.

"If you leave, the band ends. That’s the simplest outcome. But do you really think that’s what they deserve?" he taunted. "If my memory serves me right, it’s you who owes him. Isn’t it?"

"Get away from me," you growled through clenched teeth.

"I’ll admit, this isn’t exactly a desirable prison for me either, given the mediocre artist you’ve turned into over the past few years. You ruin your own performances, bring nothing new, and are declining in every sense." His voice was laced with scorn as he gave you a pointed once-over. "Your exit would definitely be a win for the band, but that idiot Noah doesn’t see it that way, and I’m not in the mood to cancel another tour because of you two!"

Back to square one.

The band had gained traction in recent months, but not enough to make money a non-issue—especially with Gerard overloading the schedule with more shows and commitments than anyone could reasonably handle. You had savings, but doubted they’d cover even half the cost of a breach-of-contract fine.

"You’d rather keep me working against my will, even though I’m visibly showing signs of physical and mental exhaustion?"

Like an overheated device forced to run nonstop without a break or a chance to be unplugged, that’s exactly how you felt. When the weariness in your mind seeped into your body, causing pain in every part you could name, it was like a flashing red warning sign in front of your eyes.

"If we’re being honest? I don’t care what you really want. I don’t care if you have to drown yourself in drugs to keep standing on that stage. I don’t care if you wreck your skin or drink yourself into oblivion after another fight with him, as long as it leads to you writing a decent song." He sighed, almost satisfied. Gerard pulled something from his pocket—a vial with a white substance—and placed it in your hand. "Keep your word and don’t be selfish by destroying your friends’ dreams. If you truly love Noah, you know what needs to be done. He already knows you’re weak; you don’t have to prove it all the time."

The entire conversation spun in your head like a rollercoaster of words. You wanted to punch him, to shove his teeth inward and make him swallow every personal insult he’d hurled about your life and your damn history. Seeing the triumphant smirk he wore after renting a space in your mind wasn’t part of today’s plans.

Clutching the vial tightly in your hand, you turned your back on him and slammed the meeting room door behind you. Leaning against the other side, you processed everything again, forcing yourself to search for the smallest crack you could cling to in order to flip the script. Being in his grasp was suffocating, like being suspended by thin strings against a wall.

Your spiraling thoughts were interrupted when you sensed someone’s presence. The scent reached you before he did, and your eyes closed as you clenched the vial tighter before shoving it into your pocket.

"I need to talk to you about what happened today, and don’t even try to tell me—" The harsh tone Noah used dissolved in a fraction of a second, his eyes shifting from furious to melancholy. "Are you crying?"

"Do you mind getting me out of here?" you pleaded, watching as Noah nodded slowly.

He walked beside you through the entire floor, waiting for you to step into the elevator before following close behind. During the descent, there was the sweetest silence, but you knew him well enough to tell he was agonizing over the words piling up inside him.

For some reason, he continued to respect your wish to say nothing.

As you reached the building’s exit, your steps froze, and Noah looked at you in confusion. When his eyes followed yours across the street, you heard him murmur something with a heavy sigh.

In a swift motion, Noah removed his cap and placed it on your head, pulling up your hoodie and sliding on a pair of sunglasses. It wasn’t perfect, but it was what you had.

Across the street, you counted six girls wearing the band’s T-shirts. They seemed like ordinary fans, phones in hand, but any group of fans had started to terrify you over time. You never knew how they’d react to seeing you, and that paralyzed you in place.

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, Noah tried to provide as much reassurance as he could, pulling you closer into his hoodie. It shouldn’t have been this hard—just a few steps and you’d be in the van. Nothing could go wrong.

"Noah! Noah! Noah!" one of the girls shouted excitedly as you walked in a straight line. "Can we get a picture?"

"Girls, would you mind giving us some space?" he said gently, almost surprisingly. "We really can’t stop right now."

"But we just want a picture with you!" she insisted, her tone hardening.

"And I just want you to let us pass!" he snapped, dragging you along to keep moving.

"Noah would never refuse to take a picture. It’s all her fault!" she muttered to the others. "Every time they’re close, she pushes them away from the fans!"

The last straw broke the camel’s back.

A sigh escaped your nose as you ripped off the cap and sunglasses with the same speed you broke free from Noah’s hold, spinning around to face the group.

“WHAT?” You dared to ask again, as if you hadn’t understood.

“Exactly what you heard! Every time you come back, you drive him away from the fans! Your mother is right when she says you’re a disgrace because you don’t just ruin your life—you’re ruining Noah’s too!”

“GO TO HELL, YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

Everything happened too fast. After screaming, you pounced on the girl like a leopard on its prey. Your still-injured hand, cut from smashing the mirror earlier, struck her face, the same face you relentlessly hit with blow after blow.

The flashing cameras capturing the scene didn’t faze you. You’d escaped the cage, desperate for the release of your fury. The metallic scent of her blood filled the air as she squirmed beneath you, but you pinned her torso down with your legs.

“Yes! Show them who you really are!” she shouted in between the slaps that turned her head from side to side. “A deranged lunatic who shouldn’t be allowed in society because you act like an animal.”

A strong grip on your waist yanked you back, forcing you out of your dominant position despite your resistance. Overpowering your screams, Noah threw you over his shoulder and stormed toward the van with long strides. You fought to break free along the way, but with no fans left around, he ensured you couldn’t return to the battlefield.

In the backseat, you focused on pressing the blood-soaked bandage against your fists, deliberately adding pressure. The sharp sting of pain and the remnants of glass shards still embedded in your skin kept you awake, the sensation clashing with the adrenaline surging through your chest.

“You’re going to need a stronger bandage for your hand,” he said, looking down at you. Noah was holding back a laugh with considerable difficulty. “And guess what? Everyone else left, so you’ll have to accept my help.”

“Fine.”

Noah hesitated, clearly surprised by how quickly you agreed, undoubtedly questioning if he’d heard you correctly.

“Huh… well, that wasn’t so bad. Actually, I’m impressed you still have decent reflexes,” he teased, nudging you with his elbow. “What did you say? POW! POW! POW!”

The way he pitched his voice high and reenacted the fight scene made you burst into a long laugh. Slowly, you shook your head, denying that you were giving in so easily, but there were exceptions when he reminded you of the old Noah.

“Wow!” he said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile at me like that.”

“Well, it’s not like you give me many reasons to.”

The van stopped in front of the place you’d called home since the breakup—a small space with furniture still wrapped in plastic, its windows sealed like no one lived there. Noah scanned the area, inspecting every detail, including the pile of unopened mail. Something on the wall seemed to catch his attention.

“You still have this,” he remarked, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he touched the lightning bolt keychain hanging among your keys. He used his index finger—the one adorned with the ring you had given him. “It was the only thing my money could buy back then. A stupid keychain.”

It was never just a stupid keychain to you.

“When you moved out, some of my things came with you, and if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like them back.”

Your mind tried to sift through what he might be referring to. Clothes, records, books—maybe even his glasses. Yes, plenty of things had come with the move.

“I…”

The words lingered, dying at the edge of your lips.

“I got rid of everything that was yours.”

“Everything?” His eyes cracked like poorly cut crystal, his voice betraying a shift in tone. “You didn’t want to keep any part of me?”

And in that moment, Noah wasn’t talking about material possessions.

“No, Noah.” You clutched your palm as if it could hold you up, resisting with everything not to let your voice break. “I didn’t want any part of you.”

Reluctantly, he smiled, but his tearful eyes betrayed him as droplets rolled down his cheeks. Sniffling to fend off the emotion, he wiped his face quickly, inhaling deeply as he straightened and looked at the ceiling.

“Thanks for today. I’ll manage from here,” you assured him firmly, taking a step back. Noah nodded and adjusted himself to head toward the door but hesitated, stepping back as if he’d missed something.

“If your plan to leave the band failed, unfortunately, I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow,” he said, his expression shifting as quickly as a gust of wind. “But I expect you to value my time this time. I can’t deal with your lack of professionalism anymore, and I won’t let it slide from now on.”

At last, he turned his back, and the door closed as you allowed yourself to collapse into a fit of sobs, sliding down the wooden frame. Through your gasps, you thought you heard something on the other side—a sound so similar, just as anguished, slicing through the walls of your chest without anesthetic.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @anarchydomainglory ; @iluvmewwwww75

[01zfan]

good luck charm | l. sh

basketball player!sohee x physical trainer!reader | 7.5k words

finally a happy sohee fic who cheered? anyways every since the we riize basketball episdoe i've been jonesing to write a basketball player sohee fic.

contains: fwb relationship, pining kinda, sex without a condom (don’t be like them)

You were trapped in another period of doom scrolling when you heard the whistle blown in the gym. Instantly you turned your phone off and got down from the table, throwing your backpack over your shoulder before heading to the door. You did a once over of the room, looking to make sure everything was in its place before turning off the lights and locking the door.

You heard the projected voice of the coach in the gym over the music in your earbuds, but you didn’t rush yourself to hear the ending notes of the practice. Each time it was the same—Get rest, Show up on time for the game tomorrow, Don’t embarrass our team—said to a group of sweating boys who wanted nothing more than to leave. 

You put the keys to the examination room in your pocket the same time you used your body to open up the door to the gym. The door never seemed to get lighter or quieter, the sound of it unlocking echoed off the walls. The team barely spared you a glance as you came in, hearing exactly what you thought you would. The janitors were already coming in to clean up the sweat off the floor and prepare for the game tomorrow. The coach insisted on talking even when the buffer machine came in, whirring and loud on the waxed floors of the court. The basketball team tried their best to focus, but you could see so clearly their minds were starting to wander as their bodies became restless. Some of them sat on the court and others stood, some of them still had their jerseys on and some of them were completely shirtless as they waited for their coach to finally be done.

“I’m surprised you’re still here.” 

Giselle, the student manager, whispered into your ear when you went to stand beside her. She was off to the side, putting away the rolling cart filled with basketballs into the supply room when you started making a beeline to her. Standing next to the coach was just asking for him to put you on the spot, telling you to instruct the team on how to properly take care of their bodies. Ever since that incident you settled for standing off to the side towards the bleachers, out of his line of sight and ear shot. 

“Someone has to stay.” You adjusted the strap on your backpack as you both sat down on the bottom row of the bleachers. “I was the only one left.”

“Doctor Kim left early?” Giselle turned to you and you nodded. She scoffed before leaning back to grab her duffle bag, putting it over her shoulder. She smoothed out her hair and continued looking forward, speaking to you quietly. “I can’t blame him. No one had been getting injured lately.” She said.

“It makes my job really boring.” You added honestly.

Sohee was pulled from another tirade from his coach when he heard Giselle’s laugh. A few members on their team faced the two of you on the bleachers before going back to the coach, but Sohee lingered on you. Honestly he never stopped giving you attention, the moment you walked into the gym he watched you in his peripheral, looking at his coach but focusing on you. It was harder to pull away from your face as you smiled proudly at making your friend laugh before telling her to quiet down. He felt himself smile just by looking at you. He absentmindedly played with the lace of his shoe, his coach’s words being banished to the furthest part of his mind.

“We have a game tomorrow, don’t forget to rub your good luck charms and pray to your God’s tonight.” He said.

Sohee’s attention was all focused on you that he noticed how quickly you snapped your head towards the coach. As if good luck charm was your name and he shouted it, your eyes were widen in attention for a split second before you relaxed. After your eyes found the coach it drifted to Sohee, as if you felt him already looking at you. The sudden eye contact caused you to look away and it caused Sohee to look down at the basketball court. He sat right on the half court line, his finger traced over the thick line before leaning back on his hands. 

“I’ll see you boys tomorrow.” The coach said.

Instantly the atmosphere of the gym changed. As if someone let out a pensive exhale everyone relaxed, someone even cheered that practice was finally over. Sohee stood up from the court and his teammates started going through the doors, filtering into the locker rooms to shower and head home. Sohee watched you and Giselle get up from the bleachers, talking to one another as you two headed straight for the exit. He barely moved from his spot on the court before you were out, pushing your body against the door and leaving it opened with one hand so Giselle could follow after you.

When Sohee made it to the locker room, people were already showering. Some of his teammates omitted the shower entirely, just throwing on their sweats before heading back to their dorms. Sohee couldn’t blame them, many of his teammates were actually going home to rest before the game. Sohee on the other hand didn’t have plans to sleep until way later into the night. He was technically only here in the showers buying time, waiting for you to get to your dorm so he could send you the infamous text.

Before pulling his change of clothes from his duffle bag he pulled out his phone, fingers sliding and tapping over the glass screen before pressing send.

Sohee: i have a game tomorrow.

Almost immediately, he saw you typing a response.

i know sohee

His teammate went to a locker beside him, opening it up before closing it loudly. Sohee was sure he said something to him in passing, but he only offered a head nod before going back to the conversation. He was biting his lip to hide his smile as he thought about you texting him while walking with your friend. He’s made tremendous progress, before you used to not bother texting him until you were completely alone. 

Sohee: you know

Sohee: you’re my good luck charm

Sohee: my biggest fan

Sohee: so i should come over

Sohee: so we can win tomorrow.

The trick was to send you a flurry of texts at once. He didn’t know if multiple messages loosened you up but it always worked in his favor. Sohee leaned against the open door of his locker seeing the text bubble appear at the bottom, already knowing what it was going to say. He already had the response locked and loaded, his finger resting over the send button. 

my place is a mess.

Sohee: that’s okay.

alright. 

knock when you get here.

Sohee was giddy as he closed the door to his locker and headed to the showers. He couldn’t get rid of the smile on his face as he showered, he grinned while shampoo ran down his face and smiled like an idiot when he was done. He went over your text messages a million times as he walked across campus. To anyone else the alright was ordinary, maybe even less than that. But to Sohee, being able to see your place in disarray or anything else than perfect was the highest honor.

In the beginning when you first started seeing Sohee, he remembered that you apologized profusely for any semblance of a mess. You apologized for a few dishes in your sink and unfolded hand towels. If you couldn’t drop a quarter on the taut sheets of your bed you equated your place to a pig sty. One time when he came over you forced him to wait outside as you cleaned your place. Sohee remembers waiting in the courtyard of your dormitory building, counting the minutes until you finally sent him the text that he was good to come in. You answered the door disheveled and breathing heavy, and when he tried opening your closet for a spare change of clothes you nearly screamed Wait! so the pile of things you couldn’t put away properly wouldn’t be revealed. 

Sohee couldn’t believe it took him three weeks to finally see a mess in your room. He also couldn’t believe how excited he was to see it. He would’ve never thought seeing clutter on your counter space for the first time would bring a smile to his face, that your unmade bed somehow seemed more comfortable than when the sheets were tucked in neatly at the corners. He liked seeing your open textbooks with your messy notes and a week’s worth of unfolded laundry pushed to the corner of your room. He enjoyed seeing your dirty dishes a little too much and seeing your shy face when you quickly bent over to pick up dirty laundry you forgot was there. 

He blames what Anton dubbed his “mess-kink” on the fact that he spent half of the season trying to see the inside of your room. You guys met in too open of a setting, shoulder to shoulder in the living room of a cramped house party one of his teammates threw. For some reason the team thought that the best way to start the season was to pack everyone like sardines into an off-campus apartment and supply everyone with shitty liquor. There were no snacks, no chasers, just extremely cheap vodka and loud music. It was a perfect storm and it pushed you right into Sohee, or made you fall into him. One second he was talking to his friends and the next he was turned away from them completely, holding onto your forearm to keep you upright.

“You good?” Sohee slurred.

Sohee turned quickly to his friends, but they didn’t notice his absence in the conversation. No one could’ve noticed anything. people were practically stacked on top of eachother in the tiny space, pushing one another as they rocked to the music. Sohee truthfully wasn’t all the way there either. He was never the drinker but he wanted to have a good season, even if it came at the cost of being sick at early morning practice the next day. He was already feeling the effects from the tiny amount he had, and he tried forcing moments of sobriety when he heard the syllables of his words drag. He didn’t know you were even further gone until you were upright but still kept your eyes on the side of his face instead of looking at him in the eyes.

“You good?” He repeated.

“Your moles are pretty.” You said.

Sohee couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Here you were, halfway to the floor but you found more important things on the side of his face, letting your eyes run up and down his cheeks like you were trying to map something. Sohee pulled on your arm but you seemed to be in a trance, only snapping out of it when he spoke to you again.

“Thank you.” Sohee said.

When he lightly pulled on your arm you finally stood up. Sohee looked at your lips, how you chewed on them when you finally started looking at the other parts of his face.

“Are you alright?” Sohee asked you again.

You nodded your head, but Sohee still wasn’t sure if you heard him or not. You had a far off look in your eye, bleary and glassy from all the alcohol. He was sure he matched you, the longer he looked at you the more tipsy he felt. His brief moment of sobriety came and went as you got closer to him, entirely too close for strangers.

“Your moles are really cute.” You said it again, this time right in his ear.

Sohee nodded, and leaned his head closer to yours so he could talk directly in your ear. He focused on the gold jewelry that dangled from your ear and moved each time a swaying body bumped into yours. 

“You told me that already.” He laughed.

You seemed to remember, because you giggled right into Sohee’s ear after a beat of silence. He didn’t know when his hand found the small of your back to hold you close or when your hands went to his shoulder to keep him in place. Both of you were giggling drunk messes, strangers with their cheeks touching in the middle of a house party that was going to get busted by cops any second. 

You pulled away from Sohee first. He didn’t know then that he was hooked on you and that his face felt cold without your warm cheek pressing against his. He felt the heat dust across his face when you looked at him. The same bleary eyes that stared at the side of his face was wide and alert now, staring right through him as you gripped his shoulder a little tighter. You brought another wave of sobriety, and he used his consciousness to let his hand splay even further across your skin. 

You said something, Sohee knew you did. Your bitten lips moved and then they stopped, and when you were done your eyes scanned his face waiting for an answer. He tried focusing his swaying vision on your lips, but he only found himself getting more distracted. Eventually he shook his head and brought his face close to yours again.

“I can’t hear you.” Sohee took his chance to press his cheek against yours more than he needed to. “The music is too loud.” He said gently.

He felt you nod against his head and suddenly the red solo cup that was in your hand was gone as you brought your newly freed hand to his face. You turned his head slightly and came even closer than before. Sohee could feel your lips against the shell of his ear as you spoke.

“I asked if this was your place.” You said.

Sohee felt one of your hands drift to the crook of his neck, resting there heavily as you spoke. In the midst of the party he was able to still focus on your words, even if they registered slowly. He shook his head against your face, and Sohee felt your warm breath fan his ear as you let out a breathy giggle.

“Do you know somewhere we can be alone?” You asked.

Sohee didn’t need anymore hints from you before he was pulling you through the packed crowd by your hand. He told himself he would just have to ask for forgiveness from Anton later when he opened his friends locked bedroom door. 

The door barely closed behind Sohee before you had your hands on him. Within seconds the back of Sohee’s legs bumped against the couch, and you used clumsy drunken force to push him down the rest of the way. The surprise nearly knocked the breath out of him, his hand instinctually went to the armrest of the couch for some stability. 

He watched you walk towards him from your place, something between a lion stalking its prey and a newborn deer taking its first steps. You giggled realizing the sway in your steps and Sohee did the same after readjusting himself in his seat.

He realized quickly that nothing was funny when you put your knees on either side of him to straddle his waist. He took in a breath when your hands clasped together behind his neck. He held you steady despite the thudding in his chest and the look in your eyes that became even more hungry. When you leaned further Sohee took the chance to snake his hand underneath the fabric of your tight shirt, feeling your soft skin the material clung to. 

When Sohee let his hand drift up further and you preened further into his touch he looked up at you fully. When his neck exposed you stared at his bobbing Adam’s apple before licking your lips. Your eyes went even lower, and he settled into the couch to get a better look at you. He held onto this wave of sobriety, trying to not fall back into the drunk haze he was drifting in and out of. But he couldn’t stop the dim light behind your head from swaying. You moved and the light casted a shadow behind you that looked like a crown; Sohee dug his hand deeper into your waist to try and ground himself as he tried remembering what it felt like to be sober. He felt your hand tug at his hair and he started gripping at whatever flesh he could grab.  

Both of you were smiling at eachother like drunk fools, neither of you making a move. When Sohee finally made it to your chest he palmed it, pressing deep over the padding of your bra. You reacted like there was nothing separating the two of you, leaning back so far that Sohee had to wrap his full arm around you to keep you from falling backwards. You leaned into his touch fully, coming so close that his face pressed into your stomach. Sohee placed an experimental sloppy kiss on the exposed skin, patting himself on the back when your breath hitched. You came close and pressed an equally sloppy kiss to his hairline, then to his cheek, then to a mole. You ended at his ear, your hot breath fanning the shell as you poked your tongue out. Sohee shivered underneath you and pulled you closer, widening his legs so you had more space to sit. He waited in anticipation when your face settled into the crook of his neck.

But he felt nothing.

Sohee thought that you were building up tension, or that you had another wave of sobriety that made you realize you were about to have a drunk hookup with an equally drunk basketball player in a not so secluded space at a house party. Sohee was getting ready to pull away from you and ask you if you were okay, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of snoring. Sohee laughed in disbelief on the couch with you snuggling deeper into him and even groaning that he was disturbing your sleep.

Your encounter that night ended then and there, with Sohee delicately taking you off his lap and going back into the crowded house party to find your friends and lead them to you.

He thought that he would never see you again, but he heard from you shortly after. Your first message to him was over Instagram direct messages, apologizing for how you behaved the night prior. After he accepted your apology, he came to the realizationg that you were going to be his teams trainer and he would be seeing you everyday of the season.

From the first day of practice, Sohee could tell you were so put together. Even when put on the spot by his coach you spoke evenly, inviting his team to come to you if they had any questions about keeping their body healthy. You were also so elusive, tucked away in the examination room everyday while practice was happening. The only time Sohee was actually able to see you was during parties when the two of you would sneak off together to secluded rooms.

For a long time Sohee believed that he was destined for a life of fucking you on sofas at crowded college parties. He didn’t know how many That doesn’t look like dried cum’s and No, it doesn’t smell like sex in here’s he had left in him. But as if the God’s shined down on him he got the unmistakable hey, are you up? text right when he needed you the most. Instead of sleeping Sohee threw on a pair of sweats and cleared the campus to get to your place embarrassingly fast. 

You let him in that night without actually letting him in. Sohee was only shown the sparkling bits of your personality, you two truthfully only really spoke when you were having sex. He found himself asking casual questions about your life in between moments of you two making out and grabbing at eachother.

He spent the season chiseling away at you through teasing to try and get you to be comfortable. So coming into your room and seeing the unfolded clothes was arguably more rewarding than a flawless basketball season. 

He had to fight the smile when he made it into your room, his hands running over and screwing with anything he could touch. He always picked up your keys from the dish beside your door and messed with the trinkets you had hanging down. He started locking and unlocking your door repeatedly, just to hear the metal bolt ring through your entryway. 

“The season is almost over.” Sohee walked past you, already putting his hands on your dresser. 

He ran his hands over the top, not caring that he bumped the items that rested in his path. He only turned back to you with a gloating smile. Sohee turned back to continue messing with your things. After he ran his hand over your dresser he went to your desk, passing by you as you stood in front of the door. He got to your desk and started pushed your pens, messing up their order and dragging your papers from one end of your desk to the other.

“I know Sohee.” You said as you started putting everything back in place behind him.

Each time Sohee’s finger pushed a pencil you put it back in its case and when he opened one of your textbooks to a random page you reached across his body to close it. He leaned into your pushes, he even played it up like his body was actually being knocked around by your gently bumping. 

Seeing how far he could push you was always a game to him, he only giggled when you smacked away his hand when he started fiddling with the straps of your backpack that hung off your office chair. 

“We’ve had a nearly perfect season.” He said.

“Congratulations.” You neatly stacked your textbooks back on top of eachother. “I told you that you’d do great this season. Alot of really talented athletes.” You said while fixing the straps of your backpack.

“You know why right?”

Sohee felt the corner of your desk poke into his leg as he leaned against it. He caught your eye for a second before you turned back to your desk, fixing the things he touched.

He was relaxed even from the dull pain of the wood, looking down at the furrow in your eyebrows while you carefully reorganized everything back to its place. He silently watched you go from your desk to the space surrounding your bed, moving things from one side of your room to the other. You had your unfolded clean clothes resting on top of your bed, and Sohee watched you gather the clothes in your arms before walking over to your office chair that he stood next to.

“If you say it’s because of me, I’m going to hit you.” You say.

Sohee eyed you with the large mass of clothes in your hands, the pile obstructing your line of sight. He put his hand on the armrest of your chair, getting ready to push it out of your way right before you dropped the clothes onto the seat. Before he could, he saw a pair of your underwear fall from the large pile of clothes. He took his hands away from the chair and grabbed it, balling it in his hands before showing you what he caught.

“Can I keep these?” When you put the clothes in the chair you narrowed your eyes at Sohee and reached for the pair he quickly pulled it out of your reach. “For good luck?” He added.

You let your pile of clothes fall onto the chair before grabbing your underwear out of Sohee’s hands. You put your underwear on top of the pile of clothes. When Sohee pouts at you you close the distance between the two of you. You don’t hesitate to put your hands on either side of his body, caging him between your desk and you. 

Sohee tries to be all talk. His teammates constantly comment on his attitude and habit of snarky comments. He always blames it on the fact that he is the youngest sibling out of sisters, he basically can’t help it. But when you get too close and are pressed up against him like this, he loses his train of thought. He doesn’t have a comeback when you look down at his lips and stay there, he doesn’t have anything to say when you fake pout before looking back up at him.

“I thought I was your good luck charm?” You say.

Sohee nods his head. You somehow find a way to get even closer to him, despite still feeling so far away. He sees the remnants of your lipstick, he feel the warmth coming off of you in waves. Sohee finds himself inching closer to you, then he feels you finally touch him. Your hands let go of the edges of your desk to go to his forearms, then slowly all the way up to his shoulders. All cockiness Sohee had dissipates from his body when he feels your hands travel the plane of his shoulders, ending right at the base of his neck. His hands instinctively go to your waist, and he fully leans against your desk to slot his leg between yours. Instantly, like Sohee’s thigh is a seat made just for you, you put your weight on his leg. Sohee sighs at the feeling of your warmth against him, and you sigh from the pressure.

You were still feeling Sohee up when you started dragging your hips against his. He wasn’t sure why watching you grind on his thigh was doing so much to him, but he was already feeling the ache. He felt you clutch at him, then he felt your hands leave his body to go back to gripping the edge of the desk. You were clumsy this time, your hands wrinkled papers underneath the pads of your fingers and your dragging thrusts on Sohee’s thigh disrupted the perfect order you had set on your desk. Pens and pencils and journals clattered over the sides and fell to your wooden floor, the wood creaked underneath your shared weight. Sohee watched you press your head into his shirt, he could feel your spit seep through the thin material and your tiny whines fill the air. Sohee was beginning to feel himself need more but you were becoming so reckless that he had to move his hand to grip the edge of your desk too. 

His palm hurt by the time your moans became too whiny. His other hand reached forward to still your hips, and you pulled your face from his chest to look at him. Your eyes were already so wet, your face was already getting the light glow caused by a thin layer of sweat.

“Slow down.” Sohee was just as overwhelmed, each look from you left his dick pressing against the fabric of his sweats. “You don’t wanna cum from just that.” He said.

“I want more.” You said.

Sohee didn’t have a chance to calm you down before your hand reached underneath the waistband of his sweats. He could barely wrap his hand around your wrist before the other was working his pants down his body. Any sounds of shock or teasing was swallowed up by your lips smashing against his again.

When your hands pushed his pants down to his thighs Sohee took the initiative to move them the rest of the way. He stood up from your desk and let you continue devouring his face as his hands greedily pushed down his pants the rest of the way.

He was admittedly wound up by you. Feeling you abandon your inhibitions in your messy room made him reckless. He almost fell when he tried stepping out of his sweats and his imbalance caused you two to stumble through the tiny space in your room. Sohee was only able to regain his balance when he leaned up against the edge of your desk again.

Unfortunately any attempt Sohee was trying to make to get you to slow down was futile. Him leaning against the desk gave you a slight height advantage on him, and you somehow found a way to kiss him even deeper. With your hands on his face moving him the way you wanted to while you were fully clothed and he was pant-less made him red in the face.

“There’s too much shit on my bed.” You said in between kisses.

That wasn’t the first time Sohee has heard those words fall from your lips. Sohee has fucked you on your couch when there were clothes piled from one end to another. He’s fucked you on your desk while you were in the middle of an assignment, papers stacked high and textbooks cracked open as he bent you over the wooden surface. He’s fucked you in the bathroom you shared with the people on the other side of your wall when your room was messy. At this point he was used to the chaos he was starting to think he preferred it. 

But before Sohee could tell you he didn’t care, he felt your hands pull him from the edge of your desk down to the ground. 

This was new. 

“You wanna do it here?” Sohee asked breathlessly.

You nodded in between the kisses your placed on his neck. He couldn’t argue even when the wood floors were already becoming a pain on his bent knee. Sohee couldn’t deny the sureness in your eyes or the way your hands went to the bottom of his shirt before pulling upwards.

By the time Sohee took his shirt off you were already undressing yourself, pants and underwear gone in one go before you took your own shirt off. Sohee took off his boxers and tossed his clothes on the same pile you made, right next to another pile of clothes he assumed to be dirty.

“Right here.” You answered.

When he was unsure what to do next you went ahead and pushed him by his shoulders, leading him down until his beck was flush with your cold hardwood floors. Sohee let out a shiver and a breath.

“You cold?” You asked.

Sohee nodded as you started straddling him. He could feel the warmth from your naked body, warming the areas of him that were cooling from the nervous sweats across his skin. 

Your smile when he nodded was almost sinister. Sohee still couldn’t stop himself from smiling back at you.

Sohee’s cold hands find your thighs as you bring your hips to rest on his. The sudden change in his body temperature causes him to shiver again, the feeling of his dick between your warm cunt causes more precum to leak onto his lower stomach. He doesn’t think he can handle you grinding on him, not if he wants to maintain the last bit of the composed demeanor he tries to present to you. He just grips your thighs harder, and his outstretched leg bumps into the edge of your desk.

He can see you trying to figure out what to do next. If you should draw out this torture or have mercy on him, if you should coo at him affectionately or taunt him some more. Sohee watches your eyes flicker to the top of your dresser, where there was always a pile of condoms stacked on top. Every week you’d snag a handful from the on campus clinic in between your classes. Stuffed in the depths of your backpack just to be carelesslt dumped on your dresser. Preparation for when you’d bless Sohee for his basketball games, preparation you were disregarding now.

For a moment you’re silent. Sohee is too, letting you decide how he gets it tonight. He won’t complain unless you want him too, he won’t beg unless he sees that glimmer in your eyes that eggs him on. Your hips slowly drag forward, and his eyes instantly screw shut. He can feel your slick coat him, and the wet sound causes Sohee’s dick to twitch.

“I’ll warm you up.” You say.

Sohee’s hips lift to follow yours when you raise them off his lap. His dick twitches upwards right into your soft hand. 

“Baby.” Your hand dragged the tip of his dick over your folds. He could feel how wet you were on his sensitive skin, causing his hand to dig deeper into your side. Sohee looked up from where you had your hand wrapped around him to the smile on your face. “You ready?” You purred.

Sohee can no longer speak. His mouth is too dry and his brain is too jumbled to form a coherent thought. He only nods slowly and grips your waist tighter, your skin peeking through the gaps of his fingers as you nod back to him. There's a stillness, where you are moving your body slightly forward to be directly above him. Then, holding intense eye contact, you slowly start sinking your hips down. Sohee can feel your walls wearing on his tip first, tight and constricting before you two let out twin sighs. Then, when you adjust yourself on your knees and place a hand over his you loosen up. The rest of Sohee's dick slips inside of you with ease, and when he is completely inside of you he can feel your walls close around him snug. Being inside of you is the same as a weight getting lifted off his chest, so soothing but titillating it causes him to let out another sigh of relief and cinch his eyebrows together. 

For a split second he lets go of you completely, all of his strength is focused in not embarrassing himself right there on the messy floor of your dorm. He rests his hand in a balled up fist over his thudding heart, eyes still screwed shut as he feels and hears you sink down lower. Your sigh was prolonged and ended with a cry when your hips meld with his. Sohee opens his eyes when he feels your hips grind, he watches you selfishly chase stimulation while he gets used to the raw feeling inside of you. He dares to look down where the two of you meet, and almost instantly the dizzying feeling is back.

“Keep going.” Sohee says in a daze.

You nod your head as you raise your hips again. The second time you sink down is louder than the first, and you lean forward to put your hands on Sohee’s chest to stabilize yourself. Your socks rub on the sides of Sohee’s thighs as you slowly find your rhythm, alternating between bouncing and grinding on his dick. 

After finding a rhythm you get lost in the speed. Sohee watches the momentum you have on your chest and your desperate attempt to keep them in place. When your arm spread across your chest fails to do the trick, Sohee finds himself regaining his sanity to come to your aid. Almost instantly his hand takes your place, holding a handful of your chest in each of his palms. He almost uses the hold to guide you up and down, following your body with each flick of your hip and each bounce.

“So soft.” Sohee says.

“Can you suck on them?” You ask.

With your hands moving to his shoulders and guiding him up it’s easy. Sohees’ core muscles are no longer sore from months of practice when he closes the distance between your chest and his mouth. Your nipple lays on his tongue perfectly, and the arch in your back is made just for his hands as you preen into his mouth.

“Feels good.” You sigh.

He can’t stop his dick from pathetically throbbing inside of you when the praise falls from your lips. He can’t stop himself from sucking harder when he feels your hand go to the top of his head to rub his scalp. Sohee knows that you’re far away from ever calling him your good boy, he’s knew you for the better half of a year before you let him see your inclination for disarray. But he hopes that fucking you raw on the floor of your messy room is helping bridge the gap. Maybe by the end of next season he could get you to say one of the things you so clearly wanted to say during sex. Maybe your room was always so dirty to compensate for the absolute filth you kept suppressed in the depths of your mind.

But that was all just speculation. What Sohee knew for certain was that when you slightly pulled at his hair was when you wanted him to switch sides. So he unlatched from one side of your chest with a soft wet sound to move to the other. He still gave the other side attention, rolling the wet bud between his thumb and index finger. Sohee felt himself lose his bearings when you continued to ride him. With your hands braced on his shoulders he bent forward to follow you, and when you clamped around him his teeth grazed your sensitive nipple. You seized around him again and your hand in his hair pulled at his roots. For a second the sudden pain almost made Sohee’s teeth latch onto you harder, but with his last shred of common sense he detached from your chest entirely. The sound he made the second time was alot less quiet, a lewd sound mixed with your moans and the slick sound of your cunt riding his dick.

He got the courage to look down at where you two met again, with one hand keeping himself propped up Sohee watched you take him again and again.

“My God.” He didn’t hide his amazement. His jaw was slack as you rode him with a vigor he has never seen before. “Keep going, baby. Just like that.” He said quietly.

Sohee watched you pull one of your hands that was shoulder move forward. Before you got the chance to rub tight circles on your clit Sohee reached first, bumping your hand out of his way in the process. Your heavy lidded eyes perked in amusement, right before they screwed shut from Sohee’s ministrations.

“I thought you were going to make me do all the work.” You whined.

The teasing edge to your voice was all the way gone as Sohee continued working his fingers. You missed him shaking his head, you missed him biting his bottom lip in concentration. 

You didn’t open your eyes until Sohee started flicking his hip upwards to meet your dropping hips. He was almost compelled to look away from how intensely you were staring at him. Despite being laid bare he felt naked underneath your gaze, like you stripped him of everything. Sohee suddenly had no other purpose besides fucking you, moving his fingers in a tight circle, and keeping his eyes on you. You abandoned your job of bouncing on him, instead only grinding on his dick and clutching his legs even tighter. 

“Close.” You moaned.

Sohee nodded and told himself a million times to not speed up his fingers. He kept the same pace despite wanting to bring you to the edge as fast as possible. He kept his eyes on you and your body, looking for the signs in your hips that were becoming more erratic and your fingernails that were digging into his skin. In your pursuit of pleasure your guard fell all the way down. You were naked for him too, your hopeless pout and unbounded sounds were winding him up beyond his control.

“I’m close too.” Sohee said quickly.

His fingers didn’t stop and neither did your hips. His mind went to the condoms on your dresser but your eyes stayed on him, big and glossy as his words registered. You licked your bitten lips, opened your mouth just to shut it and then opened it again.

"Inside. Please.” You said.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

Just the invitation made Sohee ready to burst. He spoke fast and in a haste, wanting to give himself enough time to lift you off of his dick in case you changed your mind. But your hips showed no signs of stopping and you lazily pitched your body forward to press your lips to his.

Sohee only felt a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth and his cupid’s bow before you cursed against his lips. He felt your hips freeze and your walls clench around him. He was no match for the sudden flood of wetness from your cunt and the hot pants of air in his open mouth. He felt himself spill inside of you less than a second later. His hands left your clit and inside wrapped around your waist, bringing your chest to his as his back went to the ground.

Both of you desperately rode out your highs chest to chest while Sohee’s back was to the floor. He felt garments of clothing underneath his back as he rutted into you, and your hand reached forward to grab onto the wooden frame of your bed. 

The time it took you two to ground yourselves was embarrassingly long. Your chests were practically glued together from sweat by the time your breath evened, and it happened all over again when you weakly lifted yourself off of Sohee’s dick. His shaking hand on your waist guided you to the ground next to him, and for a minute you two laid together in the mess Sohee was lucky enough to be invited into.

Both of you stared at the same place on the ceiling before Sohee turned to face you.

“You’re gonna be at the game tomorrow, right?” Sohee asks.

“Sohee, I am the trainer. I have to be there.” You answer.

Sohee watches you pull a new sweater back over your head, covering up your bare chest. The sweater has his basketball teams name, it’s the one he gifted you that has his number and name on the back. He can’t hide his smile as you lay back down next to him on the floor.

“Would you still go?” Sohee looks at your fallen pens and notebooks on the floor. “Even if you didn’t have to be there?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment. Sohee looks at the messy pile of clothes that fell from your chair at some point, the untidy stack of books that rest on your dresser. He doesn’t want to leave. He’s too comfortable here, too happy staring at you carefully think of an answer to his question that wouldn’t let him know what you’re thinking.

“I’d still go.” You uselessly kick towards some of your clean clothes that fell from your chair at some point. After you get a sock successfully back on the chair you turn to face him. “I’m your good luck charm. I think you’d lose without me.” You say.

Sohee will take it. He will gladly take him being the one and only person in your life that you bring good luck to. That is something akin to more than friends with benefits, or maybe it’s the purest form of whatever this arrangement is. Whatever the case may be it brings Sohee enough peace to sleep soundly, and he feels like he has enough luck to win the game all by himself. He leans forward to kiss you and you don’t turn away. You let the kiss be planted right on the tip of your nose before he faces the ceiling again, and Sohee ends up having to hide his smile behind his hands the same way you hide it by clearing your throat.

“Maybe if we win.” He goes to his tiptoes before going back to the balls of his feet. “Maybe if we win we could go out somewhere. Like watch a movie or something.” He says.

Instantly you shake your head, reaching to the side to playfully smack his shoulder. Sohee fakes like you hit him roughly, taking a step backwards with a faux pained expression on his face.

“Even if you lose. Which I doubt will happen.” You take a deep breath and turn your head away. “I’ll think about it.” You say quietly.

There is absolutely no way he’s losing his game tomorrow. 

[whousestypewriters]

──── ୨ৎ THE BOOK CLUB — GRAYSON HAWTHORNE + READER ‧₊˚

a/n: pt two here we are!!! do i have any idea where this plot is going??? no. but you're along for the ride bitches so enjoy!! also if this is shit its bc im sleep deprived :)

[part one] i'm a fan

"it all happened so fast. everyone was happy... and then something happened... and now... now he's dead!" alya sobs from her spot on the couch.

"did you just spoil the book we're all reading together??" kira shrieks from her position on the mattress.

"i think the bitch actually just spoiled the entire book," pheobe rolls her eyes from underneath her blanket on the mattress next to kira's.

"oh come on you knew something like this was gonna happen!"

"yeah but i wasn't expecting it to be screamed aloud while i'm halfway through," kira says exasperated. "i mean please its not even five thirty yet, we got here an hour ago, how are you already finished?"

"alya, this is why we don't come over anymore," pheobe groans. "none of us were expecting that and now you've spoiled it."

"oh cry about it, i'm moving onto my next book anyway, does anyone want some snacks while i'm in the kitchen?" alya smiles nodding her head when kira requests some food and a bottle of water.

"so we're clearly never having a book club sleepover again guys," you say looking at the camera.

"no we're gonna have another," pheobe says shuffling over into the frame. "alya's just not invited."

────

yn.books

liked by alya.green, maxine.liu.loo, pheobethereader, kirasbooknook, graysonhawthorne and 672, 983 others

yn.books the book girlies unite!! for a sleepover a trip and a readathon (alya will not be invited back) stay tuned for the yt video!

tagged: alya.green, pheobethereader, kirasbooknook

view all comments

alya.green I AM OFFENDED

kirasbooknook good

pheobethereader had a lovely time with you girls can't wait to do it again (except for you alya)

alya.green u guys are so mean wtf

user1 im desperate to know why alya's in trouble lmaooo

user2 and im desperate to know why grayson is still in the likes

user3 THE GIRLIES ARE IN TEXAS I SAW THEN TODAY AND ASKED FOR A PHOTO!!!!

user4 they're in texas you say 😏😏

user5 divine rivals crushed me oh my goshhhh

graysonhawthorne divine rivals was a enticing read, thank you for the recommendation.

user6 ok so i died-

user7 OH OH OK SO WTF WHO WAS GONNA TELL ME GRAYSON IS HERE???

maxine.liu.loo the book girlies are together again!!! (invite me next time)

yn.books already done ;)

────

"they're mine," max's voice snips through the quiet of the room. she's staring directly at grayson and clearly referring to the book girls she watches.

"i'm not trying to steal anyone," grayson tries to reassure her.

"you're obsessed with my favorite one! why couldn't you have gone for pheobe or kira?" max huffs, you were her favorite. grayson had no right to become - rightfully - infatuated with you, and no matter how much he tries to deny it everyone can see he likes you. its painfully obvious.

"again i'm not stealing anyone, i've interacted like three times with-"

"grayson! the girl you're obsessed with posted another youtube video," jameson's extremely loud voice cuts through the room and emits a groan from grayson.

"i'm not obsessed with anyone," he says rising from his spot on the couch and picking up ruthless vows, which by the way he definitely went out and bought after he read divine rivals. what? he wanted to know what happened.

"oh my gosh they're in texas!!!" max screeches clearly watching the video. "they're in texas for a red carpet that they've been invited to!" she pauses watching for more conext. "they been invited to ask the people on the red carpet about books! oh my god- XANDER. we have to go to this event oh my gosh please?"

"sure and you can bring grayson along so he can officially join the book club, and meet his new idol," jameson smirks from the doorway

grayson responds by flipping him off.

────

graysonhawthorne

liked by thehawthorneheiress, ticking.time.bomb, yn.books, kirasbooknook and 4, 892, 647 others

graysonhawthorne a nice day out

view all comments

user1 i need him religiously

user2 NO BOOK THIS TIME???

user3 oh he is scrumptious isn't he

ticking.time.bomb i saw you obsessing over what photos to choose in case a certain someone saw this gray.....

user4 PLS TELL ME ITS WHO I THINK IT IS

thexanderhawthorne oh it is...

user4 OH MY GODDDD

user5 IN THE LIKES LOOK WHOS IN THE LIKES!!!!!!

user6 they're so into each other

alya.green we gotta catch up and talk about this whole situation buddy boy

user7 ALYA 😭💀

user8 i need him to go to the red carpet so they can meet!!!

────

maybe grayson should go to that red carpet... i mean he was invited. whats the worst that could happen?

𐔌 . ⋮ 🏷️ tags .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

@arqbella, @midiosaamor, @maybxlle @reminiscentreader, @sweetreveriee

@elysianwayy77 @tornqdowarnings, @catapparently, @zenikswaffleshop, @thelov3lybookworm

[transient-winds]

OKAY Y'ALL BUT WTF WAS THIS CHAPTER IM BAWLING MY EYES OUT AS IM TYPING SO EXCUSE THE TYPOS.

(this is very much a "ume thanking sakura again" breakdown and also me crying about class 1-1 being the best people in the world wthhh)

Spoilers for Wind Breaker Chapter 162 Ahead!

THE TITLE?!?! THE TITLE.

"Everyone's Feelings"

Going into it went "oop this gonna make me cry at the end" and I STILL AM. THESE TEARS ARE FOR SAKURA AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO FEELS A LOT FOR SAKURA.

I was so prepared for things to end last chapter, NOPE, turns out there was MORE. *tumbles off of my chair*

Roppo Ichiza & Gravel are not at all subtle in trying to poach (not actually but in my eyes this is what i sees) Sakura via gaming like catnip and I'm oh so down for that what. Quality time with the allies y'all, I just love the comraderie!! Sakura is collecting so many big brother figures like they're pokemon. The best one is obviously Suzuri, no questions ask ("but Ume claimed him first-" HUSH DEARS WE ARE LETTING SUZURI TAKE THE SPOTLIGHT).

Ofc Suo ever the shit stirrer but we get an amazing look at Sakura's stompy stomp!!

My thoughts on Umemiya and Sakura's moment post-Noroshi:

Umemiya thanking Sakura again but this time for reaching out to their allies is such a beautiful moment!!

I understand why Ume never thought about asking for help because the man has been burdening himself with so much responsibilities. He saw the fight with Noroshi, or rather HIS fight with Takiishi, as HIS responsibility and everyone else involved were collateral to the consequences of his "failures" (i.e. not being able to defeat Takiishi sooner). His mind was clouded with so much pressure over what he has to do to maintain the peace he helped build in Makochi that it limited his vision, feeling like he can only rely on people within reach (Bofurin). It didn't help that Ume and his kings continually treating and referring to Noroshi as THEIR shadows and THEIR past, thus THEIR problem so its no wonder that same sentiment ripple down to everyone else in Furin too. Everyone except Sakura that is.

Sure, an argument can be made that had things not gone over well with Shishitoren and Gravel, there wouldn't be any allies to ask help from but I'd counter-argue that Roppo Ichiza was already an established ally of Furin. If Sakura hadn't been there and the battle of Noroshi was still set in motion, I wholeheartedly believe that Bofurin wouldn't have reached out to them at all. This is because of their conditioned mindset of not having anyone but each other (in Furin) dealing with the problems that threaten their town. Makochi residents are so used to dealing with things internally.

Sakura—who's new in town, had begun the process of learning to rely on people and was traumatized by his recklessness during the KEEL arc—had no such limitation or mindset and that's why only he had the thought of asking aid from their allies. Only he was able to think of the bigger picture in this situation. Expecting Noroshi to have an army? Well let's get an army of our own too! Especially when he knows the strengths of his allies so it added to their defense and offense.

So yes! Sakura IS amazing and we should give him the biggest round of applause because he single handedly turned the tide on the battle by doing the one thing Chapter 1 Sakura wouldn't thought of doing: asking for help.

Which is why this panel hurts me so much. It hurts because he's already a shining presence similar to Ume and he did it just by being himself. I hope that later on, Sakura will recognizes that for himself too.

He doesn't have to be another Umemiya, he just needs to be the better him.

Hiragi says it best about what makes Sakura so captivating yet incredibly fragile and all of Class 1-1 understands this very well.

Someone needs to look out for Sakura because if they don't, he'll fall into the same mistakes and flawed mindset Umemiya had.

Every moment they had done leading up to the barbeque was most likely a part of that drive. The drive to be strong enough to help carry Sakura's current and future burdens so he wouldn't have to do it alone. And they'll continue to do so as long as they stand behind their beloved grade captain, their leader.

NII-SENSEI, WHAT GAVE YOU THE AUDACITY TO TUG ON MY HEARTSTRINGS LIKE THISSS. OMGGGG WTFFF. *wailing and sobbing pathetically in the corner*

—

Honorable (Silly) Mentions (because my heart is in pain and i need humor to mend it):

The Togasaku stare, Sakura's sixth sense for Togame looking at him is just hrk im dying. My heart is so full of affection for Sakura and then they add this??? At THE BEGINNING??? SIRS STOP MAKING EYES AT EACH OTHER!! Y'ALL MAKE ME SICK (with love)

Choji why are you so squishable, you absolute fiend. I love you reincarnation of the killer rabbit of Caerbannog!!

Kanuma, honey, you gotta stand up for yourself :(!! Suo's not even looking at you directly (or is he 👀)

—

I'm dead, deceased even. Nii-sensei, their team and the official english TL team have killed me and dumped my body in a river of my own tears. DECEASED I TELL YOU!! The biggest love sending their way because wow haha I've crying for the past hour.

Thank you for reading this post too, my usual bs spouting nonsense but emotional edition. Still I'm happy with how it turned out because I realized a lot of things on why Noroshi arc was so much more different than the previous battles, sharing the most similarities with KEEL in terms of how unprepared Furin was to face their opponents and winning had only been in their favor with the outside help. Which I also liked to think was partially where Sakura had came up with the idea thus fully learning his lesson on what it means to bear the responsibilities of a leader.

[applbottmjeens]

PREDECESSOR AND PROGENY

tags: mentions of domestic violence, implied abuse, divorced Phillip Graves bc that is a man who has 100% been married before, age gap mention, power dynamic mention, Jack Graves mention, I DO NOT WRITE GRAVES AS A GOOD MAN.

summary: The woman once known as Irene Graves tries to save a girl from a similar fate.

She heard about her only in passing and in fits of frustration. He never called her by name. Just his “bitch of an ex wife” or “the ex”, dehumanizing her and demonizing the mother of his only son.

She's met his son. The closeness in age was enough to shake them. His name was Jack, and he was a splitting image of his dad- with a kindness in his eyes that was missing from it's father.

She recalls meeting Jack being looked upon with a mix of concern, pity, and horror behind a veneer of southern politeness Annie couldn't penetrate.

It isn't until she meets Irene, really meets her, that Annie understands Jack- he has Phillip's face. He has his mind. But that heart, that humanity…

Its all Irene Williams.

Strawberry blonde with red lips and a pair of baby blues that saw right through her. This woman was elegant. Beautiful. Nothing like the vindictive witch Phillip made her to be.

She sits across from her at this Cafe, assuring Anna that “he doesn't know this place. And if he did, he wouldn't think of showing up.” To reassure her. She knows Anna is at an edge. Scared.

Across from her, Irene assesses the fly caught in Phillip's web. She's young. And yet she already looks like he's put her through the fucking wringer. God this man had a talent. She thinks sarcastically, the hunched over young woman sheepishly drinking her tea.

Phillip always did like his share of pretty, tan brunettes. He'd cheated on her with one when they were still in highschool- but she'd forgiven him easily back then- After all, she wasn't being too loyal either.

“...I'm glad you finally decided to answer my emails, Miss Pham.” Irene speaks. “Can I call you Anna?” The girl nods.

Anna finally meets her eyes. Such sad, brown little eyes. “...He always told me to-”

“Ignore them.” They say at the same time.

“Ignore them?- That what I was saying was a bunch of horseshit? Yeah. I figured.” Irene shakes her head. Phillip Graves was still so predictable to her.

She laughs. Anna’s guard is still up. But of course. Irene was always the bad guy in Phillip’s stories.

“How long have you and Phillip been…together?” Irene asks.

Annie pauses. “Officially?...About…Two years.”

“Marriage?” Irene interrogates the girl. She knows she's coming off a bit strong- but from what she's heard of that girl? She should be biting back.

“He…Implies it.” Anna says meekly, almost shy, embarrassed.

“Any babies in the picture?”

“...I have a son.”

“His?” Irene raises a brow, sighing when the younger woman shakes her head no.

“I'm guessing Phillip's sinking his teeth into that one.” Her green eyes glance down at her cup. “I'm not proud to say I deprived that man of fatherhood. I wouldn't let him see Jack till he was around fifteen. Didn't want him ruining my boy.” Irene shifts in her chair. “I suppose Phillip is doing some…compensating on his part for yours.”

She thinks about when Jack told her about his encounter with Phillip's new squeeze when he came to visit once last year- the girl was mortified upon meeting him, but so sweet and bubbly nonetheless.

“I don't think she knew I existed ‘til we met that day.” Jack admitted to his mother over the phone. He recalled seeing his father a bit anxious as Anna told him, “Phillip never mentioned a son to me.” With a strained smile.

She'd never have dated him if she knew he had a kid her age for sure.

Irene was admittedly, a bit miffed realizing Phillip had roped someone else into his bullshit- learning she's young. She's pretty. Not surprised she's military either.

And to meet her and see the damage done is, pitying.

“...What's your son's name?” Irene asks, and Annie takes her phone to show a little baby with the most furrowed brow in irritation she's ever seen- but cute. Undeniably so.

“His name is Sylas Thomas- But…I just call him Tommy.” She says quietly.

“His father is…?”

“...Not in the picture” Annie admits, looking sad. “He…got deported the day I found out I was pregnant. I…I don’t know why he won’t talk to me.”

“...Sad coincidence.” Irene mumbles. Maybe not so much of a coincidence- but it would hurt to kick her while she's still down. It would be just like Phillip to deport her man… And threaten him into no contact. He was fiercely protective of what he thought was his.

“When I found out I was pregnant with Jack, I was already finishing the divorce proceedings.” Irene explains. She had a solid case for primary custody- bruises. Settled out of court, without any charges and he fucked off once he realized she'd won.

“I'm not going to tell you what to do, Anna.” Irene speaks low. “...But I'm sure you've heard your fair share of warnings. And this is me, someone who's been in your shoes, warning you to run before you end up carryin’ his baby too.”

But the girl only wilts like a flower deprived of water.

“I can't go.” Anna sighs. “He's all I have now.”

“He will take more if you keep letting him take at all.” Irene insisted. “...I'm sure you think he loves you. I'm sure he thinks he does too…” Irene's eyes close as she remembers their old life. Church on Sundays. Dancing in the kitchen. Calling when he could. “...Don't let him make you a victim, Anna. Don't make him the one that'll save you- because he won't be.”

Irene gives her her number. She registers it under “Salon” in case Phillip peeks through her contacts again. He’d begun doing that lately.

Irene leaves that Cafe hoping she got through to her somehow. That even if she stays, she won't let that bastard step on her.

Phillip Graves was a wound on women. He couldn't help but forget they're people, not toys. It was in his nature to conquer.

And that girl was finding out the hard way.

“Bless your heart, Annabelle Pham.” Irene murmurs as she gets in the back of her chauffered car.

[nicholaschavezobsessed]

I Need a Doctor pt 3

part 1 and part 2 "I Need a Doctor" linked at the end !

word count: 2,221

warnings: cursing, lots of fluff, suggestive language.

1 Day later.....

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

It's 11:00a.m.; time feels as if it's moving at the rate of molasses. You pace around your room, constantly stepping over the pile of outfits thrown to the ground. You knew you needed to be ready by twelve, but your nerves were making you a complete wreck. You didn't even fully understand why you were so nervous; he's already seen you naked, so what's the worst that can happen with your clothes on? Still, you paced around, picking up each piece of clothing and staring at it, not really knowing what to wear, suddenly being stirred from your daze as your alarm filled up the silence that was consuming the room. Shit. How did thirty minutes even slip by? You drop to your knees, shuffling through the pile until you settle on a knee-length long-sleeve black dress that hugged your curves just right. You slip your shoes on, rushing out the door.

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

You arrive at the hospital, nerves jumbled even more than before if that was possible. You step out of your car, fixing your hair one last time as you head for the doors. You walk in, immediately greeting the lady at the desk. "Looking for Dr. Mayhew, I assume?" A small smile on her lips as she raises her head to look at you. You had been there the past month, day in and day out, to be there for your sister, but as the days went on, you also looked forward to talking with Charlie. "That would be correct." You mumble a bit flustered as she points her finger to the right. "Down the hall, take a left, and his office is the third door down there." With a quick nod and a quiet thank you, you slowly make your way down the hall, your stomach in knots as you make the turn, his office coming into view. You stand in front of his door, contemplating driving right back home. What if this was a mistake? No. You weren't going to back down; if this didn't work out, you wouldn't regret it; it was the best thing to happen in a while, and you wouldn't let your own doubts get in the way. You knock on his door; a small "Come in." calls out from behind the door. You slowly peek in his office, glancing around curiously. His head perks up, a smile immediately flashing on his lips. That damn smile that lights up the room. You suck in a deep breath as you step fully into the room, the door softly shutting behind you.

"I was getting you worried you weren't going to show." He slowly stands up, stretching before walking over to you. "Trust me, I debated it.." You laugh nervously as his eyes scan over you, taking in the black dress you put on in a hurry. "You look absolutely beautiful for someone who was planning on ditching me." He shoots you a wink as his arm snakes around your waist, his other hand reaching for the door. "Well, I did promise you lunch, so let's go before they stick me with more paperwork." You both make your way down the hall, the buzz of people frantically moving all around the both of you filling your ears. He says his goodbyes to the ladies at the front desk, leading you out of the automatic doors and into the parking lot. The gust of wind hits your face, sending your hair flying back. As you pull your hair from your face, cursing yourself for wearing lip gloss on such a windy day, the feeling of his arm pulling away pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance up at him, his white coat now being shed and tossed over his shoulder. "Who are you and what have you done with my doctor?" You gasp dramatically as he rolls his eyes, his arm finding its way back around you. "Ahh, out here I'm just Charlie, but a little begging and I'll be your doctor anytime." A smirk tugs on his lips as you gently smack his arm. You both resume walking, curiosity filling your head as you wonder where he's taking you. The howling of the wind and the soft sounds of your shoes hitting the pavement are all that you can make out as you make your way to his car. This was getting too real. You could still run for it, although he might chase after you. You both stop as you approach his car, the passenger door already being held open for you. "A doctor and a gentleman? Wow, how did I get so lucky?" You tease as you slide into the car, your back hitting the warm leather seats. While the door closes behind you, he opens the door to the backseat, slipping his white coat in and trading it for a black leather coat. He slips in the driver's seat, fiddling with the AC as he backs out of the parking lot.

Your hand rests under your chin as he drives you both to the mystery lunch. Your eyes trailing every inch of him, truly taking the time to admire him. The way the leather jacket fits around his arms, those big arms there were above your head just the other day. His deep brain hair slicked back and tussled at the same time from the wind just moments before. His dark brown eyes focused heavily on the road. You wondered just what could be going through that head of his as you sit back in your seat, hands falling onto your lap as you stare out the window.

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

The drive there was short, although it felt like ten years. The two of you enjoyed the silence, listening to the hum of the car as it made its way towards the restaurant. It was a small dinner, which didn't bother you. It's not like you expected a steak dinner on the first date. The parking lot was empty, which was surprising but also relieving as it gives you a bit more privacy. Your nerves slowly untangle as the door next to you opens, his hand already sticking out for you to take. You graciously take his hand in yours, carefully stepping out of the car. "It's nothing fancy, but it's my favorite place to unwind." Without thinking, your hand rests against his chest, you lock eyes with him. "Charlie, its perfect. I'm just happy to be away from hospital food." You lean into him, laughing softly as he shakes his head at you. You both walk in hand in hand, big smiles radiating off the two of you. The waitress smiles as she greets the both of you, directing you to a table in the back corner. "I'll be with you two cuties in a minute." She winks playfully as she walks away, causing you to blush as you take your seat across from Charlie.

Music played softly in the background as you stared at each other, both too nervous to speak. The waitress comes back, setting a cup of coffee in front of Charlie and a glass of water in front of you. "The usual for you, doctor; hope you don't mind." He shakes his head, his hand reaching out for his mug. "Never a bad time for coffee, Dolores." She pats his shoulder gently before heading in the direction of the bell ringing from the front door, signaling another customer finding their way here. "I don't really do dates..." You trail off for a second. "I'm more of a stay at home with a book and my dog." His eyes never once leave yours as you speak, curiosity plastered on his face. "I can't really say I do dates either; it's usually either saving lives or being buried in paperwork." Your eyes briefly scan him; how could this man not already be taken? He's fucking godly... and fucks godly. You didn't really want to tell him that you're sure the only reason dates don't happen for you is due to you being on the bigger side. Even though you have complete confidence in yourself, doubt still creeped in and seeped through the cracks. You push those thoughts out of your mind, not wanting to sour the mood. "Did you always want to be a doctor? Not that there's anything wrong with the profession; I just personally could never do it." Two plates get set down in the middle of the table, a burger and fries for him, tenders and fries for you. Quiet thank you's spoken at the same time. "Not always; I wanted to be a personal trainer, but I settled on being a doctor. Which I know isn't the thing you really settle on, but I wanted to save people. It was my calling." You raise a french fry to your mouth, listening attentively as he spoke. The passion oozing from his words, he really did care about his job. That much you observed this last month watching him care for patients and their loved ones each day. "But tell me about you; what was your calling?" You pulled out your phone, pulling up your camera roll, the endless pictures of your sketches popping up. "I am a fashion designer, not a big one but local. I work with a boutique near my house. As you can tell, I am definitely not a size two, and that makes it harder to find clothes. I know others struggle as well so I help make and design plus-sized clothes." You ramble on, flashing him a few of your sketches, your nerves melting further away as you talk about your job. "I think that's really fucking cool. In a way, you help people out on a day-to-day basis. Though honestly, I didn't expect you to be a fashion designer; you look more like a writer with those hot glasses." You felt your cheeks flush as his eyes focused on your glasses. "They kind of give off sexy librarian vibes, especially with your hair down." He laughs to himself as you bury your face in your hands. It wasn't a comparison you were used to hearing, but you didn't mind; you'd probably agree with anything that came from those angelic lips.

"To be fair, at some point I did want to be a librarian... I love a good book." You flash a cheeky smile as he lowers his head, laughing. "I don't think I'd ever leave the library if it meant I got to see you every day." You bite the inside of your cheek, holding back a smile as you roll your eyes. "You know, this is probably the most fun I've had in a while. I really do want to thank you for everything you've done." His voice lowers as he leans towards you. "Oh? I think you've done plenty to thank me, Y/N." The words leave his lips in a hushed tone. My god. How can one person be so fucking hot without even trying?

You laugh to yourself, definitely not forgetting the moment you two shared yesterday. "Trust me, that wasn't anything. Treat me right, and I'll rock your world." His head cocks to the side, curiosity glimmering in his eyes. Before he can say anything, the bill gets placed down in the middle of the table, and you both reach for it, fingertips gently brushing against each other. "I've got it; you've been too good to me." He shakes his head in disagreement, the check already being passed back to the waitress with his card stuck in. "I asked you to lunch, my treat, no if's ands or buts." You toss your hands up in surrender as he slides out of the booth. You follow behind him, a big goofy grin on your face as your hands slip around him, leaning against him as his arm rests around your shoulders. He just has this energy that pulls you in; it was hard to explain. You both walk up to the counter, his card being handed back to him. "See you tomorrow, Dr. Mayhew!" The waitress calls out as the door closes behind the two of you. Once again, you find yourself back in the passenger side of his car, feeling euphoric as you watch him slip into the driver seat.

He positions himself to look at you, but you're already looking at him. A glimmer of mischief in your eyes as you gaze at him. "Why don't you let me treat you, yeah?" You move yourself closer to the middle, your thighs pressing against the center console that separates the two of you. His hands reach over, cupping your cheeks, your head spinning as his hands grip tightly, possessively pulling you towards his lips. You break the gap between the two of you, your lips crashing against his hungrily, your hands wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Shit. The effect Charlie had on you needed to be studied, especially when in public. Before things get too heated, you pull away, taking his bottom lip between your teeth, a groan escaping his lips. "Let's take this somewhere else." He quickly starts up the car, backing out of the parking lot with ease. His lips red and swollen from just moments before, and it was only just the beginning.

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

Taglist: @eddieslut69 @dzsr77 (you mentioned wanting a part 3 so I hope the wait was worth it!)

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

And YOU will feel healed of the last 15

... when you read this fic. That is, as long as you suffered from an abandonement wound like i did.

Ello lovelies, i have another wonderful fanfic-rec for you! 🤓

But you are an ocean by @ineffably-good

Coverart by @ineffableclassics

What it is about:

After Aziraphale's defection, Crowley tries to figure out how to live life for himself.

Notes:

Ok so, the end of season two broke me. Figured I was maybe done writing stories about these two after that. And yet, several hours later, a sentence appeared in my head, and then this happened. Guessing at chapter totals… I'm finding I like the idea of Crowley going off in a different direction than what I'd initially expect. Not just raging, not sleeping for a century, but actually trying to move on. And why the hell shouldn't he just move to the South Downs by himself? So here we are.

What i like about it:

🩷This fic doesn´t jump in on pushing the story - their story - forward. Instead it goes a totally different path. A quite big part of it is dedicated to Crowley mending the pieces of his broken heart. It´s endearing, it´s breathtaking and it will have you cry. Not only for Crowley but for every single person who ever had to endure heartbreak.

🩷Fun fact no.1: in real life I am a relationship-coach specialised in toxic relationships and heartbreak. And the way Crowley´s heartbreak is described couldn´t be any more accurate. Every thought, every pain, every action he takes, the strength it costs him, the weight of it all - its written absolutely to the point. I could have copied several pages for the "most beloved quote".

🩷So Crowley tries to build a life for himself. Not just living without the angel and rotting in a pit, but really trying to carve out a nice little existence for himself. He is doing his work, he is healing and you can follow along with him, as he learns to build at least new "friendships" - though he would never call it that himself, thanks a lot.

🩷This healing-journey takes quite some time and somewhere in the middle of it i started to think - he could do it. He COULD heal his hurt, mourn the loss and still somehow at least live a life on his own. Maybe feeling the missing part of himself for the rest of his existence, but not being miserable about it the whole time. And that is a thought - a wish - i would have for my dark angel.

I could see him living that life and at one point i almost thought - i would love to see how that would´ve played out for him. A life without Aziraphale. What connections would Crowley have made? How would he have coped with the loss of those humanly connections lifespan after lifespan? Would he have relocated each century? Would he have moved to Australia and learned surfing at one time? Would he have become a timelord and travelled - i mean seriously, Crowley could do that probably?

But you, my dear, are an ocean.

And oceans are ancient

And can survive everything,

Even the wrath of weather and planets.

-- Nikita Gill

SPOILERS AHEAD - if you don´t want to know the plot, stop reading here.

Stop reading if you dont want spoilers!

Ok - you´ve been warned! Here we go: 🤗

🩷Fun fact no.2: I actually downloaded this fic some time ago but had another fic in mind i wanted to start next. So after i finished the last one (also really brilliant, i wrote a rec on it too), i started my e-reader the next day, THIS fic was already open instead on page 1. Huh?

I have absolutely no idea how this is possible, but i DO believe in hints-of-the-universe. Or little demonic miracles on their own. Because i needed this fic.

🩷Because of course - this is a Good Omens fanfic and eventually the other angel arrives. And without giving away to much: Aziraphale has to fight for Crowley. A long long time. He has to be steadfast and consistent and earn the trust of his has-been-companion-for-millenia. Nothing is a given any more.

And i am NOT saying that this is what Aziraphale needs to do or that he was wrong in any way. (The fic doesnt say that either by the way.) But what cracked ME personally about the last 15 was my own abandonement-wound which got triggered massively. I felt retraumatised even.

So reading and feeling that Crowley does not jump on the next best possibility to be back with the angel was a big thing. Having the Angel slowly earning his trust and simply showing up again and again - I needed that. I needed Crowley to take his time, not be the sick lovefool he is often proclaimed to be. For him to have doubts, to feel conflicted, to feel love and the need to self-preserve at the same time.

All these ambiguities we all have. And to take the steps with him. Watch the turning point, when the fear of losing Aziraphale again becomes less and less and the fear of wasting time gets stronger. Taking one step at a time, sometimes even backwards. All those things, typical for a healing process, which is never straight forward but most of the time a rollercoaster instead. I loved this. I needed this. I could sit back, breathe and watch my own heart grow. Just. Wow.

Most beloved quote:

So if you feel like maybe you need a fic in which Aziraphale really shows up and cares while Crowley really takes his time to learn to trust again... And not because one of them has been an idiot, but to experience them both learning and growing together ... and that might be something for your own healing journey, this might be just THE fic for you. I absolutely loved it and so will you.

Reading is therapy! 🤗

[evilghostwizard]

Rating TMA Fears

Rating Criteria:

how many shivers i get (shivers)

amount of icks i get (icks)

if i audibly react to it (reactions)

is it cool as fuck (intrigue)

notes deconstructing the fear cus I like to talk about it

These are based off of personal opinion and not factual. Fears definitely effect different people differently.

1.) Buried

Shivers: 5/5

Icks: 3/5

Reactions: 5/5

Intrigue: 5/5

TOTAL SCORE: 5

Notes: Before witnessing TMA I did not know I had a fear of being buried alive. TMA taught me the earth can be devious and hungry. When before I viewed it as lovely and protecting. The buried doesn't mean to be deceptive which I think is the most terrifying part. It's alluring petrichor and earth scents are meant to be warnings. Warnings I saw through rose tinted glasses. I used to visit local caves a lot around my local area. I no longer wish to do that anymore. It freaked me out so bad it has irreparably changed my life. Very good writing. It is simultaneously my favorite and least favorite. Well done rusty quill.

2.) Corruption

Shivers: 3/5

Icks: 5/5

Reactions: 4/5

Intrigue: 2/5

TOTAL SCORE: 3.5

Notes: Ew ew ew ew ew ew... Bugs are cool but not in me or my house thanks. Horrible, disgusting, terrible little creatures. Do not touch my skin, thank you. Wonderfully done to put it in the focus of the first season to draw in all the horror fans and cortisol addicts. The corruption puts much emphasis on emotional responses that should not be had in the context they are had in. Love replaces repulsion. Comfort stands while disgust falls. All while it digs in your skin and tears through your life. The desolation destroys your life out of anger while the corruption festers in your bones because of its affection for its victims.

3.) Dark

Shivers: 2/5

Icks: 1/5

Reactions: 2/5

Intrigue: 1/5

TOTAL SCORE: 1.5

Notes: The dark in TMA has only ever spooked me when there was fleshy or stranger bits involved. I do however enjoy the idea that there is something in the dark that's desires are beyond my knowledge. Beyond even the knowledge of the Eye. Not a favorite that I am rather indifferent too. However, there is the interesting theme TMA uses when utilizing the dark. It touches on the concept of what hides in the dark. As well as how it claims those writhing with despairing as it's own and desperately asks them to worship. It begs them to work in it's name. It grasps for control that only the web can have by manipulating hopeless people.

4.) Desolation

Shivers: 2/5

Icks: 2/5

Reactions: 3/5

Intrigue: 3/5

TOTAL SCORE: 2.5

Notes: The desolation comes off as almost helpful in some cases. It causes truths to be revealed but comes with a hint of destructive mystery as well. The fact that it assists the Eye is a fascinating choice of writing that left me wanting more. We have all lost important things to the lightless flame so it is a very relatable entity. The combination of terror and power is a lovely touch drawn by the writers. I do enjoy the gasps I get when skin melts or when the beloved are ignited. Interesting. Almost liberating to be destroyed beyond recognition. Not the spookiest of the lot but still good.

5.) End

Shivers: 4/5

Icks: 1/5

Reactions: 3/5

Intrigue: 5/5

TOTAL SCORE: 3.5

Notes: One of my favorites despite its score. I love the motifs of chance and gambling. I love the tendrils. I enjoy that it is a passive entity. It does not need to chase you because you will always run to it regardless of where you go. I enjoy the dream themes as well but I have always enjoyed to concept of dreams. To think when we dream we are grazing the finger tips of the end is delicious to think of. Very mysterious yet so finite and sure. The duality is written perfectly and I honestly wish there were more episodes of this entity. But maybe the mystery of it is what makes it so tantalizing and alluring.

6.) Extinction

Shivers: 4/5

Icks: 1/5

Reactions: 3/5

Intrigue: 4/5

TOTAL SCORE: 3.5

Notes: Very close to home for this one. My parents were dooms-day preppers so I'm very familiar with the feeling of mass extinction. I enjoy this one because it comments on how humans have terribly effected our world/civilization. It is a fear we have placed upon ourselves, much like the slaughter. It is not natural for a great change like in TMA to happen without human intervention. Interesting and compelling writing overall but unfortunately does not spook me that much because of my background. I am desensitized to it. Although it is still on the horizon always. Peaking it's head to make us pay for what we have done.

7.) Eye

Shivers: 2/5

Icks: 1/5

Reactions: 4/5

Intrigue: 4/5

TOTAL SCORE: 3

Notes: The eye is stimulating. The eye takes a role no other fear takes in TMA. This entity is prideful and almost appears to have a hero complex. It knows all, it sees all. But it doesn't understand all. That is clear whenever the eye interacts with other fears. Particularly the dark or the corruption. It isn't scary because it is watching me. It is terrifying because it thinks it knows what is best for me. Even when it clearly doesn't. The eye and the web sometimes work together for this commonality. It doesn't ick me out to be watched like it once did. The eye may see me. It may know me, but it does not know how I experience things. And despite its seeming all-knowingness. It'll never know everyone's experiences. It just sees them.

8.) Flesh

Shivers: 5/5

Icks: 5/5

Reactions: 4/5

Intrigue: 3/5

TOTAL SCORE: 4.5

Notes: I think this one got me bad for two reasons. The first reason being, body horror. It is intriguing and horrible. The flesh is a reminder that despite our intellect that we are piles of biomass. We can face disfigurement at any turn that can forever change our experiences. The second reason taps into our primal roots of fear. Most animals don't want to be someones lunch and the flesh reminds us of that fear. You are made of the same material as the meat you have on your dinner plate. Our biology is fragile and easily torn. It genuinely makes my stomach sick every time a flesh episode comes up. The only reason this one isn't a 5/5 is because the more I think about it, the less I desire to think about it. Fantastic writing. I will stop thinking about it now.

9.) Hunt

Shivers: 3/5

Icks: 1/5

Reactions: 4/5

Intrigue: 2/5

TOTAL SCORE: 2.5

Notes: The hunt is interesting. It makes me feel similarly to how the desolation makes me feel. It is terror but it is also power. Like the flesh, it sinks into our primate brains and reminds us what it is like to experience being prey. It doesn't often feel great to be somethings food. However, the hunt doesn't just rule the prey. There is horrible panic and dread in being the hunted but there is pleasure and satisfaction from being the hunter. It embodies what it feels like to be the predator. The thill of hunting is truly exciting when you aren't the prey. The power dynamic of being the predator makes you feel sadistic gratification.

10.) Lonely

Shivers: 3/5

Icks: 5/5

Reactions: 2/5

Intrigue: 5/5

TOTAL SCORE: 4

Notes: Another fear that calls to my life experiences. To be lonely is to be numb. Apathy is a roadblock for drive. To block drive is to exist adrift to no where with nothing to do. What is the purpose? There isn't one. It is bitter and dissatisfactory entity. The lonely does not scare you until you are in it. Forced to face the fact that without others you are nothing. You are surrounded by people but they care not for your existence. So much to the point where you feel alone despite the people around you. This fear lightly draws from our fundamental human need for companionship. It seems harmless but you won't know it's true horror until you've experienced it yourself.

11.) Slaughter

Shivers: 5/5

Icks: 4/5

Reactions: 5/5

Intrigue: 5/5

TOTAL SCORE: 5

Notes: The slaughter has to be my favorite of the entities. It is another fear conjured by humanity. Its existence is evoked by meaningless carnage just for the sake of violence. The imagery of war instruments like drums and pipes give an incredibly cool and eerie vibe. There are NOT enough slaughter themed episodes in TMA. In spite of the minimal amount of time put into this entity the few episodes focused on it are so gorily and beautifully written. The Piper episode is my favorite episode. The imagery that captures "The War" is perfect. The wrath, terror and determined stoicism descriptions will stick with me for years. The slaughter is meaningless and yet it must happen. It must continue. It must bleed.

12.) Spiral

Shivers: 5/5

Icks: 2/5

Reactions: 3/5

Intrigue: 5/5

TOTAL SCORE: 4

Notes: I enjoy the spiral for its concepts of unreality. What is, isn't. Insanity has always been a captivating idea. Fractal patterns and impossible realms are fantastical enough to draw me in to engage. Mystery with no answer is alluring to puzzle solvers. The parts of the spiral that infect me with horror are the deceptive friendships. It is a terrible thought to think those who are closest to you are lying to you. It hits very close to home. Gaslighting is terrifying. What are you meant to do besides trust the people you have invited into your circle. Betrayal is a parasite. It feeds off of love and trust. Who can you trust now?

13.) Stranger

Shivers: 5/5

Icks: 3/5

Reactions: 3/5

Intrigue: 4/5

TOTAL SCORE: 4.5

Notes: The unknown is the most universally feared entity I think. The stranger is something we have all experienced fear for at least a little bit. Many of us were warned about the stranger as children. The unknown makes us wary and confused. It doesn't gaslight us as much as the spiral but it does lie. It does tell us to ignore the uncanny valley reaction you get when you see it. It is human but isn't. The unfamiliar familiarity in them is the most terrifying. Especially because I don't experience uncanny valley often. Even when I should.

14.) Vast

Shivers: 5/5

Icks: 1/5

Reactions: 3/5

Intrigue: 5/5

TOTAL SCORE: 4

Notes: I am already written a paper about the vast. I adore the concept of the void. It does not ick me as much as the other fears because of my massive interest in the concept. It is scary to feel small, it can cause hopelessness. I have found in some people, like myself, it causes euphoria. It relieves the pressures of human life by letting us know those worries that seem so important are actually not really that big of a deal. I think the episodes exploring the concept are beautiful and anxiety ridden. I still think there should be more of the vast in TMA.

15.) Web

Shivers: 4/5

Icks: 3/5

Reactions: 4/5

Intrigue: 4/5

TOTAL SCORE: 4

Notes: The web is an entity that easily draws you in with a false sense of security. It allows you to be free of the need to make decisions. It is peaceful to be controlled. Although we are often blinded when we are controlled to the motives of the controller. We are deceived into believing the puppet master means us no harm. You lose who you are as you perform the spiders assignments. You drift away into peaceful sleep. Just to be eaten when you are at your most vulnerable.

[willsimpforanyone]

HIHIHI!!! I'M SOSO HAPPY YOURE BACK :3 May I request a Leo x reader smut where he gets home from work frustrated n eats the reader out 'til they're overstimulated? THIS IS SO WEIRD IM SORRY 😣ANYWAY I LOVE YOU, ITS OKAY IF YOU DONT DO THIS ASK, M JUST REALLY HAPPY YOU'RE BACK !!!!! (can I be 💀anon, if that's open? :3)

of course you can be skull anon (i'm on my laptop so i can't use emojis lol) also sweetheart this is definitely not weird this is an excellent request lmao lets gooooo

minors dni, includes leo being a little mean and eating the reader out until they cry, one singular spank, reader has a pussy but everything else is gender neutral and of course, all characters are over 18

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

If I think back, really I could have predicted this from the moment I woke up.

Leo was gone by the time I opened my eyes, a note on the bedside table alongside a flower folded from a paperclip. The note was a mess of errors, his dyslexia playing up is always a sign of stress.

The second sign would be the wildly out-of-character short text responses I recieved, queries about his day being met with monosyllabic answers. There was nothing I could do, so I'd sat down at my laptop to work from home for the day, a little worried about him but figuring he was a big boy, he'd survive a hard day.

The third and most obvious sign that today did not go well was the jangling of the keys in the lock, followed by rapid-fire Spanish swearing. I'd laughed, saving my work and abandoning my laptop on my desk to go save Leo from the door or vice versa, whatever the case may have been.

Bright smile on my face, I'd opened the door and hardly gotten the first syllable of 'what did the door do to you?' out my mouth before I was promptly cut off by his lips on mine. Nothing gentle, nothing patient, just frustration and irritation and a need for something, anything, to go right.

Which led to my current position. My thighs shake around his head as I hold myself over his face, his fingers digging in firmly to my flesh as he pulls me back down. "One more."

A pathetic, almost-sob lurches from my throat as his tongue laps harshly at my pussy. My fingers clench at the headboard, holding on for dear life as Leo sucks and licks and tongue-fucks me into nearing my third orgasm of the evening.

"I c-can't," I wail, gasping and moaning as he laughs darkly against my pussy. He lets go of my thigh only briefly to land a firm smack on my ass.

"You can, and you will," he growls, voice low and leaving no room for questioning his command. His lips close around my clit and suck, looking up at me through half-lidded, dark, fierce eyes as I choke on a scream. Giving up on the headboard, I fist my hands in Leo's curly hair, whole body trembling as I come against his mouth for the third time. He laps it up greedily, burying his tongue as deep as he can to coax every drop of my release from me.

My body almost gives up on me, tipping to the side as my jelly legs fail to continue to hold me up. Still riding high and almost drunk on pleasure, I hardly notice when Leo catches me smoothly, flipping us around so he's above me. His lower face shines, swollen, slick lips parted as he pants with a filthy grin.

"You think you've got another one in you?"

He doesn't give me a chance to respond, promptly wriggling down the bed to stuff his face back between my legs, moaning against my oversensitive pussy as he gets another taste. My limp, exhausted body responds to his encouragement, every nerve on fire as he swirls his tongue around my folds.

"T-Too much," I whimper, useless hands half-heartedly fisting the sheets at my sides. "Can't- Leo, fuck, please, gonna fuckin' break me-"

"One more," he whispers against me, looking up from between my thighs and reaching his hands to lace his fingers with mine. "Give me one more, babe, then we're done, I promise."

I whine in protest on behalf of my tired body, but I nod. Leo grins and dives back down, nose nudging my swollen clit as he presses softer, languid open-mouthed kisses against my cunt. It's so much, pleasure feeling like a wrecking ball as my heart pounds against my ribs, and tears spring hot to my eyes.

It takes barely a few minutes for Leo to draw one last orgasm from me, my whole being exhausted and milked dry as I grind shakily against his tongue. His fingers squeeze mine tightly, grounding and reassuring as he drinks down my release, sighing happily as he makes me come for the fourth time.

With one final kiss, soft and sweet, between my legs, Leo crawls up the bed to press his lips to my forehead. "Thank you, oh, you did so good for me, I'm so proud of you, honey..."

I cling to him weakly, sniffling slightly as my body quivers underneath him, but a small smile tugs at my lips as he litters kisses all over my face. His praise is constant, his earlier frustration vanished as he wraps me up in his arms and gently wipes the tears from my cheeks.

"Shh, I know, it was a lot, huh?" he coos, nuzzling his nose into my cheek. "Thank you so much, I needed that, needed to feel my baby falling apart for me... let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

In a little bit, I'll get him to talk; ask him how his day was, why he was so upset earlier. For now, I'm dazed and exhausted but happy, more than content to stay cuddled up in Leo's arms, whispered promises of a homecooked meal settling warm in my chest.

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

a bit of a shorter one but i very much hope you enjoyed!

[mofsblog]

I mean if I had to articulate it more, I'd say it's just that (especially as someone who rematched season 1 a few days ago) season 1 was very good at giving characters "room to breath" and providing extra context behind character's decision making. While there was subtext, you could still reasonably figure out the whys behind every decision a character made fairly easily and I think that made everything feel more immersive (at least to me it did). For example: Marcus is a secondary character that doesn't get much screentime but in the short time we have, we learn his motivations (his daughter), his struggles (the way he slowly becomes disillusioned with the corruption he's participated in by making deals with silco) and we even get a kind of mini arc with him over the season (he does eventually try to stand up to silco even if it fails). We didn't need to know he had a daughter that he cared for but knowing so really helped us understand his character better and made him more engaging in my opinion

I actually think Act 1 of season 2's fine and so is episode 4 for the most part. But I think the root of my issue began when we didn't get to see Jinx's reaction to Vander being Warwick on screen. Like yes logically, I can assume she felt emotional and probably cried and it really impacted her (enough to see Vi) but I think having a scene where we actually see that, plus maybe a bit of internal conflict from her at the prospect of reaching out to Vi would've really made the character decision flow more organically to me? Like maybe we see that she's apprehensive and hesitant at the idea at first because of how their last meeting went but idk seeing Isha, she gets reminded of her old bond with Vi and reflects and ultimately decides to let go of her previous grudge and actually try to reach out because Vander's her dad too or something. A scene like that would've really made their reunion feel more impactful to me

I know we get some verbal justification from Jinx and we can infer that its a combination of Vi probably being in a desperate dark place, the possiblity of seeing Vander again emotionally hitting her and the idea that maybe seeing what Caitlyn did making her a lot more desensitised to the crimes Jinx did, all could've lead her to giving Jinx a chance and agreeing to come with her. But again we didn't really see any of that and I feel like an exploration of some of those ideas or internal conflicts on screen could've been really interesting

For me personally, I can see the outline the writers were going for and I do find it interesting but the way it's communicated so quickly and directly frustrates me because I feel like a deeper on screen exploration of some of the reasoning that led to these decisions (like they would've done in season 1) would've really made some of the scenes more impactful and made them feel more developed and coherent (<- I think that's another thing. To me, season 1 felt very linear and consistent and akin to a very long essay. While season 2 act 2 feels like a bunch of key points noted on a list. There may be a lot of points and I may find the points interesting individually but they haven't been developed into full paragraphs and so they're not really developed enough for me to find personally that compelling). That being said I do still have some hope for Act 3 and again, I'm glad this act landed for you

They really used all of season 1 and season 2 act 1 to hammer in the inherent tragedy of Vi and Jinx's relationship and how, despite the love they had and still partially hold for eachother, several factors out of their control (the majority of which can be seen as the direct and indirect consequences of them and other lower class being actively oppressed and treated like second class citizens by their own government and larger richer society at large) have lead to them both being traumatised repeatedly at an early age and drastically changing as a result and now they're past the breaking point and they've hurt eachother too much to probably ever be sisters again and theres nothing that can be done about it and youre left wondering what could've been.

and then two episodes and a nebulous timeskip after they try to kill eachother again, they reunite and have two scenes of arguing before being like. super chill and a family now. okay 👍

[skyartworkzzz]

I came back to promp another lore ramble

Also could we get a status update on the fic? I really want to see nari go back in time for the lamb

YIPPEEEEEEEEE love me lore ramble!

FIRST AND FOREMOST, OFC!! Heres a tiny lil update of the fic so far! I finally got back to writing it and am just struggling to find out what happens next.......but I promise its in the works! <3

NOW onto the ramble! Yesterday I went a bit ham on my Creepypasta reimagination, so thats what we will be talking about today! Specifically centered around Jeff the Killer CUZ IM THAT PREDICTABLE OKAY-

Anyways! Lore under the cut <3 tw for violence and gore!!

Jeff The Killer:

My Jeff is around his 35 years old and is the younger brother of Liu, who's only 1-2 years older and works as an architect

The brothers share the same apartment, Jeff decided to move in with Liu after living with their parents for a while. Hes currently trying to amount enough money in order to move somewhere of his own

Jeff suffers from depression and has psychotic episodes from time to time, so he has to take meds. Even after he became a killer, he still steals the needed medication to keep his mental exhaustion in check

From time to time, their lower-floor neighbor Ms. Harper calls Jeff to fix her old sink. Everytime Jeff goes over, her son pesters him for fun, which is why Jeff hates him

One day, both Jeff and Liu are invited to the bday of Ms. Harper's son, which was being held at his aunt's house. While in the party, her kitchen sink floods and so she asks Jeff to fix it. While doing so, Ms. Harper's kid accidentally throws chemicals on Jeff's face after trying to prank him with his friends

Jeff is then driven to the hospital by Liu, but they suffer a car crash, which makes Jeff's face melt down and turn pale white. Liu suffered the major damages and had to go through surgeries to put his organs back in place

When Jeff wakes up and sees the damage that was done, he suffers a mental breakdown which leads him to murder Ms. Harper's son. Once the deed was done, he disappeared and started his serial killing career

Jeff cut his lips into a smile specifically to terrify Ms. Harper's son, as if guilting him bout thinking what he did was funny

Before going off the radar, Jeff visited Liu one last time without others knowing, saying he didnt blame his brother for what had happened. Liu, although half-conscious, was able to hear Jeff telling him to go back to sleep

Homicidal Liu:

HONESTLY my Liu doesnt have much of "homicidal" to him LMAO

After the events that led both him and Jeff into the hospital, Liu went through surgeries to recover and was in a coma for a couple of days, which was the time it took for Jeff to start his killer life

When Liu woke up and learned that his brother had disappeared, he quickly volunteered to help and search for him, until finally discovering he was a murderer

Convinced to bring him back to his senses, Liu begged to be part of the police operation to capture Jeff, after proving he could be of use for knowing how his brother worked. And so, he was teamed up with a detective called Jane, who was in charge of arresting Jeff

After much investigation and searching, Liu and Jane finally came face to face with the killer, but came to a fight which led Jeff to carving a smile on Liu's face too and almost ripping his eyelids off like his own. Liu was led back to the hospital after this and received stitches

Seeing as they were lacking experience to capture Jeff, both the detectives accepted to undergo a special training. However, due to Liu's physical state, he wasn't able to finish it and decided to remain on the more schemeful side of the operation rather than direct combat

Given his stitches on his mouth and the horrible wounds his brother left on him, Liu constantly uses a mask and clothes that cover most of his body

Jane the Killer:

Jane works as a detective for the police, she is happily married to a woman named Mary and both live in a spacious, fancy apartment

Her parents were kindhearted and lived with her little sister, Jessie, in a simple house around the quieter parts of the city

Being one of the best agents and praised by the government, Jane was tasked with tracking down Jeff and bringing him to justice. It was during this search that Liu came into contact with her, after learning she was in charge of the operation

Throughout the times they spent together trying to capture Jeff, the killer murdered Jane's parents as a warning for her to leave him alone. But understandbly, that only made her more convinced to seize him with a new goal in mind: kill Jeff

When Liu and Jane received the special traning, Liu wasnt able to participate due to his condition, but Jane carried out until the last step. She was injected with Liquid Hate and gained her superpowers, with the side-effects being her skin turning pale and her eyes and hair black

After the "training" was done, Jane came closer and closer to finally capturing Jeff, but with an unexpected drawback: she was now wanted by the police for committing crimes she couldnt remember doing. Given the new scenario, the detective started working as an underworld punisher

She still searches for Jeff and stays in touch with Liu, now secretly since she is also being hunted down. They both still work as partners from time to time trying to find his brother

Lil extras!

After her parents were killed, Jessie moved in with Jane and Mary, being a survivor of Jeff's wrath luckily for not being home that day

Liu does not know Jane intends to kill Jeff, and she will never tell him, for she knows he will try to stop her

The Liquid Hate project was actually a Proxy experiment, organized by one of Slenderman's Agents who was also the scientist in charge of the special training Jane and Liu received. Jane became a Sleeper thanks to said experiment, with homicidal tendencies she is luckily able to channel to wanted criminals

That is all for now! Theres a whole lot more I havent said here cuz omfg thats too long already

MAYBE ONE DAY ILL BE able to write my own fanfictions about these, who knows

Anyways! Bless chu for the curiosity <3