#he’d win every ribbon in the world

[pangur-and-grim]

Belphie looks so handsome today

[harryspet]

lonely little lamb | r. cameron

[warnings] dark!stepbrother!rafe x stepsister!reader, daddy!rafe x little!reader, dd/lg dynamic, mentions of violence/blood, somnophilia, stalker!rafe, DUBCON, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: happy OBX4! This was written before the new season :) Dividers by @/ghoulbloggerrr

In which Rafe knows your secret and just how perfect you'd be together.

word count: 7.2k

rafe cameron masterlist

Rafe didn’t catch on immediately.  At first, he just thought you were strange, his expectations already tainted by what he'd assumed about you. He’d been prepared for his stepmother’s daughter to be a brat, and on the surface, you fit that mold perfectly. But there was something off about the way you acted around him. You never played innocent, never tried to charm him or win him over like you did with everyone else. You gave him sharp glances at the dinner table when he talked back to Ward and even angrier stares when he disrespected your mother. You never hung around after dinner, always rushing to go back to your room, and “call your friends from back home”. Of course, Rafe listened at your door often and he never heard you making any calls. Having grown up in the house, he felt entitled to know what was happening within its walls.

Your behavior puzzled Rafe to the point of obsession. He woke up every morning to check if your car was still in the driveway and easily memorized your schedule. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you attended classes in the morning at the local community college. On the other days of the week you sat through your online classes. You never ate too early, always going for a late breakfast that usually consisted of avocado toast, a bowl of fruit, and you always came down to refill your “sippy cup”. That’s what Rafe had dubbed it. It was clear, decorated with a stencil design of a baby lamb and had a flip-up spout for easy drinking. You didn’t go many places without it. 

It was the small things that fascinated him. The comfort items you clung to, the simple routines that made your life feel organized and secure. You usually took a bubble bath about thirty minutes after dinner, and when you forgot to lock your door, Rafe would slip into your room, drawn by the intimacy of your private world.

He picked up items around your room, like the frame you kept beside your bed. It held a photo of you and your mom: you in your old high school cheerleading uniform, hair pinned back in pigtails, while your mom smiled widely beside you. Despite her cheerful expression, your eyes in the picture looked wistful and lonely. Rafe couldn’t help but imagine you now, with adult curves and eager eyes, wearing that outfit. The thought stirred something in him, making him hard, and he had to tuck himself away, cursing under his breath. At least if you walked in, he wouldn’t be caught in the act.

The more he learned about you, the harder it was to quiet these thoughts. He had always found you pretty, but now his body and mind were becoming obsessed with you. He made a habit of collecting a pair of your panties from the hamper before leaving. He needed them for later, for the release that he craved, driven mad by the scent of you.

The sound of soft, melodic music flowed into your bedroom from behind the bathroom door. Sometimes it was girly pop songs, other times classical, but more often than not, it had the gentle, soothing quality of nursery music. Your bed was always neatly made, draped in a floral quilt, and you kept the same stuffed animals on top, meticulously placed. A small chesnut brown teddy bear, white bunny, and a tiny stuffed lamb. Each one had their own white ribbon wrapped around its neck, tied into a bow. 

One time he caught a glimpse of your nighttime skin care routine. You removed the light makeup you always wore and used about ten different products that Rafe didn’t recognize, nor could he guess their use. The last layer was always a light layer of lip balm and Rafe always leaned a bit closer when your puckered your lips in the mirror. His mind easily wandered to idea of your lips around him. 

You wouldn’t look so lonely, little lamb, if you just let me in. 

He had his suspicions about the secret, kinky things you were into. There had to be a reason you spent so much time by yourself. He didn’t get the answers he was looking for until one night when you’d left your laptop, unlocked on your desk. He took the opportunity to program his fingerprint into it too, just in case he needed to snoop again. 

He combed through your social media, public and private, and started checking your messages daily, keeping track of who you talked to, what you were up to. Your public social media was perfect. A mix of selfies with soft lighting, photos of cute coffee shops, and other things you deemed as your “aesthetic”. 

It was your camera roll that finally gave Rafe the answers he had been searching for. One folder, marked with a delicate pink heart, caught his attention immediately. Inside were photos of you, taken in front of your floor-length mirror. Each picture was eerily similar, the same vacant, wide-eyed expression on your face, as though you were lost in some faraway place.

You wore pajamas he’d never seen before, soft and childlike. Sometimes it was pastel-colored footie pajamas, other times it was nightgowns in soft shades of pink, lavender, or baby blue. In a few, you were bundled up in fuzzy socks or slippers with floppy bunny ears. Your hair was always styled with bows, either pink or white. There was a strange innocence in these details, one that clashed with the tension building inside Rafe as he scrolled through the images.

Sometimes you were biting down on your nails, others your thumb rested in your mouth, but most of the time you were gripping one of your stuffed animals tight to your chest. 

You looked...adorable. But in a way that made Rafe’s pulse quicken with something darker. The softness, the vulnerability you displayed in those photos, fed his obsession.

Another folder marked with a unicorn emoji held more photos that you’d saved. He recognized some of the characters from children’s TV shows he remembered Wheezie watching. Others were pictures from Disney movies, and Rafe quickly realized you had a special preference for the princesses. You seemed drawn to Cinderalla, Belle, and Snow White. It offered a glimpse into your mind, into your fantasies, how you were drawn to things with an air of purity and sweetness. 

Rafe’s heart slowed when a message popped up from someone named Mr. Hayes. Been thinking about you all day, sweetheart. The message said. A moment later, another one came. How was ur bath? 

Rafe opened the text thread and began to scroll. Each word that he read made his blood boil. There were too many messages for him to read. You’d sent him photos of yourself, let him call you pet names, and you’d even gone so far as calling him… Daddy. He’d never sent you a photo but that didn’t seem to matter. You were willing to share the details of your life with him. 

Rafe’s vision blurred with rage. Daddy. This virtual fantasy, a stranger who you didn’t even know, did not deserve your affection. He decided then you were his, whether you knew it or not. 

Rafe decided then to also make it a habit to check your messages. 

Several weeks later, you’d finally convinced Mr. Hayes to meet you in person. Rafe couldn’t let that happen. As your stepbrother and your protector, it would be wrong of him to let some stranger hurt you. Besides, he’d become obsessed to the point where now he was dying to know exactly who this man was. 

You didnd’t know any better, but he did. 

“Hey,” Rafe spoke to you the afternoon before your secret rendevouz, interrupting your fruit cutting, “My Dad just texted. Him and your Mom aren’t going to make it back tonight. There flight keeps getting delayed so they’re going to stay the rest of the weekend.”

“Oh, okay,” You replied simply, returning back to your task again. 

“Wheezie’s sleeping at a friends and I’m probably going to a party at Kelce’s,” You gave him a look, as if it was strange to be conversating with him alone without the presence of the rest of their blended family, “...Do you want to come? It’ll be fun.”

You shook your head, “No, thank you. I’ll just stay in.”

Rafe leaned on the marble countertop, staring across the kitchen island at you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you go out one time since you moved in.” 

Rafe’s sudden interest in your habits had become more noticeable lately, but you figured it was nothing, just him being Rafe, always lurking in the background, watching everyone, everything. Your mother had warned you that she thought something was off about him and living with him over the past nine months had sealed the fact that you didn’t trust him. 

You didn’t trust many people at all, actually, never having had a stable home life. Your mother had always had money, or at least latched on to men who had money, but those men came and went. Even your mother wasn’t someone you could count on. She’d uprooted your life more than once, moving you across states just to be with a man who could give her the lifestyle she believed she deserved.

Mr. Hayes had offered you comfort in this transitional time. You had no one to confide your secret in accept for the communities you found online. It made you anxious to even think about finding a partner one day and having to explain this side of you. Friends on the internet wouldn’t judge you.

But online, the stakes felt lower. The people you spoke with, people like Mr. Hayes, didn’t judge. The risk of being truly seen, and rejected, was something you couldn’t handle. Not yet.

You paused what you were doing, knife hovering over a piece of strawberry, “You really want to spend the night alone. On a Friday night?” 

Rafe sauntered around the kitchen island, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made a shiver run down your spine. He knew he was handsome. With his short blonde hair and blue eyes that always had a raging storm behind them. His gold ring and his gold watch. Most important of all, he knew he intimidated you, his size being enough to make you feel smaller than you actually were. 

“I have to study,” You spoke curtly, trying to cut off the line of questioning you sensed was coming. You moved to keep cutting up your fruit but you paused again when Rafe reached out to grab a piece from the cutting board. You looked up at him as he popped the piece of strawberry into his mouth. 

Your lips parted in shock and Rafe’s lips pulled into a smirk, as if he was thriving on that power, the uncpoken tension in the air. The way he could make your heart race in that mix of fear and something else he knew you’d never admit. 

“Oh yeah?” Rafe placed a hand on the counter, “You have all weekend to study. C’mon, have some fun, princess.”

You took in a breath at the sound of the pet name. He hadn’t ever called you that before and for a moment it looked like he was seeing right through you. 

“I-” Quickly, you turned your head away, refocusing on the task, as your cheeks heated with embarrassment, “I’m okay, thanks.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to come out,” Rafe continued, his voice smooth, almost coaxing, “You got secret plans or something?”

“No,” You said quickly, “I told you, I’m studying.”

Rafe let out a dry chuckle, no real amusement behind it, “You sure you’re not just hiding?”

“It’s not your business,” You snapped finally, your tone icy, “And I… I don’t have to explain myself to you, Rafe. You don’t even know me.”

“I know you, princess,” You dropped the knife, your heart beating too fast, and you quickly picked up your pieces of fruit and placed them in your bowl. Rafe leaned closer, watching your every move, and the intensity of his gaze was starting to unravel you, “You’re so jumpy. It’s just me. No need to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” You muttered but your fingers trembled as you grabbed ahold of your bowl of fresh fruit and your lamb cup. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Rafe took another step closer and you backed away from the counter.

“Stop it,” Your frustration flared, unsure of why exactly Rafe was trying to stir you up. Your lips pressed together and you tried to stop your reaction, but with him towevering over you, invading your space, you felt effectively suffocated. It wasn’t until your back was pressed into the stainless steal fridge, your bowl the only thing protecting you from being pushed against Rafe, that you actually flinched. 

“Hey,” Rafe lifted on arm, casually bracing his hand on top of the fridge as he looked down at you, “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You swallowed hard. His voice was deceptively gentle, “Rafe–”

“I’m not trying to scare you, I promise,” Something flickered in his eyes, something you didn’t recognize, and for a moment, you questioned if you’d read this entire situation correctly, “I know how fragile you are. How scary the world can seem. I’m offering …you know …because I’d be there to protect you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You blinked up at him. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of him trying to talk down to you. Rafe Cameon almost sounded caring. “You don’t need to be so on guard all the time,” Rafe continued. 

“I just …” You couldn’t stop the way your voice softened, “I like keeping to myself. It’s not that I don’t want to be around people. I just don’t …fit in here.”

Rafe nodded, his expression understanding, and it was the first time you looked at one another as real people, “I get it. You’re not like the other girls around here. You’re smarter, quieter … softer. You can trust me though, yeah? You don’t gotta hide from me.”

For a moment, everything felt like it would be okay. Maybe Rafe had managed to see you and was willing to understand you, unlike anyone else you had met on this island. It all felt real until you focused more on his eyes. Your expression had softened, melted from frustration to wide-eyed curiosity, and that had caused a shift in his eyes. You saw that flicker of darkness that you’d seen before. 

“I can look after you, ya’ know?” He said, voice dripping to a lower tone, “Help you. You don’t need to worry too much.”

Before you could respond, his other arm lifted, and you felt his fingers graze your cheek, the touch startlingly intimate. 

“What are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Rafe’s jaw tightened, the mask he was wearing beginning to slip, “Don’t be like that, princess.” 

“Stop,” You managed to say, “Stay away from me.”

In just a few hours, you’d finally get to meet Mr. Hayes. None of Rafe’s games would matter then. When you went silent, you watched as Rafe’s hand balled into a fist and he turned his body away. 

“Suit yourself,” He’d said coldly, his void devoid of any of the warmth that was there before.  

You stared down at your bowl of fruit dumbfounded for a moment too long. Princess. How did Rafe know how desperately you wanted someone to call you that?

Rafe stayed at Kelce’s party until eleven He finished his last pabst blue ribbon, said goodbye to only a handful of his friends, before he made his way to his truck. Knowing they would find it strange for him to leave so early, he mad the excuse that he was going to meet up with a girl at the Island Club. 

In reality, Rafe was headed twenty minutes away, towards Winward Beach. Mr. Hayes wanted to meet you at midnight. One of the many red flags Rafe assumed you had ignored. You probably thought it was romantic, meeting at a secluded beach in the middle of the night. Like the two of you were fucking Romeo and Juliet. 

Stupid, Rafe thought bitterly, gripping the steering wheel tightly. 

Rafe parked his car in the small parking lot that sat near the boardwalk, turning off all of his lights, and waited for the creep to show up first. Rafe thought for a moment that neither of you might show when midnight started to approach. Maybe you’d wisened up, listened to your gut instinct that told you something wasn’t right. He didn’t believe it for long, you were too trusting. Too soft. 

When a tan sedan that Rafe didn’t recognize pulled up in a parking spot close to the walkway, Rafe knew who it was. In the dark and without any streetlights, he only saw a dark figure carrying a backpack make his way towards the beachwalk. He waited until the figure made it halfway before he climbed out of his truck. 

The moon was high, casting a white glow over the empty landscape. 

Anger simmered beneath Rafe’s skin as he watched the man from a safe distance. He moved with a nervous energy, often glancing over his shoulder as if he was expecting to see someone. Wooden planks creaked softly under his weight but Mr. Hayes didn’t notice, not until he’d made it to the beach, and Rafe appeared behind him. 

The man turned his head, eyes wide with confusion. For a moment, this was all a coincidence. Rafe was a nobody, just a stranger taking a walk on the beach, until Rafe’s lips pulled into a smile, “Not what you were expecting?”

“Who the hell are you?”

Mr. Hayes was certainly not what Rafe was expecting. A completely unremarkable middle-aged man with streaks of gray in his thinning brown hair, pale skin, lightly freckled and a slight paunch that rested over the waistband of his dreams. A complete creep. Someone completely undeserving of even being looked at by you. 

Anger wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what Rafe was feeling, “You’re Mr. Hayes?”

“What?” Up close, Rafe could see the way the man's eyes started to dart around. He took another step further and the man stumbled back in the thick sand, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just–”

“You’re just a coward?” Rafe finished, his tone mocking, “I mean, I understand now why you hid your face.”

“I don’t know what you’re–”

Rafe interrupted again, snarling, his hand lashing out to grab the front of the man’s shirt. He yanked him forward and the man’s eyes went wild with panic, “Meeting up with an innocent girl in the middle of the night? Sneaking around like a creep? What’s in that fucking bag?”

“Nothing!” Mr. Hayes struggled. Rafe couldn’t believe how weak the man was. Strong enough to overpower you, maybe, but weak. As soon as the though of this man pinning you down in the sand crossed his mind, Rafe’s eyes went wild, “Nothing, I’m sorry!”

Rafe shoved him hard and the man stumbled backwards into the sand. He towered over the man, his shadow casting long across the beach. Waves crashed loudly in the background but Rafe’s voice boomed over the sound, “I don’t think you are! You probably thought you could just take what you wanted, huh? Fucking answer me!”

The man scrambled backwards, hands digging into the sand, backward hanging awkwardly from his shoulder. Why didn’t he just drop it …if he wasn’t hiding anything, he would let it go, “I wasn’t — I didn’t mean, I didn’t know!”

“You didn’t know what? That she was half your age? That she was too good for you?” Rafe’s lip curled in disgust. He knelt down, his face inches from Mr. Hayes’s as his voice dropped to a whisper, “She’s not yours. She never will be.”

“Okay,” He nodded, holding out a hand as if to put distance between them, “I just wanted to meet her. I know I lied. I’m sorry. I won’t …it won’t happen again. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

Rafe’s head cocked to the side as he looked down at the trembling man. Without another word, he grabbed for the backpack. The man resisted, of course, a series of “Wait, wait, wait,” leaves his lips. Rafe doesn’t leave space to argue because he pushed his palm into the man’s chest, pinning him down, before he lets his fist connect with the side of the man’s face. 

The man gasps, whimpers, as he curls into a ball on the sand, “F-Fuck!” The creep moans. Rafe pulls away the bag, ripping open the zipper, and dumping the contents onto the sand.

A cheap blanket, a cheap bottle of wine, and then Rafe’s eye catches on the condoms and then then the thick, coiled string of rope. Without another thought, Rafe was tackling the man, grabbing a hold of his collar, pulling him up and slamming his head into the ground over and over again. Rafe didn’t stop. He slammed his fist into the man’s face harder and harder. Each blow left a sickening crack echoing in the air. 

Crack. Groan of pain. Crack. Whimper, “You though you could hurt her? Touch what’s not yours? Brutalize her?” Rafe snarled, voice low and vicious. When the man finally went unconscious, his body limp, face bloody and unrecognizable, “Fuck you!”

Rafe’s chest heaved as he stared down at his work. Nothing about the blood and broken flesh bothered him. He looked down at his hand which were covered in the man’s blood and only felt satisfied. 

He’d protected you. His pulse spiked even more as he heard footsteps on the boardwalk. You’d shown up. Rafe watched you kick off flip flops and run towards them. No matter how dark it was, you were easily visible in the baby pink dress you’d chosen. The contrast between you and the violent seen before you sente a surge of protectiveness through him. He stood from where he knelt in the sand and quickly crossed the distance towards you. 

You slowed as you took in the scene before you, “Rafe?” you whispered, “Rafe, what’s … that’s not …oh my god.”

Rafe grabbed you by your arms, turning your shaking body away. It was a gruesome mess, nothing you should have to see, “He’s dead,” You spoke with wide, terrified eyes, “Wh-Why? You killed him.”

“He’s not dead,” Rafe said quickly, “He’s still breathing … I had to stop him.”

You didn’t listen, you turned your head and saw the unnatural position the man laid in, “Rafe, he’s dead!”

Rafe shook you slightly, “He’s not. I promise.”

“What did you do?” You cried, tears beginning to stream down your cheek. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” He tried to assure you, “I had not. He was going to hurt you, Y/N. Look, he brought …he brought all that shit with him. There was rope in his bag, condoms … I did this for you!”

You shook your head, trying to pull away from Rafe’s bloody hands, “You beat him?” Your voice broke under the weight of your fear, “He’s not moving. You can’t …why would you–”

Rafe’s heart twisted in his chest. He wasn’t the one you were supposed to be afraid of, “He deserved it,” Rafe said, voice quiet and serious, “C’mon, we need to get out of here.”

Rafe tried to pull you but you resisted. Easily, he lifted you into his arms, bloody hands staining your skin and now your dress, “We have to call someone!” You shouted at him, hiccuping through your tears, “Rafe, put me down!”

Rafe ignored you, strides long and steady, carrying you back towards the beachwalk. It was better for Mr. Hayes if the police weren’t involved. Undoubtely, a man like that had a record. Rafe was doing him a favor by only leaving him bloody on the beach. 

In his arms, you were powerless. Your mind was reeling. Even in his bloody state, you knew the man there was not who Mr. Hayes had described himself as. Rafe could be right about all of this but it still felt wrong. 

In Rafe’s truck, you sat curled up against the door, your knees pulled to your chest. A dark and empty road stretched before you, yacht rock played at a low volume in the background, and Rafe’s heavy breathing was louder than any of your thoughts. 

Every few minutes, you stole a glance at him. The tension had yet to leave his body, though he was coming down from the adrenaline. His breathing was heavy but deliberate, as if he was attempting to calm himself, “I didn’t want you to see that, you know that, right?” Rafe said suddenly, breaking through the heavy silence, “Like …I know that was fucked up. You believe me, right? About what I said?”

Your throat tightened so much that your words came out strangled, “I don’t know … what to believe.”

“He was going to hurt you. If I hadn’t stepped in — If I-I hadn’t acted proactively, he would’ve hurt you. He would be hurting you right now. You know that, right?” The brutality of Mr. Hayes’s alleged actions began to cloud Rafe’s actions. He said it over and over. You couldn’t help that now you were imagining it. Maybe this was the only way to rationalize the situation. Maybe you had to believe him.

You saw the items in the sand. You saw that he’d lied about his age, about his appearance, and his intentions. He was the monster. That was the better version. Everything was a lot less wrong that way. 

“Y/N,” Rafe spoke again, his deep voice rattling your ear drums, “You know that.”

You finally nodded, “Okay,” You agreed. 

“Good,” Rafe seemed to let out a breath of relief. Hands still tight on the steering wheel, he tilted his head back, “He wasn’t some innocent guy. I swear that to you. Like I wouldn’t lie about that shit.”

You nodded until your head started to hurt. 

“I did this for you,” Rafe said, “I’m so fucking glad you’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

“Thank you,” You whispered as you wiped the wetness from your cheeks. Your eyes caught on the dried blood that wrapped around in a band on your arm, “...Rafe?”

“Yeah, baby?” Rafe voice turned gentler as he glanced over at you.

“Did you …look at my messages?”

Rafe’s demeanor grew casual, like the worst of his anxieties had passed, “I did what I had to do,” He said, like it was a simple explanation. He didn’t seem concerned at his obvious breach of privacy. Didn’t seem to understand that the pit in your stomach was deepening. 

“Then you…”

“Then I know,” He finished and you watched a sinister smile pull at his lips, “Aren’t you relieved? I know and I’m not judging you. I’ve been wanting to figure you out since I met you. And now there’s no secrets between us.”

“Rafe…” You began, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words, “How could you?”

“I had to,” He insisted, “If I hadn’t, where would you be now? What if he had taken you? Killed you? What would that do to your mom?”

Your brows furrowed, trying to process his words, and the vile images that left in your mind, “The stuff on my phone is …private. It’s private for a reason. I don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” He countered, offering you a patronizing tone, “I know what you want, what you need. I’m happy to give you that. And I’d do a hell of better job than that waste of life on the beach.”

You connected the dots the moment those words left his lips. He wanted to be what Mr. Hayes had been to you. A caretaker. Someone to nurture your most innocent idea. 

“Rafe … Ward is married to my mom,” The most logical reason that was a crazy idea came to your mind quickly. 

“So?” He replied dismissevly. 

“You’re my stepbrother,” Not even that registered with him, “I don’t think …it’s not what I want.”

“You don’t know what you want,” Rafe reached across the console, gently but firmly grabbing ahold of your hand. You stared back at him with wide eyes, your fear obvious especially when he took his eyes off the road, “You’re confused. You were willing to trust a man on the internet when the perfect person to take care of you is right here with you. No one else. Me.”

Feeling trapped, your next thought became calming him down. For fear of him crashing the car or never loosening his grip, you forced your expression to soften, “I know you can protect me,” You nodded your head, “And thank you for that …I shouldn’t have done what I did. It was stupid. I’m ���I’m glad you care about me like that.”

Rafe squeezed your hand gently, “Yeah?”

“It’s just a lot to take in. I had no idea …I just thought you were usually annoyed with me,” You said and rafe seemed to exhale, his shoulders loosening, “I trust you, it’s just a lot to process right now.”

“I get it,” Rafe let go of your hand, but gave you no time to feel relieved, because next he placed his strong, large hand on your thigh, “I think we’re good for each other. I just have to show you, Y/N.”

Tannyhill was empty except the two of you. Your heart raced as Rafe led you upstairs to your room, hand firmly on the small of your back. When the door to the bedroom softly clicked behind you, closing the two of you in, you felt like throwing up. 

You started to imagine Rafe wandering around, looking through all your things, all without your permission. He felt out of place there in your sanctuary but it was clear he’d made himself comfortable a long time a go. He led you over to the edge of your bed, and shakily, you sat down. He kneeled down in front of you, a position quite to vulnerable and intimate for you. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, voice deep in concerning. Lifting one of your heels from the ground, he looked closely at your legs, as if checking for an injury. 

You shook your head, know the most your body had been through tonight had been at his hands, “I’m okay,” You spoke, your voice small. 

Rafe looked up at you, “It’s okay if you’re not, yeah?” Rafe said, voice softening as his hand slid further up your leg. When you pulled your leg back, his grip remained firm, possessive, “Everyone’s gone. I’m asking you to lean on me, princess.”

With no hint of asking for permission, you stared back at your stepbrother. You couldn’t help but feel as if the timing of tonight had worked out eerily in his favor. Everyone in your family was gone for the night and there was no Mr. Hayes to text about your feelings. 

“I’m going to run the bath for you,” Rafe decided, lips parted as if he was deep in thought, “Yeah, stay right here.”

“I’m fine, I can do it–” You began as Rafe made his way towards your bathroom.

He held out a finger and you stopped your movements quickly, frozen by the intensity in his gaze, “Stay.” 

He didn’t have to raise his voice for you to feel the threat in his tone. Somehow, this version of him was scarier than the one that relentlessly struck a man until he was unrecognizable. 

The sound of running water filled the room. Closing your eyes, controlling your breathing, the sound brought you to your routine. That sound of running water was always soothing to you. It was usually how your mind was able to slip into that comforting place on the other side of your mind. Things were lighter there, a place where you had no cares at all, and you enjoyed the things that you’d normally be embarrassed by. You pressed your feet into your fuzzy white carpet, your favorite place to listen to music and do one of your coloring books. You were almost there, the water having tricked you into falling deeper, until you caught a glimpse of Rafe standing behind the door, washing blood away in the sink. 

You tightened your eyes even more, shaking your head. This was certainly not the time to let down your guard. 

He appeared moments later, drying his hands with one of your pink washcloths, “Come on, let’s get you ready,” He said, his head tilted towards the bathroom, his voice deceptively warm. 

Your feet betrayed you and you hesitantly crossed the room. Another door between you and your life before you knew Rafe felt this way. When it closed shut, you realized you’d sealed your fate. How could it be a mistake when this was the place in life where you felt safest? To accept something was wrong meant accepting that you had nowhere left to feel warm, innocent, or child-like. 

Fingers caressed your skin, lifting the hem of your dress, gently raising your arms, until you were standing in your underwear. You hadn’t realized you’d started crying again and it didn’t register how badly your lips were trembling until Rafe’s thumb caressed your bottom lip, “You’re okay,” He assured you, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You’d wanted this desperately, for someone to see you and not want to run away. You wanted someone to take care of you, someone devoted to nurturing you. Your eyes locked on Rafe’s and you felt his palm against your bottom, fingers traveling beneath the fabric of your panties. You kept your head tilted up as he leaned down, pressing lips that were softer than could’ve ever imagined, against your neck. 

You melted against him. 

Vanilla and strawberry swirled in the air, strong but gentle hands caressed you, and your tears started to feel more like a release than a burden. He kissed the spot on your throat that had gone sore from all tears. 

“I’m gonna take care of you,” He whispered and you felt it everywhere. 

After removing your bra and panties, he helped you into the bath. Quickly, the blood and tears seemed to leave your skin, as if you’d imagined them. He touched you in a way that more natural, human, than expected. With deliberate care, he moved his hands over you, an act that felt practiced. 

Everything dissolved there in the warm bath, the heaviness of the entire night. Bubbles clung to your skin, and your fingers moved lazily over the surface of the water. Rafe washing you, moving a soapy washcloth over your skin, should’ve felt strange but were left in that hazy place where things were simple. 

“This is how things are going to be,” You heard him say, “We’ll make it work, okay? You get to be yourself and I’m the one who takes care of you now. I’m your Daddy.”

You’d never said that word out loud. Daddy. It was a faraway concept, a dream …just like the cloud you were floating in right now. You hugged yourself, mind wandering to that soft bed with all of your plushies. 

“Say it, princess,” you turned your head to him, mouth parted, eyes curious. 

“Say what?” You asked in a whisper, an innocent haze in your eyes. 

He smiled. You had done something right. You gave him a soft smile too. He leaned closer, “Say ‘Daddy’,” He commanded softly, “Please, princess.”

Part of you hesitated, knowing you were giving away something precious. The other part wanted to please him, after all, he’d brought you this sense of peace. And maybe the sooner you made him happy, the sooner he’d tuck you into your warm bed, and let this long day finally end. 

“Daddy,” You tested out the word on your tongue and though it sounded fragile, his eyes seemed to light up, “...since you said please.”

Nothing could smoulder that spark of satisfaction in his eyes. The look made your heart flutter, a sharp contrast from before when it felt like exploding. 

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Your cheeks warmed and you turned your face to hide from him. You couldn’t take it when he looked at you like that. That look made it feel like everything was okay.

“I made a mistake,” Your voice came out in a whine. Rafe ran the warm cloth across your back, a reminder of that peaceful bubble he’d created around you. 

He shushed you, “You didn’t,” He assured you, “You’re a good person, a good girl. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

His words made you sink deeper. The soft strokes of the warm washcloth, the vanilla-scent against your skin, and the pressure against your most sensitive areas. You felt the tension in your body melt away further. 

Slowly, gripping your knees to your chest, you turned your face back towards him, “You can’t tell anybody, Rafe,” You whispered. 

“Never,” He said, leaning closer, “Pinky swear?”

Rafe reached his other hand toward you, his pinky finger extended in front of you, moving like he was carefully dismantling some fragile, like a bomb. You stared for a brief movement, surprised and warmed by the gesture. You had no idea Rafe was capable of being so gentle. You unwrapped yourself a little bit, bring your closest pinky towards his hand. Your smaller finger wrapped around his and you were tethered together. 

“There, I promise I won’t tell anyone, princess,” He looked at you deeply, “Okay?”

Hesitantly, you nodded, your hand falling gently back into the water,  “Let’s get you out of here before you wrinkle up,” He decided and you watched him cross the room to grab your towel hanging from the back of the bathroom door. He walked back with a quiet confidence and his grip was completely sure, deliberate, as he helped you from the tub, “I’ve got ya’.”

He’d wrapped one arm underneath your shoulders and the other beneath your knees, lifting you gently. You imagined pressing yourself into him but a towel soon separated you. You shivered, and instinctually, you wanted to dry yourself but Rafe took responsibility of that as well. He was so close, so protective. It was awkward at first, being able to take care of that mundane task but not having to. You leaned into it, letting your body be soothed by the ritual. 

You kept sinking. 

“Arms up,” He’d said after bringing you back to your bedroom. He chose an oversized purple t-shirt, designed with small pictures of cartoon pandas. For your underwear, he chose a light blue pair decorated with rainbows. Your eyelids grew heavy and after your first yawn, Rafe lifted you onto the side of your bed, “There you go. All set.”

You crawled into your cocoon further, settling underneat your quilt. You watched Rafe as you settled there, as he moved across the room. Your sleepy eyes widened for a moment, realizing his shirt was gone and that he was fiddling with the zipper of his pants. 

It was a threshold you’d never expected to reach, with Rafe or anyone else. The lights flicked off and the bed dipped beside you, your nerves sparked. You grabbed ahold of your lamb stuffed animal, letting that bring you a familiar comfort. Rafe nestled closer to you, his body at ease, relaxed as he wrapped an arm around you. 

You did your best to do the same, trying to lean into that same vulnerability you felt when he was bathing you. Warm skin against yours, strong hands on your waist, warm breath against your ear, it was overwhelming, “I-Is this okay?” You asked, breaking the silence. 

Looking for reassurance, you turned your head until your noses were almost pressed together. 

“Yeah,” Rafe spoke low and smooth, “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, nervously, “I’m okay.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to your forehead and you took a deep breath, letting the feeling sooth your anxiety, “I’ve got you,”  Rafe’s fingers ran down your arm then to your waist. He held you there, feeling your flesh there, squeezing, “Daddy’s got you, baby.”

He touched you in new ways, gripped you hard in some places and softer in others. The kiss on your forehead turned into a kiss on your nose and then he placed soft lips against your cheek, “Relax,” He whispered in your ear, “I know you’re sleepy. I’ll do all the work.”

In your state of mind, his words felt like a riddle. What did he mean? You knew you liked his touch and that you wanted to sleep. Rafe knew more than you, clearly, maybe that’s what makes him a good Daddy. You should trust him. 

You closed your eyes as you let him press his face into your neck. He kissed you there, finding the most sensitive spot on your skin, and it made your lips part in a soft moan, “Call me Daddy,” He spoke against your skin, “Please, baby? Just say it and I’ll make you feel good.”

“Daddy,” You whispered back hesitantly and Rafe groaned, “D-Daddy.”

“Fuck,” Rafe cursed, grabbing a handful of your bottom, “That’s exactly what I want from you.”

You felt hardness pressing against your upper thigh and you gripped your lamb tighter. You leaned into sleep, letting Rafe move your body as he pleased, only moving your lips to whisper, “Daddy” in Rafe’s ear. He seemed please and you felt a warmness in your center that you wanted more of. 

Soon he was on top of you, your legs spread as he sat in between them. He rubbed you there. His rhythm was perfect, his accuracy impeccable, so much that you didn’t have to even move your hips to get the friction you needed. You panted and when you reached your peak, Rafe swallowed your moans, putting his mouth on your lips. 

It didn’t fully register to you when Rafe pushed your underwear aside and started to push inside of you. He was so gentle and you were so tired. He pulled your arms to the side, pressing his front against you, but you kept one hand wrapped around the arm of your stuffed animal, “Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy”

You winced when you felt all of him, and instinctively, you pushed at his heavy arms, “You’re okay,” He said, and his voice was louder to you than his heavy breathing or the sound of his skin hitting against yours, “You’re doing so good. Daddy’s almost done. You’re gonna make me cum so fast, Y/N. Shit.”

The satisfaction and pride in his words brought almost enough warmth to mask the pain of being stretched by him. You slowly grew used to the feeling but the feeling was so intense and you had so little energy to withstand it, to take all of him. 

“Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…”

His thrust slowed but his weight kept you pinned there. He grabbed ahold of your chin and you blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. His mouth was parted, his eyes holding a darkness that you thought had gone away, “Jesus, baby.”

As he shifted to his side, all you could muster was to turn away, pulling your lamb close to your chest and allowing your eyes to flutter shut. Rafe nestled against you once more, his hands gripping your hips until your bottom was pressed firmly against him. You felt the warmth of his lips against your hair, and then his sleepy voice whispered, “Sweet dreams, princess.”

Reblog and comment if you enjoyed, would love to know your thoughts!!

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 3 || Art Donaldson x reader

Word Count: 3.5k

(Part 1) (Part 2)

His favorit toy- Part 3:

Art regretted few things in his life. He regretted the number of times he ignored his grandmother's calls or told her he was in a hurry when, in reality, he didn’t have any special plans. It was rude and ungrateful toward a woman who genuinely loved and cared for him, something he couldn’t always confidently say about his parents. He regretted the fact that he lost to Patrick in the Juniors US Open final nearly a year ago, which changed the entire dynamic between them. More than the loss itself, Patrick won and claimed the ultimate prize- Tashi Duncan. Tashi Duncan, the talented, the perfect one. The one who was going to change the world of tennis as they knew it. And Patrick Zweig is fucking her. Art certainly regretted that. The tragic consequence of Patrick and Tashi’s relationship- Art was left alone. He didn’t realize how much of his life revolved around Patrick until their paths diverged. Patrick decided to be Patrick and try his luck as a pro; Art decided to go to college. And he thought that the fact he and Tashi were at the same college would give him a relative advantage, something to hold onto. Something stronger than winning a stupid tennis match. But not for Tashi Duncan. For her, a win is a win, and a loss is a loss, and they always come hand in hand. Tied up with a black ribbon, rubbing salt in his wounds. He hates losing. Being sidelined. He regretted every moment that led to the point where his best friend and the girl the entire universe revolved around, treated him like a charity case. Like he needed to be taken out for a walk before bed whenever Patrick came to visit, so he wouldn’t feel neglected. Fuck it. And fuck them.

Art regretted the day he met you. The time when he came late to the lecture, and you were sitting in the corner, relatively in the back. The first thing that stood out were your glasses, which complemented your delicate face, smiling at him with the shyest smile he’d probably ever encountered. He regretted the feeling that filled him and hasn’t left him since, the desire that you’d never smile at him like that again. He regretted the urge to tell you a joke, to see what you looked like when you laughed. To feel pride because he was the one who made you laugh. He wasn’t the funniest or most charismatic guy in the room—that was always Patrick. But you laughed. And he was right; your real smile, with teeth, was mesmerizing. He regretted how he acted with you. He wanted you to develop some character. Not to be a pushover, certainly not because of him. He loved the power he had and simultaneously hated it. He loved knowing exactly what you were thinking the moment you thought it. Everything seemed to be written on your face, like a superpower he had only with you. He’s a worse person for letting it spread like ivy on a building. So beautiful, but useless. Wrapping around him from all sides until he was choking.

He regretted not treating you the way one should treat a protected flower. To watch from the side and not pick. To watch from the side and not touch. To watch from the side and not ruin. He regretted it because, usually, his impulse was to touch, hurt, and destroy—and for some reason, only with you. Only because you smiled with your teeth and bought him coffee without him asking, because you remembered his order, because you let him use a free smoothie you were supposed to get during your shift, because you tried to teach him statistics in the sexiest way anyone has ever explained averages. Patrick always said that the most delicate and quiet girls are the sexiest, and Art always thought it was bullshit, because what’s sexy about silence? What’s sexy about calmness, and what’s sexy about insecurity? But then you came along. And he regretted that you got the chance to prove him wrong. And wrong again. And again.

And he’ll never tell you, but he woke up early and stared at you sleeping for the last ten minutes, maybe for the last hour, maybe he's been lying next to you for a month already, looking at your face. If you had woken up suddenly, you would have seen the regret smeared across his face like a badge of shame that would never give him peace. He couldn’t believe how many times he had stopped himself when he could have woken up like this, with you breathing deeply, clinging to his arm, completely carefree. The desire to let you keep sleeping turned into a need to touch you, to feel your face under his fingers. If he could, he would tuck you into his back pocket, tie you to a keychain, weave you into a necklace. And his hand gently brushed your cheek, part of him trying to wake you. To poke the bear. The bear that still doesn’t trust him. He knows his place now, he knows that trust is a complicated feeling, and that he hasn’t done anything to earn it. He knows he took and took and took, and even when he clearly saw you had nothing left to give, he knew he could still take more.

"Morning..." Your voice was hoarse from sleep as you blinked in his direction. He needed to get used to this. To learn new things about you. He didn’t think there were more things to learn. He was afraid to know more than necessary—more than what was needed to make the sex good. The sex had been good for a long time. He knew everything he needed for that. He knew your favorite position, knew where to kiss and where to bite, and where his tongue could do the work. He didn’t know that you rubbed your hand on your nose the second you woke up. He didn’t know what your voice sounded like before you had your first coffee. He didn’t know your eyes had a slightly different shade in the morning.

"Hey," his hand, which had been tracing odd shapes on your face, now gently tucked your hair behind your ear. "How do you feel?" he asked, trying to remember the last time he felt such an intense need to be gentle. The thought that you could break in his hands, like an irreplaceable porcelain vase, sent a shiver down his spine. How had he managed to suppress all of this until two days ago? How had he managed to push you into such a distant drawer? To believe that it was just sex. He had even imagined you with other men, sharing experiences with other people. Kissing someone else. Moaning someone else's name. He didn’t think anyone could say his name more beautifully than you did.

"I'm okay. Maybe I had a migraine? I thought I was coming down with something, but I probably exaggerated. I’m sorry you didn’t go home, I feel guilty." Your voice hadn’t fully steadied, but you looked at him with big doe eyes, and all he could do was smile.

"Don’t..." He lowered his head slightly on the awful bed you were sleeping on and looked at you at eye level. His nose brushed against yours in small movements as his hand settled on your waist. "Patrick and Tashi are here too. She has a match tomorrow, so I’ll get to see it." He said, seeing you nod, but something in your body language became tense. "I promised Patrick I’d have breakfast with him, is that okay?" he asked.

"You don’t need my permission to have breakfast with a friend, Art," you said, rolling your eyes, clearly unhappy with the question. In response, he chuckled and gave you a quick kiss on the lips, causing you to pull back almost reflexively. "I haven’t brushed my teeth, Donaldson, and I think we’ve slept for 24 hours."

"Are you implying I smell bad?" Art looked at you with amusement. "You have no idea how bad I smell," you declared, not breaking the playful gaze, as if issuing a new challenge. "So you don’t always smell like peaches? Disappointing. Makes me reconsider everything," he feigned surprise while standing up and quickly getting dressed. "I’ll see you later, Peaches? There's a party tonight, kind of a farewell thing for those still here and not planning to go home. Patrick will come too. It'll be fun," he stated, leaving you no choice as he walked out of the room before you could resist, like he knew you would.

'Wear the sexy dress.' -A- He didn’t wait long to send you that. . . . "So," Patrick looked smug as Art approached the cafeteria. "Anything you want to tell me?" he asked with a half-smile. "No, not exactly." Art sat down next to him with his tray, causing Patrick to roll his eyes. "Where did you sleep last night?" Patrick asked. "You slept at Tashi's," Art responded. "I know where I slept. Where did you sleep?" Patrick was starting to lose patience, not enjoying the fact that there was a whole part of Art's life he didn't know much about. "On a bed," Art said, taking the first sip of his coffee. "You're pretty pleased with yourself, huh? Tell me about the cheerleader, come on," Patrick laughed, unable to ignore the question lingering between them. "Cheerleader?" Art asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She knows nothing about tennis," Patrick stated. "Not everyone knows everything about tennis," Art shot back, looking at his best friend, who was so curious and yet so clueless. Something in Art knew that once Patrick saw you, he wouldn’t be able to let it go. He knew you were exactly what Patrick once wanted, before he met Tashi. And that wasn't why Art was interested in you. That wasn't why Art wanted to make you laugh and orbit around him. It was a nice bonus though. Patrick's curiosity and his need to be a part of everything were always a bonus. "What does she know?" Patrick asked, taking a bite of a sugary roll, managing to get sugar in his hair, which made Art reach out to wipe it off his cheek. Art just bit his lip for a moment and took another sip of coffee.

"You're evil," Patrick declared. He wanted details, and he wanted them now. "Let's just say all your theories about 'good girls' are right," Art said, unable to hold back when he saw Patrick's expression. He was gaping, unable to believe Art had what it took to get a girl like you. "What did she see in you?" Patrick asked. He didn’t mean it to sound mean, but he couldn't understand how someone who was embarrassed to look him in the eye during a tennis match could be with someone like Art. How could she even communicate with him? "I'm a catch," Art rolled his eyes. "A catch of diseases, maybe. I'm serious, Donaldson. Are you in a relationship with her? Should I start saving for the wedding?" he asked. He didn’t want the dry details of how they met. He didn’t want to know the whole history of their relationship. Patrick wanted to know if Art was fucking you. Art knew it, Patrick knew it. He wanted the sign he once gave Art about Tashi. He wanted to know if there was someone new he'd have to fight for Art's attention.

"She's a good friend," Art mumbled. He didn’t know how much he wanted to reveal you to Patrick. How much he wanted you in his best friend's head. Because he knew that if he exaggerated the details, if he told everything he could, Patrick would find a way to ruin it. Not out of malice. Out of pure selfishness. Out of the need to be number one in everyone's priorities. He'd find a way to take this thing Art had, that was just his, and destroy it. "A good friend you sometimes fuck," Patrick said, unable to hide his smile, causing Art to shake his head. "A good friend who's a good friend. She’ll be at the party tonight, so behave like a human," he said, giving Patrick a sharp look. One that didn’t leave room for jokes. "Maybe you should tell Tashi not to call her 'Stats Girl.' I don’t think she liked that," Patrick said in response, raising his hands in fake surrender. "She called her that?" Art looked horrified. "She's not a good cheerleader," Patrick mumbled, looking back at Art. He wasn’t afraid of the little challenge in this staring match. "She left in the middle of your match," he concluded. "Not everyone has to love tennis," Art replied, defensive. "True, but you love tennis," Patrick said, taking the last bite of the roll. Art didn’t wipe the sugar out of his hair this time. He didn’t care anymore. . . . I didn’t wear the dress Art told me to wear. Because, well, it’s Janet’s dress. I wore a different one, simpler but still revealing. Enough cleavage and thighs to define it as revealing, and to define me as someone who feels uncomfortable. At 9, Art still wasn’t in my room, and at 9:15, he texted me which building the party was in and said he was already there. That I should come. So casually. When I arrived, the place was surprisingly packed with people, considering most of the students were supposed to have already gone home. Someone passed by and burped, making me cringe and step away, trying to find Art among the crowd.

‘Where are you?’ –(Y/N)–

A few minutes passed, and he didn’t answer, so I found a corner free of people making out and stood close to the wall, scanning the room. “He’s with Tashi,” the half-familiar voice of one of Art’s friends sounded beside me. “Excuse me?” I mumbled, trying not to stare at the guy leaning against the wall, almost mirroring my movement. “He’s outside, talking to Tashi about her match tomorrow. You know, tennis,” he answered, and for once, I actually looked at him. His dark curls were the antithesis of Art Donaldson’s, but the smug smile, the one that knew secrets and wasn’t ready to share them with me, was almost identical. “Okay?” It was more of a question than an answer. I didn’t understand why he was telling me this. I didn’t understand the point of burdening me with this information.

“I asked him why we didn’t pick you up before the party, so you’d come with us too,” he spoke as if he were telling a bedtime story to a three-year-old, as if there was a moral to every sentence that came out of his mouth. As if I needed to listen and decode metaphors now, learning life anew from someone whose last name I didn’t even know. “Did he have an interesting answer?” I asked, not taking my eyes off him. “He said you two arranged to meet here,” Patrick replied. “Well, Pete,” we both knew I remembered his name, that I was trying to maintain some semblance of power even though the balance was currently against me, “he didn’t lie, if that’s what’s bothering you,” I rolled my eyes. And no, Art hadn’t said he’d pick me up, and we’d go to the party together, but I hadn’t even wanted to come. I’d have preferred to be in my dorm right now, working on my assignment or reading a book. I would have preferred not to see familiar but foreign faces, not to watch people making out in front of everyone and drinking themselves senseless.

“It’s Patrick,” he corrected me despite everything, “are you dating him?” he asked, his gaze fixed on my profile because I had stopped looking at him, trying to focus on everything around me instead. And I couldn’t say it was dating, because yesterday was the first time he suddenly decided I was important enough to call me 'girlfriend.' Important enough to treat me like a person and not like something that belonged to him, something he bought without spending much. “Why do you ask?” I answered with a question, because that was the only answer I had to offer. “Want something to drink?” he chuckled. Who chuckles these days? Why does he sound exactly like Art?! “No, I need to get up early tomorrow,” I replied. “One glass?” he insisted, closer to my ear now because the music was loud. “Okay,” I shrugged, not fully understanding the nature of this interaction or where Art was and why he told me to come to this stupid party if he had no intention of even saying hello.

Patrick came back with two red cups and handed me one. He tried to talk to me, but all I could do was stare at the entrance until Art walked in, deeply engaged in conversation with Tashi, not even bothering to look up to search for me. “I need to get up early tomorrow,” I mumbled suddenly, cutting Patrick off in the middle of explaining something about his tour and why he wasn’t in college because he decided to go pro. “It was nice talking to you,” I smiled the most genuine smile I could muster at that moment and peeled myself off the wall.

“He’ll always do this, you know that, right?” Patrick suddenly said. And there was a knowing look in his eyes and a serious expression, as much as he could muster. “Excuse me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “He’ll always choose Tashi,” Patrick declared. “Isn’t she your girlfriend or something?” I asked, feeling my jaw tighten. I didn’t have to be nice to this guy. He was Art’s friend, not mine. Aside from offering me a drink, he hadn’t tried to be nice to me. In fact, in every opportunity he had over the last two days, he had been rude. “It was nice meeting you, cheerleader,” he concluded and walked toward Art, as if leaving me behind.

I felt the tightness taking over me. I took advantage of the fact that Art was no longer near the door to slip out of the party, allowing myself to let the tears fall on the way. “Hey, hey, Peaches. Wait a sec,” his voice sounded from afar, and I knew from the tone that he was panicking, that he realized too late what the situation was. “Are you getting off on humiliating me?” I asked, turning to face him. “I mean, what the hell did I ever do to you? What did I do besides love you that makes you treat me like this?!” My voice was mixed with sobs I was ashamed of. They broadcast weakness more than anything else. Art stood there, slightly open-mouthed. His eyes were glazed over and red from alcohol. “I, I was just talking to friends—” he started. “Why did you ask me to come to this party?” I asked, sniffling a little. “Because I wanted to spend some time with you, show you off,” he got closer to me, his hands finding their way to my cheeks, as if that were their natural place while his forehead pressed against mine, not taking his eyes off my face. “Yeah? How’s that going so far? Because in the hour I’ve been here, you didn’t even think it necessary to respond to my text.” I gently moved his hands off me and took a step back.

“I—” “You what? You’re going to keep trying to convince me I’m important? That you love me? That you talk about me with your grandma, and then treat me like I’m some old shirt you bought at a second-hand store and will throw away in two days?” I asked. “What the hell do you want from me, Art? Why won’t you just let me move on?” It was desperate. “Because I can’t. The thought of you moving on scares me,” he mumbled to himself. “It’s not my fault she doesn’t love you,” I said, wiping my tears. “You don’t have to make me feel like she makes you feel.” I looked at him, almost pleading. “You’re exaggera—” “I wore a nice dress. I came to a party I didn’t want to come to. I stood in a corner for an hour with your rude friend. While you were outside with someone you care about more than me, someone whose company matters more to you than mine. And that’s totally fine. Just let me go already,” I said firmly. . . . And as he watched you walk away, he realized exactly what he had lost. And he doesn’t know if it’s love, but he felt the pain in his bones. And if there’s one thing Art Donaldson is sure of, it’s that you deserve better.

Hi there, how are we all doing? This part was more chill on the smut stuff (sorry) but had more Patrick in it, and we got more of Art's pov. Tell me what you guys think. I still don't know if it's the end of the story. I think it might be. Maybe it's time to move on to other ideas and take some requests. I don't know yet. Feel like it's the end for these two. Anyway, tell me what you think. Hearing from you guys is always the best part <3

taglist: @lalalandofive @wild-rose-35 @theynothem @angelism13

[firemenenthusiast]

—“till death do us apart”

farleigh start x fem! reader

summary: sometimes even fate can be altered

warnings: angst. read at your own risk. plot twist. grammar of a non native english speaker

a/n: am i in my angst era ? also this is for mon cheri @farleighlover 😋 revenge for writing ‘numbingly obsessed’. this fic idea was like a bazooka shooting into my face i had to write it down

“What if we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine. Nothing could keep us apart. You'd be the one I was meant to find”

the way the sun was shining brightly outside his window, soft amber glare richoceting off the balcony of his apartment told him that the even the universe was looking down upon them, blessing the entire day.-

it was cloudy, the sky hanging puffs of fluffy white, but not the type of cloudy that makes everyone moody, no. it was just nice, he thought, as he adjusted the gleaming links on his cuffs, black ribboned tux sitting perfectly on his broad shoulders. cocking his head slightly to the side, his tight dark brown curls bouncing out of his face making him shudder in anticipation. or was it nerves ? he couldnt really tell, too many staggering emotions filling into his head, fighting each other for a place behind those eyes. taking a last deep breath, he adjusted himself in the mirror before turning towards the door, pair of leather shoes carrying him away.

it’s been five years since your class graduated from oxford, or should you call it your alma mater now. it was probably the greatest day ever, being finally done with excruciatingly painful days of all nighters, pushing through everything else just to chase after submission dates. as much as you’re glad that it’s all over, the collection of memories with people there wrapping you like a fuzzy blanket. the only thing making oxford the best phase of your life is the people there. your friends, your dormmates, your classmates, felix, oliver, farleigh.

and farleigh.

everything was better because you got farleigh. he was always there for you, supporting you, making you feel like the luckiest person in the world that out of all the girls in oxford that he could easily get with, he chose you. and you chose him. i mean, it wouldn’t really be anything between the two of you if you didn’t give him a chance. as much as you liked him before the start of your relationship, you weren’t gonna let him in that easily. just thinking about how much you made him suffer to win you over made you let out a soft chuckle. you’d throw the bouquet of fresh flowers he’d left on your designated seat in class immediately after seeing them and god, was that humiliating for him. one thing farleigh absolutely couldn’t stand was being humiliated, or rejected. but he pushed through, he refused to give up because he liked you so much. he’s willing to fight through everything if it meant that you’d just give him a chance. he suprised himself with how much he was doing just to make you accept him, cuz he swore he would never be down so bad just for a girl. but for you, all that pride and need to maintain his reputation just got thrown out the window.

you and farleigh, it was like the two of you were made for each other, maybe it was your fault for not seeing that sooner but your relationship with him was everything to you after you gave in and give him a chance. it was like red blood, pumping oxygen to every part of your existence, he was like air to you. farleigh made you happy, made you feel all giddy whenever he’d wait outside of your class for you to finish so the two of you could grab lunch together, he was your yellow, your rock. at times you could feel your heart grow even fonder of him, slowly falling head over heels. his bright pearly smile fuelled your entire being, you catch yourself secretly grinning whenever you’d think of him. he was very charming, though sometimes so annoying and bratty. you didn’t care, if anything he was your annoying brat. whenever the two of you would spend the whole day wrapped in each other’s arms, you’d let out the biggest sigh of contentment after getting back to your dorm. farleigh protected you, shielding you from anything that was gonna hurt you, from physical dangers to the emotional ones when you’d struggle with your mental health. he knew everything about you, he knew the tricks and tweaks of winning over your heart. he was your guardian angel.

you’d also noticed how beautiful of a day it was outside, and you were thanking the universe for granting the both of you a chance for this day to be as beautiful as it could be. it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and it was exactly like how you’d imagine and daydreamed about it to be since you were a little girl. from the gorgeous white gown draped down your figure to the personally hand arranged bouquet of flower that you were gonna carry down the aisle. it was perfect, and so is the fact that you were gonna marry the love of your life. you couldn’t be more excited, scared and nervous. everyone had told you that it’s normal to be nervous, it’s probably the biggest moment in your life and you couldn’t risk it being even slightly ruined. everything had to be perfect, and they actually were. getting ready in the dressing room, you paced around to get your mind off things that you were overthinking about. what if you stumbled and ripped your gown ? what if you puked in the middle of the walk because you were too nervous ? in that moment you just wanted to tell your bridesmaid to go get your fiancé. you knew he could calm you down easily, he always did. little did you know that he was also taking deep breaths to cool himself down in another room.

the sleek black tux hugging farleigh nicely around his torso and his bust. the sleeves, perfectly tailored and not a single inch longer than it should be. he looked dashing, handsome even. but when is it that he doesn’t? stepping onto the venue, his chin tilted upwards, feasting his eyes upon the beautifully decorated hall. a small smile crept itself across his lips. it was just like how you always told him how you would like the place to look like when you get married. farleigh had always kept a mental note on the details, from the choice of flowers standing tall along the aisle, to the soft hue of innocent yellow dimly lighting up the whole place. you always had a vision when it comes to your wedding day, and he would listen to you talk about it, nodding away and even adding his own points on how he wanted his wedding to be. he had immaculate taste too, of course. chirping in to give you suggestions after suggestions just to make sure the vision of his and your wedding day was perfect. he didn’t really care, the only vivid thing he could imagine was the image of you standing in front of him, looking as pretty as always, smiling up at him as he vowed to take you as his lawfully wedded wife. it was innocent how the two of you would dream about this day.

guests were starting to fill up the venue, settling themselves down on their designated seats as few of them were seen chatting up with each other, smiles decorating their faces. both your families were moving around efficiently, making sure that everything was in order for the ceremony to move smoothly, while you waited in the dressing room, carefully adjusting and making sure that your make up and hair were put together flawlessly. “you nervous?” you heard venetia speak, as you turn your head towards her, smiling. your eyes trailed along the beautifully sewn hem of your gown. “of course i am, i would be lying if i said im not” letting out a soft sigh, your eyes glanced towards her. “how’s farleigh ?” you asked her, before she took both your hands in hers, firmly grabbing onto the palms as she cocked her head to the side, beaming at you. “he’ll be alright” she responded, shortly. “you ready ?” to which you nodded, offering her a quick smile.

the walk from the dressing room to the hall felt like forever, as steps after steps burned memories into your head, everything felt so surreal yet too real at the same time. as you carefully line your walk in the heels with the tail of your gown making it a sport, you began to notice familiar faces sitting at the back row, already beaming at you with their hands cupped against their chests. you offered them a warm smile, desperately using it to hide the all new emotions you were currently feeling. you were now already standing at the end of the aisle, in the middle of everyone, as all eyes were set on you. you tried your best to flash the prettiest smile, like you had practiced for only like since forever. farleigh’s eyes immediately set themselves on you, his eyebrows dropped as his dark orbs began to gloss, a small breath got caught in his throat as it seemed like he had forgotten how to breathe. he was getting lightheaded with how similar you looked with the vision he had of you being his bride. just when he thought you couldn’t get anymore beautiful, you began to walk down with the white veil over your head, fresh flowers neatly grasped in your hands. you looked pure, breathtakingly beautiful in white. it was almost like the angels had lent you their beauty for that exact moment, for you to wear as you slowly step towards the altar.

your eyes met farleigh’s, a knowing look being exchanged between the two of you. you almost laughed at how touched he looked, he would be caught dead first before this to even show that he had deep emotions for someone but for you, he didn’t care. anything for you. all the nervousness suddenly disappeared as you carefully step onto the elevated platform at the end of your slow walk, joining your fiancé before facing each other, huge smile plastered across your faces. all of that ruckus and chaos before your wedding day has led to this moment, as you take it all in that it was finally happening.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the love of these two as they come together in marriage.” the officiant started right as the two of you were ready. after exchanging rings, he started his vows first, which almost made you cry but happiness flooded through the feeling.

“…I promise to cherish you always, to honor and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us.” as you finish your vow, you could feel your feet starting to perform little jumps of excitement. turning your head towards the officiant, he could see that you were already getting impatient. smiling to himself, he looked over to the crowd before saying the magic words

“By the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife !” you almost squeak before leaning over to kiss your now husband, gently pressing your lips over his soft ones, your cold fingers cupping his cheeks as a roar of applause filled the hall. the crowd stood up to cheer, bright smiles complimenting the decorations in the hall.

it was exactly like you imagined, except this time it wasn’t farleigh that you were kissing.

as farleigh clapped for the both of you from his seat, he couldn’t help the proud smile pushing itself to form on his lips, as his eyes begin to water. he immediately reached up to wipe them off quickly, yet obvious tint of red could still be seen if one were to examine his face closely. but he wasn’t worried of that happening, because he wasn’t the main subject of today’s ceremony, no. he was just happy to be here, cheering for you and your husband. he would be lying if he didn’t think about how it would be if it was him instead on the altar, kissing you away from all the doubts that he had put you through over the last few years of your relationship. he knew that you and him, the two of you were supposed to be endgame. it was supposed to be him, slipping the ring onto your finger, before kissing over them. he knew all that, yet nothing could win over a fight with his own issues, nothing could beat his own mind in a game called love. he wanted to give up on love long ago but you showed him the bright end of the tunnel, and he will always be grateful for that. for now, he would have to make peace with the fact that you’re no longer his, and he no longer has a place in your heart. it’s not like he doesn’t want all of this, he really does. hell, he had thought about this exact day countless times when you were his, just that he imagined it to be him who will get to say his vows on how he was gonna love you till death do the both of you apart. everything else was pretty much just how he had imagined it to be, especially how beautiful you looked.

the two of you had promised that the relationship had to end with marriage, and that after graduation nothing was gonna change. but promises are meant to broken aren’t they ? he changed, a lot. you did too. farleigh struggled with himself after graduation, with the fact that he didn’t have anything left in the uk, him being done with oxford left him no reason to keep staying with the cattons. he didn’t want to leave, he begged for sir james to keep letting him stay, saying that he would do anything with the best he had, building a career over the estates in saltburn, anything. anything just for him to able to stay here, with you. he was afraid that if he left, everything will be different and he’d lose you. so he worked, really hard. struggling to make his own money to put them into his own little apartment. little did he know, he lost himself in the process, along with what he had with you. warm embraces and chuckles after laughters turned into hurtful arguments. your usual warm spot on his bed turned cold, as your dent on his mattress slowly disappeared. it’s not like you didn’t fight for him, you truly did. but you realised that what the two of you had, was only nice while it lasted. and you struggled to make peace with that, but not as much as he was. you were everything to him, and losing you just meant losing himself.

when you told him that you were getting married, he looked really happy, as he pulled you in a tight hug. it felt safe, and you could feel that he was genuinely happy for you. you’re glad that after all, you were still able to be close with him, only now as friends. he was happy to receive the wedding invitation, having set it up on his empty kitchen table so he wouldn’t miss it for the world. he still loved you, so much as he wouldn’t want to miss watching you on your happiest day, even if it wasn’t because of him. even if it wasn’t with him. seeing you happy was enough for him. knowing that you were happy, he forced himself to accept that fate couldn’t be rewritten. how he wished it is, because then he would get to write your name in his stars again and again, and again. as many times as he could as long as in the end, you’d end up in his arms.

as the getaway car began to roll its wheels, he looked at you flashing the prettiest smile ever, waving at him. he returned the smile, masking in the reasoned melancholy down his chest. the car started to drive away slowly before his smile slowly pressed itself away against his lips. it has now turned to a smile knowing that he once had you, and he would forever cherish that. the crowd began to dissipate, some gradually walking away to leave, some getting back inside to continue their chats, some even talking about how gorgeous of a wedding it was, and that they were happy for you and your husband. farleigh stepped down the stairs to a gravely ground, his leather shoes digging into the coarse pebbles as he leaned back onto the stone post at the end of the stairs, his hand reaching into the pocket of his slacks. noticing someone approaching his spot, he glanced to the person to see felix, his hands tucked into his pockets before he reached out, asking for a stick from farleigh. he lit the cigarette in his fingers before reaching over, cupping his hand over the flame to lit felix’s.

puffing his first drag, farleigh chuckled at felix at the situation. “how you holding up ?” he heard felix ask, his light brown hair flipping over as the soft wind grazed their skin. farleigh tilted his head down, quietly playing with the pebbles with the tip of his shoes with a burning cigarette dancing between his fingers. “i’m gonna be okay” nodding, he assured felix. “that’s good” he chirped back, he knew how bad farleigh was hurting, but he also knew that his cousin would be caught dead first before showing deep emotions to anyone. felix were also sure that the two of you were really gonna end up together. it was only right to him. he wasn’t sure about what happened, but he could feel how bad the pain was violently ripping farleigh apart. he could only pray that it gets easier, as he didn’t want to lose him too.

“i know you loved her mate” felix started

“i still do” farleigh responded, his head hanging low

“-just differently now”

shaking the burned bits of the cigarette from his fingers, ashes falling down onto the ground as they both sat in silence, quietly enjoying the gentle breeze of the wind, blowing away all of farleigh’s hope for you.

taglist: @farleighlover @r4vn @love-me-pls @radioloom @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @luckystrikerealness @juniperhasfallen @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda

[leclerced]

Lando givesaq his girl a plush toy on one of their first dates. He wins it for her or just buys it from a local shop with souvenirs and she’s absolutely obsessed with the little toy. She has it in her bed every night and cares for it as if it’s was definitely more valuable than it is in the eyes of other people. After some time of dating and going back and forth they decide to move in tighter so she ofc takes the plushie with her and when Lando sees it he’s like “why did you keep it? It’s years old and not even pretty” but she tells him that she loves it and has loved it since he gave it to her. When he was away she’d hug the toy and think about him, maybe even she stole his perfume one time and sprayed the toy so it would also smell like him. And suddenly Lando gets emotional because it was such a small thing and it meant the world to her. He asks if she kept anything else and she laughs and tells him that she has everything that he gave her throughout the relationship. Every note, every box, every ribbon even. She shows it to him and tells him from where and when the item came from

lowkey thats so me tbh i have adhd real bad and will keep things for years. i have a pencil with a brain eraser on it that i got nearly ten years ago. ive never sharpened the pencil or used the eraser. its purely for the vibes. a guy gave me a circuit board that he made for a car and i kept it for like 4 years.

they go to a local carnival and he wins it for her !! he completely forgets about it because it’s just a teddy bear from their first date, and he knocks it out of her hand and it falls in a puddle so he tells her she can toss it. then they’re moving in, she’s doing all the decorating while he unboxes the big things and arranges furniture. he goes to their bedroom while she’s unpacking those boxes and sees it on their bed and asks, “okay i hope this isn’t weird but does your childhood stuffed animal have to stay on the bed we have sex in?? it kinda creeps me out.”

she wants to cry because he doesn’t remember and he thinks its creepy. he sees how sad she looks and starts apologizing but she explains that it’s not from her childhood it’s from their first date and he suddenly remembers winning it. and suddenly hes like oh thats so cute oh my god!!!! he falls more in love with her then asks why she kept it bc if he remembers correctly he dropped it in a puddle of mud and told her she could toss it bc its just cheap trash. she tells him she hand washed it as soon as he left and he asks why bc it was their first date? she’s kinda embarrassed but she’s like “i’m just sentimental i guess? i keep everything.” and he’s suddenly worried he’s moved in with a hoarder so he asks what she means by that.

she disappears into their new closet and comes out with a wooden jewelry box, he’d seen it before but never looked inside. she sits on the bed and pats the spot next to her so he takes it and she places the box between them. she starts with the lowest drawers, and it’s an assortment of polaroids they’d taken. he has a few himself, tucked in his wallet and in the visors in his car. the secret few of her in lingerie or naked, or his cock in her, hidden safely away inside his suitcase inside a little locked box. those are his keepsakes. but she has every other one they took, tucked away inside this ordinary jewelry box. the first drawer is completely pg13, but the one next to it… he picks through and takes a few of them himself to take with him when he leaves again. and then the ones above that are full of slips of paper, sticky notes, cards from floral deliveries, any kind of love note he ever gave her is organized inside with dates written on the back in her own handwriting so she’ll have an easy way to keep them organized.

in the drawers above that, every random keychain he’s bought her from each city he’s been to is stored. he noticed she always used the newest ones and assumed she trashed the older ones. above that is full of rings, and then bracelets. the top compartment, he expects necklaces, but it contains cards from every birthday, anniversary, christmas, love letters, post cards from the cities he’s visiting. anything that didn’t fit in the drawers below is squeezed into the upper compartment. she tells him about each one and how she looks through it when he’s been gone for awhile, how she rereads the letters he sent her, reads all the love notes he’d hide around her home. how she’d search for hours on end when she had nothing else to do, hoping to find more, which reminds him to start doing it in their new home.

he’s so surprised by it bc he saved a few things, but she saved every little reminder of his love that he’d ever given her. then she’s getting up and getting another jewelry box and tells him it only contains jewelry because he buys her so much she had to get another, and then she’s telling him which ones are her favorites and he’s noticing patterns in the styles she likes the most, which gems and cuts. he asks her about the clothes he buys her and she admits she didn’t keep all of them, just his or her favorite items, because she didn’t have a lot of space in her old apartment but now that they have a walk in closet, she’ll be keeping just about anything he gifts her, so he better think wisely unless he wants to see her wearing a hideous sweater he jokingly bought he that she loves simply because it’s from him.

instead of being scared she’s a hoarder, he spends hours going through each one trying to guess the year and month he gifted it to her, she’s finding the box of snow globes he buys at souvenir shops, and he’s guessing on those too. he loves how much every gift he gives her matters to her, whether it’s a post it note hidden in the cutlery drawer that just says i love you or a matching set of diamond earrings and necklace.

[raivenreine]

Blond and black, good and evil

Ciri, Avallac’h, and Eredin: a tangled web of who liked whom and whose destiny belonged to whom.

Let’s unpack this drama step by step. What follows is a rough translation of my short essay in Russian, which wouldn’t have been possible without the tireless efforts of my dear friend Livingonmyown. Her mastery of Polish and saintly patience helped us dive into the Aen Elle chapters together, meticulously comparing the original text to the Russian translation. And let me tell you, the Russian version took more creative liberties than an amateur bard after a few pints.

In this version, I’ll focus on the English translation, which, surprisingly, seems to have done a little less butchering than its Russian counterpart. Progress!

Let’s kick things off from the beginning. Avallac’h genuinely believed he was Ciri’s destiny—just like Geralt once did. Except Ava seemed to think he was even destinier. (Yes, that’s totally a word now.) How else can we explain his borderline giddy reaction, practically leaping for joy, when he said this?

No one could ever convince me that our dear sage meant anyone other than his all-knowing, ever-scheming self.

Could he have meant Auberon? Not a chance. Ava worked far too hard to bring Ciri to the world of the Aen Elle for it to be about anyone else. He even moonlighted as a tour guide for dh’oine visitors, proudly leading them to the Tower of the Swallow. And why? So some Buyvid fellow could scribble together a manual for Ciri, just so she’d read about the Tower and march straight to it.

And what was supposed to happen next? Naturally, the legendary elven guide Avallac’h would materialize before her eyes like some glowing vision from destiny itself.

But alas, Ciri didn’t even remember Ava’s name from the manual. Ouch. Ava must have been crushed—so crushed, in fact, that he vanished for a full eight days after finally meeting her. A dramatic exit, if ever there was one.

Another important thing that we know about Ava is that he really saw the future.

Avallac’h was right—Ciri escaped the Aen Elle and found her way back to Geralt. Not for long, mind you, but still, a win’s a win. Interestingly, it seems Ava knew from the very start that Ciri would bolt. Which, if you think about it, means he probably also knew his grand plan with Auberon was doomed from the get-go. But hey, I’m getting ahead of myself.

After Lara’s death, Ava had plenty of time to prepare for Ciri’s arrival. Decades, really. He could have planned every tiny detail down to the last ceremonial ribbon. The Aen Elle could have been running dress rehearsals weekly: parades, songs, inspirational speeches—you name it. Picture the scene: the entire Aen Elle court, decked out and joyous, gathering to welcome the Elder Blood’s triumphant return. And at the center of it all, Ava emerges—an elf from the legends, flute in hand, practically radiating destiny itself.

Except... reality had other plans. Ava did emerge, yes, but he forgot to introduce himself. And then, in peak Ava fashion, he vanished for eight entire days. Way to make an impression.

(Admiration, mind you ;)

That was a bizarre move on Ava's part. If he’d been planning to dazzle Ciri with his legendary charm and make a great first impression, well... epic fail. Disappearing for eight days? Lame, Ava. Super lame.

So, what was he doing during all that time? Plotting? Pouting? Perfecting his flute skills? Who knows. But don’t worry, I’ll try to dig into that mystery a bit later. For now, let’s keep plowing through the text and unraveling this saga.

Ava isn’t in any rush. Why would he be? He’s the very picture of elven patience. But not everyone shares his laid-back attitude. Enter Eredin, who clearly can’t wait.

Now, let me remind you: after eight whole days in the Aen Elle world, Ciri still has no clue what these elves actually want from her.

They meet Eredin on their way to Tir na lia.

The second impatient elf is waiting back at the palace, but we’ll get to him in just a moment.

Now, onto my favorite part: the infamous flower scene—the very cornerstone of the Ciredin ship. Let’s dive back into it and take a closer look, shall we? Specifically, let’s focus on Ciri’s body language. Because, as we all know, our bodies have a way of betraying our emotions. Fear, excitement, arousal—whatever it is, the signs come fast. Blushing, sweating, turning pale—it’s all there, happening in a split second.

So, as we re-read this passage, pay close attention to the timing of her reactions. It’s all in the details. Now, here’s the scene:

Now, close your eyes and imagine you’re Ciri. Suppose you fancy Eredin. He picks up a flower and hands it to you. Maybe your fingers brush—just for a moment—you feel the warmth of his hand, maybe even his breath. And if you do like him, this is the moment when you’d blush. It’s instinctive. You’d probably lift the flower to your face—not just to smell it but also to hide how flustered you are. Classic move, right?

Then Eredin leaves, and you turn to Avallac’h with the question: “Is it him? Is Eredin supposed to be the father of my child?” And Ava, in his ever-dramatic wisdom, says, “Nope.” If you were into Eredin, you’d probably feel disappointment. Frustration, even. Totally normal human reactions. At least, that’s how I imagine it.

But now, let’s revisit the actual text. When Eredin gives Ciri the flower, there’s no mention of her immediate reaction. None. Zilch. Nada. Instead, her feelings show up after Eredin leaves. Specifically, she feels a surge of excitement—not when she’s holding the flower, not when Eredin is standing right there, but when Ava tells her she’s not going to sleep with Eredin.

So, what’s sparking Ciri’s excitement and fascination? The answer lies a few passages earlier, when Eredin makes a certain comment about Ciri’s eyes.

Ciri’s no fool. By now, she must have pieced together that Avallac’h was very close to Lara. Because honestly, who else besides a parent or a lover would need to gaze that deeply into someone’s eyes?

So, now Ciri knows that Ava wasn’t just some casual acquaintance of Lara’s—he was someone truly significant. And definitely not a brother—because let’s be real, why would he blush then?

When Ava tells her that Eredin isn’t their lucky candidate, what’s Ciri supposed to think? 😉 The dots are connecting themselves.

After Eredin leaves, Ciri finally works up the courage to ask the burning question: who’s meant to be the father of her child? All eyes on Ava now.

Notice how Avallac’h holds back, waiting to hear Ciri’s answer before revealing who’s supposed to be the father of her child. And why is that?

I’ll tell you why: it’s fear. Plain and simple.

Picture the situation: Ava’s about to drop the bomb that the father will be Auberon—their leader, the crème de la crème, the most elite of the elite, the noblest of the noble. This should be his shining moment, a perfect setup for an epic sales pitch. So why the hesitation? Why the silence? It’s almost as if... he can’t bring himself to say it.

The Fox knows exactly who Ciri is destined for—or at least, he thinks he does. Otherwise, why would he flaunt his tail so confidently in front of Geralt? But this all-knowing sage is suddenly terrified. Why? Because he’s been here before. Cast aside in favor of a human, mocked behind his back by the whole of Tir na Lia. Oh, they don’t do it openly—no one dares, or Ava might jinx them—but the laughter lingers in whispers.

And now, after all these years, history threatens to repeat itself. Another dh’oine enters the picture, and this time, she’s destined for him. What a scandal. If a child is born, Ava becomes the father of a half-blood. The mockery will only intensify: first Lara "took the wrong path," and now Avallac’h, an elite Aen Saevherne, follows in her footsteps.

The fragile ego of the Fox can’t handle such a trial. So, he does the only thing he can think of: pass the responsibility to someone "safe." Enter Auberon, an elf of advanced age and familial ties, who’s unlikely to get... overly interested. It’s a classic case of “grandpa’s old, he doesn’t care.”

As for those eight days of absence? Ava was stalling, wrestling with himself over who would ultimately carry the burden. In the end, it was Auberon who got the short straw. Ava had to choose someone to take the heat—and it wasn’t going to be him.

Now, let’s move to the palace scene and the second impatient elf who couldn’t wait to meet Cirilla.

So, Auberon couldn’t wait either. Not because he had any unsavory intentions toward Ciri, of course, but... well, probably out of a mix of family feelings and sheer curiosity.

As for Avallac’h, he didn’t seem to care one bit that Ciri showed up before Auberon looking tired and dirty. Why? Maybe he figured it wouldn’t make a difference. Or perhaps he just thought Ciri was attractive enough to pull it off regardless. Who knows? Ava’s mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t care less about Auberon’s impatience or Eredin’s schemes to claim the Spiral.

So, what was Ava thinking? Likely this: how to outwit Destiny and save his own precious reputation. That’s my theory, at least—I could be wrong. But knowing Ava, it fits.

And then, of course, we all remember what happened next.

I mean, let’s be real—Ciri probably wouldn’t have thrown herself at a guy she found completely repulsive. What if he’d said yes? Then what? “Oh, sorry, Ava, that was just my emotionally frazzled state talking?” Awkward. But that’s beside the point. Ava, of course, got all grumpy about it, like, “What if I sleep with you and forget about Lara? Boo-hoo, sob-sob.”

But maybe it wasn’t just about Lara. He knew exactly who was meant for whom and who was supposed to do what with whom. And yet, he still lost his cool. She’d offered him exactly what he’d been running away from—just handed it to him, no strings, no overthinking. Bullseye. Right on the sore spot.

It wasn’t just about Lara. It was about someone chickening out. After all these years! Ignoring his own prophetic gift, no less. Knowing full well that his grand plan with Auberon was utter trash.

Crashed and burned, yep. Just like Geralt’s grand plan once upon a time—when he tried to weasel out of his destiny and hand Ciri off to someone else. Spoiler alert: it didn’t end well for him. Or for Ava, for that matter. Destiny, as it turns out, has a twisted sense of humor.

[redfurrycat]

🤠🍑👨🐓Daddy Klnk Fic Recs🐓👨🍑🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Acetonitril, Coconutcordiale, Danslasherrr, Davidbyrne, Dracculaura, Earthangel_44, Emseebeans, Ginnydear, Grimjobs, Honestlydarkprincess, Lightwoodsisabelle, Lovelybattle, Mackwinnon, Miiichaaan, Nixie_DeAngel, Perishablealex, Pizzz_10, Reanimated, Renai_chan, SaintClaire, Sam_Haine, Seresins, Shadowdancing, SissySpargo, Theinsouciantknitter, WaffleToaster, Welcome_to_the_Badlands, WhisperingNights, Xo_em.

I'm a babygirl in a daddy's world > Sugar Daddy

If You Cling Too Tightly Verse by Earthangel_44 {E}

Hold on loosely

There is nothing Jake "Hangman" Seresin can't handle after he shot down the plane to save the day except for maybe one certain pilot with a taste for Hawaiian shirts.

You Might Lose Control

Three months later.

Have a Drink On Me Verse by Welcome_to_the_Badlands {E}

Have a Drink On Me

“Hey,” Mickey slurred slightly. They all look at him, and Reuben switches out his Malibu Sunset for water. “Someone should do body shots,” he said, very unsubtly glancing at Jake.

Hotter Than Hell

Or, the one with the heatwave and the popsicles.

Take My Hand and Hold On Forever by Earthangel_44 {E}

It happens again like clockwork. Every new achievement or award that Jake gets pinned to his chest. Every time he went to Afghanistan or flew with the F-151, Jake calls Bradley. Every COMM he receives or shiny new ribbon that is placed on his chest, Jake called Bradley. Or: Jake gets a lot of awards and Bradley rewards him for his good flying.

Poems About Lovers by xo_em {E}

He’s waiting for his favorite sounds of every day: the click and scrape of the front door opening then closing, a few heavy footsteps, the abrupt thud of a bag hitting the hardwood floor. Two boots following. Bradley.

Daddy Rooster Series by Renai_chan {E}

I Want To Hear You Say It Again by perishablealex {E}

The first time Jake calls Bradley daddy.

can you see me glowing by dracculaura {E}

“You know, you’re awfully moody tonight,” Jake taunts as he looks up into Bradley’s eyes. “Think you’d be in a better mood after cheating — I mean, winning earlier.” “Shut,” Bradley says, voice dipping low and husky, as he moves in even closer to Jake, hands now on the wall on either side of Jake’s face, “your fucking mouth.” “Make me.” (or, jake is a brat who craves bradley's attention)

so baby lock that door by dracculaura {E}

Maybe if Bob wasn’t so exhausted, he’d have remembered that Hangman wasn’t at the bar and it was very likely that he’d be in their room. Maybe if he hadn’t had his music up so loud, he would’ve heard the moaning, the slapping, the banging of a headboard hitting a wall. But he is exhausted, does have his music up too loud. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even notice them until the door is closed behind him and his music is paused, and when he does, he stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Because Hangman is getting absolutely fucking railed by Rooster.

Sub Bradley by lovelybattle {E}

Slow

Bradley knelt in front of him, eyes lidded and mouth parted as he stared at where Jake’s fingers moved. His hands were on his thighs, cock poking up prettily, leaking and hard like it has been for the last twenty minutes. He let out a small whimper, blinking slowly, “daddy…”

Patience

Jake hummed, shifting his hips back just enough for his ass to rub against Bradley’s hard dick, earning himself a whimper as he pulled away again and Bradley tried to chase him with his hips. “Ah,” Jake said, laying his hand flat over Bradley’s chest, the other man immediately falling still against the bed sheets again. “Good boy.”

Give it to me daddy by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley survives the mission only to find one way to thank his savior.

touch you like I do by ginnydear {E}

Dress up, Princess by miiichaaan {E}

Jake looked at himself in their bathroom mirror, at the way the pink lace of the lingerie set he’d ordered some weeks ago, hugged his pecks, his ass, his cock so perfectly. Fascinated he ran a hand over his torso, feeling the texture, following it down to his crotch, palming himself through the fabric. He quietly smiled to himself when he thought about Bradley.

Love me one time, could not speak by miiichaaan {E}

“Jake,” Bradley breathed and moved again, ghosting his lips along the line of his ear, pushing his dick just this much deeper inside in return, “Say it again.”

As You Need Me To by perishablealex {E}

It begins with three words. No, not I love you. Who's your daddy?

Unwrap Me by Welcome_to_the_Badlands {E}

“Candy cane? Really,” he asked, chuckling. Jake cracked a smile “You know I love a good theme,” he said, winking.

I'll Treat You Sweet by Sam_Haine {E}

He imagines himself in the woman's position, on his knees in some dirty back alley, mouth wide open and taking someone's fat cock down his throat. No. He alters the scenario so that it's Rooster he's on his knees for.

Jealous Bone by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley gets jealous over an old squad member of Jake’s.

Be Good For Me by WhisperingNights {E}

If Rooster didn’t want him. Fine. He’d show Rooster what he could have had. The banging sounded again “I’m coming, damn!” Jake slung the door open glaring at Javy. Javy’s mouth was hanging open as he took Jake in. “How the hell did you get in those?” Jake grinned at Javy’s statement. Good. He’d put a lot of work into this.

Take it to the limit one more time by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley takes care of Jake for the first time.

But Only If It's With You by theinsouciantknitter {E}

The best way to celebrate surviving the unsurvivable? Sex on a bar pool table, of course.

The Only Hope for Me is You by mackwinnon {E}

“Jake,” Bradley’s voice was gentle, so unlike any other way he’d ever spoken to him, and Jake hated it. He didn’t need Rooster’s fucking pity. He didn’t need anything from anyone, least of all Rooster. Rooster, his rival. Rooster, who thought he was better than Jake. Rooster, who… Who… Rooster, who’d come looking for Jake when no one else had. Fuck. Or: After the mission, Jake disappears. Bradley goes looking for him.

it's not in the way that you hold me from old men in love Series by davidbyrne {E}

jake and bradley discover new things together in middle age

Maybe This Time Is Forever by theinsouciantknitter {E}

Jake hasn’t slept in days. Three days, to be exact. Everytime he closes his eyes he sees an outdated F-14 going down in flames into the ocean.

Say The Word by perishablealex {E}

Bradley leaves instructions for Jake. Jake follows them. - The praise begins to trickle in. “Well done, you’re so beautiful like this.” Preening at the words, Jake squirms, clenching his fingers against the sheets and inhaling shakily. Bradley’s voice is low. Jake can almost feel the brush of his voice against his ear, the ghost of the mustache tickling his lobe. “You know I can’t let you touch yourself yet, baby.”

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve) by davidbyrne {E}

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?” “Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.” Or a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

Heat of the Moment by theinsouciantknitter {E}

It’s a hundred degrees in Texas, and Bradley finds that he hates it, hates the oppressive air pressing down on him, the humidity making him feel like he’s swimming with every breath he takes. He finds himself wondering, not for the first time, why he decided to come back to the homestead with Jake for their leave. They’re barely even friends, let alone the kind of people who spend their time off together.

What's my worth? by WaffleToaster {E}

Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight… These were the only thoughts that rang through his head. Twenty-nine, thirty. Two breaths. One and two. They weren't friends, they didn't even like each other and whatever they had going between them meant nothing. And then the mission happened.   Or how Bradley and Jake went from hating each other to caring a little too much.

Rivalry On A Learning Curve by SaintClaire {E}

A couple of simple definitions: Rivalry: Competition for the same objective or for superiority in the same field Archnemesis: One who is hostile to or opposes the purposes or interests of another Jake thinks about how best to define whatever the fuck it is he's got going on with Bradley. Yep. Definitely the above.

The Only Exception by mackwinnon {E}

Organized crime AU. Escort Jake meets Bradley in a club while he's with another client. Bradley's instantly intrigued and makes Jake an offer he can't refuse. It's just business. Until it isn't.

Darkness on the Edge by theinsouciantknitter {E}

There's always room for firsts in a relationship, and this one's full of them.

Priest 'verse by theinsouciantknitter {E}

One Look From You (And I Would Fall From Grace)

Jake didn’t expect this when he moved in with his grandmother. He expected to be roped into attending church with her, that’s all fine and dandy. He didn’t expect that the priest would look like that, though. He didn’t expect that he would be funny, and quick-witted. He didn’t expect him to be that young. He didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

Like a Little Prayer

Bradley has a difficult decision

Before This River Becomes an Ocean

Conversations must be had, and this is one Jake wants to avoid.

It Goes Like This (the Fourth, the Fifth)

Jake just has to get through the planning of the wedding, and then they're home free.

the Minor Fall, the Major Lift

A steadfast resolution

if you're looking for absolution (well get on your knees) by seresins {E}

Jake comes home to Texas for the summer, where he meets his church's new priest. Tempting him feels like the best kind of bad idea.

take you like a drug by coconutcordiale {E}

Murder. Jake is ready to commit murder. It’s fine. He’s a lawyer, he can represent himself in court. Because he just fell asleep. Yet here Jake is, staring at the atrocious popcorn ceiling in his bedroom, jerked awake mere minutes ago by the shrill moans of some undoubtedly gorgeous brunette and the repetitive banging of his neighbor’s headboard against the wall that he shares with Jake. * aka the neighbors au

Fucked up and pretty by pizzz_10 {E}

There’s a reason why jake is always getting under bradley’s skin, he just wants some attention.

chat with you, baby (flirt a little maybe) by acetonitril {E}

"Come on, give me a little more to work with here. How are you doing? What are you doing? Who are you doing?" The last thing, he says in a teasing tone and Bradley reacts without a second thought. “I don’t want to talk about my sex life with you, Hangman.” “And yet that’s the one thing you chose to comment on." Bradley, Jake, and accidental phone sex.

 unglued (thanks to you) by emseebeans {E}

The first time Jake says it, it’s an accident. It’s Bradley’s fault, really. It’d always been a secret Jake held onto so tight, but Bradley brings it bubbling to the surface. He pulls Jake into his orbit. He’s smooth. He’s overly sure of himself. He’ll appear to be completely uninterested one minute, to looking like he wants to devour Jake the next. And he has soft edges. He’ll say the filthiest shit in bed, and then call Jake his baby, his sweetheart. It’s no wonder the word slips out.

hits like ecstasy (comes up and bangs the sense out of me) by davidbyrne {E}

It’s a plug. Slenderer than the few they have in their collection, and a deep green. Jake opens his mouth to say something, but Bradley holds up a finger. Jake shuts his mouth. The plug starts vibrating in his palm, slow, steady pulses that build. Jake sucks in a breath.

all in by honestlydarkprincess {E}

If you had told Rooster a week ago that he would be stumbling into his base housing with Hangman, making out against every surface Rooster could push him into, he would have called you a liar. As it was, he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening, even though Hangman’s tongue was currently in his mouth. Or, the one where Hangman and Rooster hook up and Hangman slips up, admitting his daddy kink. Rooster goes all in.

G.U.Y. by reanimated {E}

Bradley finally slips. Jake is cautiously intrigued. Until they both throw caution to the wind.

just a touch of your love by lightwoodsisabelle {E}

“Just one of those days where nothing went right,” Bradley half-shrugged, the stress of the day feeling further away with each passing minute. “I’ve had worse.” Jake let out a coo as he stood, a noise that was half sarcastic, half sympathetic. He placed his hands on his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in closer to whisper, “well, why don’t you let me take care of you?” “Just one of those days where nothing went right,” Bradley half-shrugged, the stress of the day feeling further away with each passing minute. “I’ve had worse.” Jake let out a coo as he stood, a noise that was half sarcastic, half sympathetic. He placed his hands on his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in closer to whisper, “well, why don’t you let me take care of you?”

Show Me by danslasherrr {E}

"You danced on that man like a bitch in heat but you were looking at me the whole time. You wanted me to watch you and why's that, Jake?", he ran a hand down Jake's cheek softly. Or: Jake makes Bradley jealous and then apologises by giving him head

viewing pleasure by SissySpargo {E}

jakes a porn star. bradleys the director. they're also married.

Your Body Is My Alter by Nixie_DeAngel {E}

Sometimes Jake just needs to wring every ounce of pleasure from his husband as he can.

all you're giving me is friction by grimjobs {E}

Come on, daddy long legs, move your feet so I can sit down,” Hangman said, it was innocuous enough, but Bradley felt his blood heat all the same; he was grateful for the sun beating down on his skin, hoping that it hid the flush he could feel blooming across his neck and chest. or, 5 times Jake called Bradley 'daddy', and one time, he called Bradley 'daddy'.

that's my good girl by shadowdancing {E}

Jake Seresin is known for being an observant man. He sees the hand prints on Bradley's waist and the hickeys on his throat. He sees the way his eyes light up when he's praised. And based on the frustration in his body, Jake knows he isn't getting fucked like he wants...like he deserves. Bradley Bradshaw is known for being an intelligent man. For years, he's been letting sexual encounters mark him up, just so he can get Jake's eyes on him. He knows Jake sees them, determining that under Bradley's bluster, he's desperate for Jake to fuck him, to give him what he needs in a way no one else can. This is the story of two men pushing and pulling at their desires, figuring out their feelings, and satisfying each other in the way they've been desperate for since they met.

[hughiecampbelle]

Pedigree (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,211

A/N: Has it been a million bajillion kajillion years since I've written? Yes. Do I feel good about this? Yes strangely enough :P I've been reading a lot, so maybe that's helped. I haven't been feeling good lately, but this makes me feel better. It makes me think I haven't run out of words, that I'm not trapped in this block forever y'know? 💞  Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLISTS / TAG LIST 

You were out for blood. 

You wanted his head on a silver platter. Served to you. You wanted his mouth hung open, gory and gummy, his teeth pried from their sockets. You wanted his eyes, those eyes that bore so deeply into your marrow, eyes that undermined you every time he saw you, bright and cruel. Mocking. Pried wide open, watching his empire fall. The rest of him scattered. Discarded. Did it really matter? It used to. You used to fantasize about the day they brought him to you. All the ways you’d tear him apart, butcher him like he has done to so many. Leaving a single bullet hole, if he was lucky. Often, he wasn’t, not in your care. You wanted him to suffer the same way he has made you your entire life. Since then, you’ve come to a realization: those fantasies, with their theatrics, were childish. The kind of thing he himself would laugh at, call adorable, naive, cute. That laugh. It haunted you now. His head, his eyes, teeth, that is what you needed. He was all bark and no bite. Until then, you wouldn’t be satisfied. 

Once upon a time you worshiped him. He was your world, everything you wanted to be. Demanding, diplomatic, daunting. You wanted to follow in his footsteps, to rule with an iron fist. You did as you were told without a second thought, his toy soldier. You stitched a smile across your face every time he spoke to you, the anger and disappointment reigning in his voice, his words. How sharp they used to be, slicing you to ribbons. You’d be bleeding, hemorrhaging out on the floor by the time his speech was done. And when he was, when the air was thick with dismay, you collected your innards and thanked him, slipping back into the shadows until you were needed again. He spat insults at you from the time you could understand them. A few times you’d dodged a glass of something toxic, smashing into the wall behind you. Shards glittered across the floor, crackling beneath the soles of your shoes. It was your job to clean it up. It was your fault. Everything was. When a scapegoat was necessary, you were the first to come to mind. Given odd jobs beneath the rest. Ones that could have gotten you killed. Should have. Sometimes, you wished it had. Would that have made him care? Mourn your loss? Would there have been any change to his temperament? Probably not. There were always others desperate enough to slink their way into your position, the lowest of the low. Desperate enough to get close to him, to know what liquor he liked, what car he drove, what clothing he wore in hopes that it would rub off on them. Give them the same power. It made you sick. 

To him, you were nothing. Worthless. Incapable. There had never been a softness for you the way there had been for the others. You’d begun to think it was you. There was something wrong with you. Had you said something? Done something? Too many nights you lay awake, wondering what he could see that you couldn’t. There had to be a logical reason, hadn’t there? There had to be something in your flesh, your bones, your muscles. Something structurally, genetically, impossibly wrong. A speck in your eyes. An eyelash out of sorts. A freckle, a scar, a mark on your body that shouldn’t be there. Years you spent looking, watching, waiting for it to be explained so you could fix it and finally win him over. Small acts of kindness. Leaving him freshly picked flowers. Doing everything he said. Being well behaved. You stayed to yourself mostly, understanding things were different than before. He’d changed. They all had. He was monstrous. Hungry. Tormented. Every night you’d hear his screaming, crying out, crumbling from the inside out. In the morning, no one said a word. It’s been many years since then. You wondered if it was your memory distorting things, changing your own behaviors. No, no you were sure you’d been nothing but kind.

Whoever Tommy saw when he looked at you, whatever he saw, was not you. That much was clear. 

He blamed you for her death, Pol. He put that target on your back, on your chest, between your fucking eyes. The silence was the worst of it. The berating, the anger, the destruction, you’d grown used to it. It had become a dance, in a way. You knew all the right steps, all the best apologies, until he’d finally calmed down long enough for you to catch your breath, to straighten out the mess. Not this time. You were dropped from the family without a second thought. Ice ran through his veins. He wasn’t just changed, he was unrecognizable. Your throat was raw from pleading, sobbing, trying to get him to listen. To understand. On your hands and knees begging. You had no part in this, you were being framed. No one could believe you. You’d slipped up, gave out information you shouldn’t have. Thats the conclusion they came to. He didn’t just ignore you, he killed you. Murdered you. Everyone, everyone you ever loved, all the people you considered family, by blood and not, turned their backs on you. You wanted to pound your fists into the floorboards until they bled. You wanted to scream and cry and throw a tantrum. You would have prayed to a God that had never listened before that very moment if that meant he would give you a minute to defend yourself, proclaim your innocence, save your soul. The decision had been made, there was no going back. The Shelby name no longer belonged to you. It never would. If only you’d known how fast that title could be ripped from you. 

They moved on. None of them have reached out, spoken to you in secret. There were no letters, no calls, nothing. You grew a hard shell. Learned to adapt. To be on you own, completely alone. Without them, without him, you came to realize you were never the problem. You had never done anything wrong. You had not been born with a defect only he could sense. You were a child when he’d come back, so young, so fragile. You took his words to heart. All those years spent at the bottom, the youngest of the family, had taught you more than you ever thought. People believed him to be bulletproof. He was indestructible. Godly. You knew though, you knew the weakest parts of him. What kept him up at night. What drove him mad. You couldn’t get back all that time, all those years, your entire life. You couldn’t turn back the clock. You couldn’t make him change his ways. Those, he was too set in, a creature of habit. But you could make him pay. You could make him regret everything he’d ever said and done to you. Make him beg like you’d done countless times, your pleas ignored, berated. You could make him fear for his life. And when the time came, because it always would, you would not hesitate to pull the trigger the same way your brother had.

[dr-lizortecho]

Better Than Frozen Moe’s

He’d saved every cent for months for this moment. Done menial tasks for all the elderly ladies in the neighborhood and polished his mom’s fancy silverware. All so he could take out Liz Ortecho.

It was a flawless plan. Save up every quarter he earned until he had ten whole dollars, then he could take her for celebratory ice cream. She could even get sprinkles if she wanted.

Max’s mom never let him and Isobel get sprinkles. A waste, she’d call them, needless sugar.

But they were beautiful and cheerful, just like Liz. And he wanted to make sure she knew she deserved them, if she wanted them that was. Max knew he still had a lot to learn about this world, a lot to catch up on. But one thing he was certain of was that Liz Ortecho only did as she pleased.

She was eight -eight and three fourths as she would say- and already challenged most adults. By challenge Max meant their eyes twitched when she went on her tirades and they called her gifted and special in the same sentence. They weren’t wrong, but he never liked their tone of voice. The accusation leveled at her. The way it seemed she had to bite down in her tongue or hide her natural mannerisms to earn their approval.

But she didn’t have to change for Max. He loved it- her loudness, her spirit, her quiet. Every piece of her was built out of beauty.

Max’s palms are sweaty as he approaches Liz after the event. Her bright blue ribbon with a gold one printed on it pinned to her shoulder. She’s wearing her Sunday best, a sensible black dress with a white collar and sleeves. Her smile is wide and bright as she talks with her papi. He’s beaming, camera held tight in his hand as he congratulated her on her win.

Liz Ortecho always got first place. If it was an endeavor she chose to pursue, she would roll up her sleeves and be the very best at it.

Max adjusts his collar, his plaid button up feeling itchy and suffocating. Liz’s brown eyes are scanning the crowd, searching. There’s a sadness to them that Max wants to erase.

“Max!” She beams, eyes lighting up excitedly.

“Liz,” he manages, wiping his palms on his jeans.

Arturo grins, a sparkle in his eye. “Mija, I’m going to pre-order a recording of the competition. You have fun with your friend, huh?”

read on ao3

[dmmdconfessions]

[Image text: I’ll be honest here, I was so hyperfixated on the idea of an Aoba/Madoka crossover (Madoka Kaname from Puella Magi Madoka Magica), being both like siblings.]

[Full text: I’ll be honest here, I was so hyperfixated on the idea of an Aoba/Madoka Kaname (from Puella Magi Madoka Magica) crossover being both like siblings (like the entire whole older brother shtick where he has like a clumsy, insecure younger sister who’s secretly a girlboss deep down, who literally turned into a god in the Rebellion film).

Plus, their colour palettes/designs, schemes and all are adjacent to the Gumball/Anais (from The Amazing World of Gumball) colour palette scheme, meaning they would resemble them a bit. Their interactions would be really sweet together as I know Aoba would have this small, pink-haired fluffball of hope consistently follow him everywhere Aoba goes, and would try to get him to as he goes to Junk Shop Heibon to complete his daily working shift while Madoka just goes to school like an ordinary schoolgirl just the way she is.

Aoba sometimes comes home and buys Madoka a lesbian flag she can hang up on her wall, and makes dinner for her a lot. She introduces her girlfriend Homura to Aoba and he’s like “aww, that’s sweet.” I feel like he’d grow accustomed and fond to her, and I feel like he’d grow an ever-loving desire to protect her from falling into despair so much so that she turns into a witch.

One of the funniest things I can imagine Aoba doing is having one of his alters (Sly Blue for example), fronting and then she gets a call from him and he takes her on a little ride while Madoka brings Homura, her beloved, with her to the retail park that is extremely far away from both of their locations. He then lets them play on one of those Beatmania arcades, and he goes to the cigarette bar to get a quick smoke and to accompany his younger sister and his girlfriend, and they both win so much on the Pop'n Music arcades while they start to finish off and get ready for the bowling venues.

Sly sits on one of these chairs and watches his younger sister Madoka and her girlfriend go off at these bowls, and claps and cheers when Madoka manages to succeed at taking one of these bowling pins all in one go. And after that, Sly fronts back to Aoba, the main host of the system, and then he calls back for them to come back so they can go in there to explore the garden, town pebble streets and more amusement parks for their own excitement, so they can have pretty picture taking time.

I can imagine Aoba loving Madoka like he’s his own daughter and doing Madoka’s hairstyles every morning like crazy while on the phone trying to listen some deals that Haga-san made to him, putting small ribbon hair clips in Madoka’s hair, and making her breakfast and making sure she’s at least well fed and happy.

I want her to be happy after the shit she has gone through. My precious baby daughter. My daughter, she didn’t deserve all of this, she deserves to be all happy and to be all pain and trauma free. It’s not a matter of comparing “yaoi vs yuri” of which series is pure or fucked up or whatever. I’m not simply here to compare them. I’m here to illustrate my point cohesively that Madoka would view this mentally ill skinny 23 year old gay boy who has had a never had a good day ever in his life, and she would go “I’m going to view that man as my older brother. He seems nice.” and tries to hang around with him to try to get more information from this gay boy who has a shit ton of unresolved BPD that would end up with him being sent to a mental asylum. It’s about the potential, it’s about the silly sibling shenanigans of Madoka trying to wake her older brother up so he can take her to school. It’s him seeing that she is going down a dark path full of magical girls. Whatever. I am so mentally ill about them. Madoka Magica changed my brain fundamentally and mentally and I needed to thus propose this like crossover even further because I want to say it out loud.]

[muffindaddystyles]

Can you write overprotective long hair harry imagine?? Like he always hovers the reader when she is doing something or even nothing. Or when she needs to run errands he always go with even though its not required. And when reader fell sick he is full on mommy daddy mode dom!h vibes

A/N: OOPS I GOT EXCITED AND WENT OVERBOARD WITH IT :D

Harry’s awfully sweet. He’s a literal sweetheart with those marble sepia eyes, hazelnut curls and that big golden kind heart of his's.

But, to people he’s intimidating. From the black loiter of tattoos, a silver of piercing to the corner of his plush bottom lip and those long curls of his's that frays his broad strong shoulders turns everyone too giddy to talk to him and he's okay with that – bunch of loosers anyways whom he doesn’t want to waste his time on chit-chatting.

Then Y/N came into his life and his world flipped upside down, in a beautiful way (where he felt like floating into the crashing waves of crystal sea). It felt like she made him see the world through pink heart-shaped glasses and everyone’s just bursting into rainbows, puffaw! Boom! Their heads blasting with colourful confetti and ribbons.

Even though his slight grouchiness towards people lessened he still doesn’t gives two fucks before punching the shit out of someone if they in any way hurts, be rude and try to take physical and emotional advantage of, Y/N.

His bunny.

He’s too protective of her. And why wouldn’t he? She’s his everything. His little miracle and his hype-person, his lovie.

He’s the softest peach for her. The guy who walks and everyone scrambles away to give him a way, is whipped for his girlfriend.

He’s always having his strong arm looped around her waist when they’re out and walking, going to hold her hands instead if she’s too wiggly, keeping her close to his chest while he holds their coffees and sweets.

Whenever they’re doing grocery he’s always wheeling the cart around how much Y/N insists and pouts, he likes it that way. Hearing her blabber and skim her eyes down the ingredients labelled on the products then tossing it anyway with a shrug – makes him want to smooch her wet in kisses.

If they’re partying out with friends. Which they rarely do, (Y/N sometimes makes fun of them saying they’re getting too domestic day by day) he’s always having her put in his lap, his screwed up expression lazing when the alcohol starts to kick in and he’s just a blubbering mess of nonsense, and a very horn dog with his cock bloating up in his tight skinny jeans.

Not that he doesn’t let her have a breather and enjoy herself. He indeed does, they’ve a healthy relationship where they keep trust and faith in eachother.

But, sometimes he gets super jealous when people steal his little girlfriend away from him and once home he’s cuddling and oodling her, kissing her face all over with loud smacks and not letting her be away from him another second even it’s too bring him water or to get rid of his smelly socks.

Other times. When he’s particularly very jealous. The serious ones where Y/N unintentionally spends a tad more time at some of her classmates to wind up their upcoming project, he’s driving himself to pick her up and knocking at the door harshly and then dragging her out of there not letting her carry her stuff and huffing and puffing while throwing her things in the backseat.

Because Jeremy’s a sore rascal who’s shit at hiding his crush for Y/N and he should know better to whom she belongs. His innocent baby is too naive towards the possible hints and evil intentions of people.

“Oi. What got into you today?” She brushes the loose curl that escaped from his bun and let her fingers slide down his tight set angry jaw staring him a bit concerned upon seeing him this furious and ruffled up from nowhere.

“You’re mine,” Is all he'd respond. Smashing his lips against hers in a an ardent kiss and glide his palm down her ass to squeeze it and bring her closer grinning when she squeals into his mouth giving him a chance to slip his tongue in and kiss her deeper and sloppier.

“You’re a silly geese.” She giggles whisper into the mess of pecks and lock her elbows around his neck to give him an eskimo kiss.

“Watch y’mouth.” He glares her intensely loving the way Y/N gulps timidly bobbing her head.

“You’ll get a spanking today,” He always likes to warn her before hand. He wants her comfortable with him in every case and it’s downgrade monstrous to treat the person you love like a mean bitch out of blue -- so whenever she deserves a punishment he already announces her of it, warming her to the idea and giving her time to back away if she doesn’t want it.

“What did I’do now!” She whines and he nibbles onto his knuckle glancing her way in disbelief other hand on steering wheel, “What did y'do?” He asks her sternly. Spreading his palm over her thigh and squeezing it grimly.

“Did y'even care to look at the time, Y/N?” Oh boy. She’s in real trouble. Her name on his tongue never fails to turn her insides gooey and pause her heartbeat horribly. A red light for her to being bratty before she falls into the deep black dig of trouble.

Reaching home. He’s throwing her on the bed and demanding her to lay still on her tummy while he puts a pillow under her and spanks her bum sore with his rings imprinting her skin pink, though he never forgets to take care of her afterwards – putting a cool cream to soothe the burn and letting her sleep on his chest so she wouldn’t come in contact with the sheets as he kneads her asscheeks with gentle hands.

.

He could never have his hands to himself when she’s cooking and baking for them. Always, poking and prodding around having her head tucked under his chin, her embraced in his arms from back swaying them along to Hozier while she reads the recipe she wrote on one of the tiles.

“Stop!” She giggles, squirming in his arms when he blows raspberries against the dip of her neck and then creates growly noises biting and lapping into her skin, “You’re gonna burn our lunch!” She pressed her hips against his crotch to push him away and that warmed him more, delving his fingers more into her hips with a throaty groan.

“We could have a takeout.” His breath shuddery against her ear as he tries to pry the spatula away from her and kiss her grumpy whines down when the pots actually got burned, “I’ll wash and scratch them.” He’d assure picking her up and wrapping her legs around his hips and slipping his fingers in her hair to tug them and bring her mouth down against his’s to taste her.

“Wants to fuck you so bad, baby. My cock’s been weepy fo��� hours without your touch.” He groans, taking her hand and sneaking it inside his joggers to make her feel how stiff and erect he’s for her.

“I just gave you a blowie in the morning!”

“Blowie isn’t equivalent to fucking!”

.

“What y'readin,?” He scoots closer to her end of sofa with a smirk and towers over her trying to take a peek of whatever she’s reading with such intensity and then rake his warm palms up her calves to lay them over his thighs while he snuggles her wrapping a chonky blanket around them.

“Shhh baby girl, just want you to be more comfy.” He mumbles into her hair scratching his short nails against her scalp in soothing motions and watch her melt against his touch, eyes fluttering as she lurks dangerously to the verge of sleep.

“You always do that. Whenever the hot part’s about to come, you make me all sleepy.” She mutters laying her head against his clavicles gazing him up with hazy eyes, sighing in feign disappointment when he grins down at her in quite victory and gives her a sloppy kiss.

“What do y'need erotica fo’ baby? When your man’s the living walking momentum of sex.” He pouts, grazing his teeth down her neck and leaving a fresh hickey at her throat.

“That’s infact not, true. You’re such a cutie!” She beams up at him never failing to give him dancing butterflies in his stomach and he doesn’t admits it but he likes getting treated soft and gentle by his girlfriend.

“Such a shame. My own little love doesn’t find me sexy.” He grumps dramatically making her scramble hesitantly and turn to him in their tight embrace, cradling his face in her cold palms, “No. No. I find you sexy. I just don’t like sexualising you.” If Harry didn’t turn into a puddle before he indeed did now as he melted into her touch and kissed the inside of her hands lovingly.

“You’re sucha sap!” He whispers at her in fake offence and plant his lips against hers, patting her bum to make her hug him more tightly.

.

On cleaning and laundry day’s. He’s always helping her. As they scrub and mop the floors together, might fuck on them bubbly floors too if Harry’s lusty gaze remains on her spilling tits for too long.

“Thinks your floral bra needs a wash too, moppet.” His gradual attempts to lure her with his fingers stroking her thighs seductively always turns into a win when she nods shyly into his neck and let him have an easy access to her panties.

They’re always having a warm, full of essence bath together cleaning and washing the dirt off eachother after that.

Then sharing a cuppa tea while folding their clothes together on the bed and he’s always trying to tackle her into mattress when she laughs at his terribly folded clothes compared to her neatly binded ones.

“Your sucha menace,” He jests with his nose skewered up while he smacks her ass.

“Talk for yourself, Styles.” She retorts, tangling her knee around his waist and pulling him down into him. Puffing out relaxed breaths upon feeling safe and protected under his weight and Harry always smiles into the crook of her neck when she tries to cuddle him as if she wants to be his skin.

..

He’s the most daddiest when she’s drunk, sick or stressed.

Never letting her go out of his sight when she’s dancing on the floor with her friends. If some man even tries to approach her and breaths in her direction he’s sprinting towards her and pawing at her hips to situate her closer to him whilst blowing those potential guys off with a monotone expression.

“Harry! Do a lil dancey dance with me!” She giggles, making him sway with her and looking up at him with glassy floaty eyes.

“Bunny. ‘s late, time to go home.” He tells her, pinching her chin to plant his lips against hers and she squirms giving him a timid smile, “Okie. But I’ve to pee.”

“Me too!” Her friends chimes from behind her and Harry rolls his eyes playfully, gesturing all of them to follow him.

“C’mon you spies, not lettin’ ya’ll go alone.”

He waits for them outside the washroom while they do their business and he has his arms always splayed open for when his lovie comes back and he’s welcoming her in his embrace warmly with a sweet smile.

Dying with fond injecting in his every vein when she slurs and blabbers, “Home.”

Walking her up the stairs of their flat’s building is the most hefty struggle while she’s a sleepy, clumsy and giggly muck of doe gleaming eyes and swollen pretty lips drooling over Harry testing his patience while he makes her take one step at a time.

“Darling, bunny, just some mo' steps lovin’.” He coos at her, putting a firm hand under her bum and heaving her up into him so she doesn’t falls.

“Mhmmm you’re so pretty, daddy.” Harry’s head snaps in surprise as he stares down at her in adoring amusement and push her head under his chin while she slings her arms around his waist lazily.

Sometimes, she gets him so flustered he doesn’t know how to respond.

She whines and cries in dishevelment when Harry makes her sit on the cold marble counter and wipes her makeup off.

“I just wan’ to sleep!” She toes at his torso trying to push him away but he grabs it and tuts, glowering at her strictly, “You’re g'na complain in the mornin’. Sleepin’ with makeup makes ye' breakout remember?” When she still huffs and slumps giving him a hard time to clean her he’s pinching her chin and giving her a gentle jerk.

“Bunny. Stop with ye' battiness.” He grunts not letting his facade slip when she mewls stroking her cheek up and down his lightly stubble covered cheek softly.

“Else what? Y'never punish a sleepy bunny.” She smirks at him foppishly and lazily knowing damn well that one of thing Harry doesn’t do’s tease or punish her when she’s tuckered out and on the edge of sleeping on him.

“You don’t test me bratty woman.” She squeals when he takes hold of her panties to pull them down her legs, slapping her mound once discarding it in the hamper and he sighs when she’s already snoring lightly, slobbering his throat with her mouth parted comically.

After pattering her face with loving kisses he’s tucking her under the layers of blankets and letting her use him as her stuffie.

..

“Aw poor baby.” He mumbles, kissing her forehead when he finds her burning up against him and he’s quickly rummaging for thermometer from the night stand and the tissues he had stashed for emergencies.

“I don’t feel good,” His heart breaks when Y/N croaks out weakly and tries to crawl up his chest to stuff her face in his musky neck but her frail limbs gives out making her cry out.

“It’s okay bunny, ‘s okay. How but I make you some soup. Then y'take your medicines like a good girl of mine, then if your condition gets worse we’ll go to doctor, yeah baby?” He talks to her gently and sweetly, stroking her hair and peppering kisses to her temples.

“Just last bite, moppet.” Harry hovers the spoon infront of her and sighs when she shakes her head pushing his wrist away, “I’ll puke.” She sniffs blowing her nose harshly in the tissue .

“The bin’s right here, bunny.” He smoothens his hand down her spine putting the tray aside carefully to snuggle and comfort her as she cries softly against his chest.

“’M so sorry baby, you’ll be alright in the morning.” He couldn’t see her in such condition. It pulls and tugs at his heart so painfully he feels himself hurting.

“Oi. Why you crying, hmm?” He cups her cheek and makes her look at him as she skims her eyes away from him jn embarrassment.

“I —- You’re so caring and loving, treats me so good and it makes me c.. cr–-,” She hiccups finding it hard to breath and Harry rubs her back, whispering affinities in her ear making her finally sob, “Cry....” He chuckles softly pelting kisses upon kisses on her puffy eyelids, soaky dried up cheeks, her frowned up forehead, her wobbly chin and her nipping love bites down her chest then blowing raspberries at his own slick covering her skin making her giggle through her hiccups.

“I love you.” She whispers droopily, head lulling to his chest when the effect of medicine finally starts to kick in.

“I love you too, I want my healthy and happy bunny back.” He mumbles, inhaling a huge puff of her scent and squishes her lovingly.

[rabbitcrimes]

WANGXIAN FIC REC: Little Miss Horror Show

Fics that feature yiling laozu delights and demonic cultivation related horror elements

🌟 No night as deep as my night by Orange_crushed - 17k Summary: Wangji shuts his eyes and rocks A-Yuan and thinks about Wei Ying, Wei Ying. The sound of his laugh; the rage in his eyes at any cruelty, no matter how small. Water running down his face, mixed with tears and mud in the rain. The smell of his sweat and his combing-oil when he stood too close in the cold spring. His face when he’d said, I’ll carry you, too many years ago. If there is anything left of him, Wangji will still love it. It’s not even a question.

When he opens his eyes all the candles in the room sputter at once, and go out.

And then they come back again, as easily as they were extinguished. Wangji looks up, to find a tall shadow in the doorway.

Wangji is not afraid.

“Wei Ying,” he says. “Come in.”

🌟 the necromancer's fairytale by Iliacquer - 17k Summary: The Prince of Gusu is kidnapped for ransom. He’s saved by a nightmare made flesh.

Or: A necromancer, his palace of bones, his long-lost husband, and the rise of their dark kingdom.

🌟 rare the man who'll hold to faith by Fahye - 13k Summary: There was no blood. No char. There was nothing to see except the strange softening of the Yiling Patriarch's mouth, as if just for a moment he was another person entirely.

"There is the mark of our bargain, and here is the challenge," said the Yiling Patriarch. "You may strike at me, exactly once, with your sword. I will not fight back; I will not resist you at all, Hanguang-jun." That silvery suggestiveness crept into his voice again. "And a year and a day from now, you will come to me and I will deliver exactly the same to you."

Lan Wangji heard his brother's voice raised in sharp and incomprehensible protest. His own heart was beating too loudly for him to hear anything else.

🌟 addition recs under the cut 🌟

🌟 Howling by MimiSpearmint - 40k Summary: “Sizhui, go to the kitchen,” the Yiling Patriarch orders. His charge – Sizhui, Lan Wangji presumes – hesitates but obeys, looking back over his shoulder as he disappears. Apprentice out of the blast zone, the Patriarch storms up to Lan Wangji, eyes flashing red. “Three words: I. Am. Retired.”

Lan Wangji is sent by the Institute to do two things: become the Yiling Patriarch's familiar, and report back his every movement. It does not go how any of them planned.

🌟 my chain hits my chest / when im bangin' on the radio by x_los 2k Summary: Lan Wangji finds he doesn't even need to call for help for Wei Wuxian to come running.

help is on the way by vamillepuddling - 15k Summary: “There,” the Yiling Patriarch says. “Now all that’s missing is a throne. Would you like one?”

“I have no interest in ruling,” Lan Wangji says.

“What is it that holds Hanguang-jun’s interest, then?”

Lan Wangji presses his lips together, unwilling to meet the Yiling Patriarch’s gaze.

(The Yiling Patriarch wins. Lan Wangji is left behind on the fields of the dead and appoints himself a task.)

love what's burning right in front of you by seularen - 10k Summary: It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. There was only saving Lan Wangji, and what he was willing to do to accomplish that.

Or: someone tries to assassinate Hanguang-jun. The Yiling Laozu comes calling. tie a knife with a ribbon by iliacquer - 5k Summary: The Yiling Patriarch makes a bargain with the cultivation world. He'll give them the power to defeat Wen Ruohan. No more death. No more war.

All he wants in return is Lan Wangji.

better things to do with a flute during wartime by Anonymous - 365k Summary: Wei Wuxian stabs somebody with his flute. Nie Mingjue tries to fix things with his dick. Lan Wangji pines in a non-communicative fashion.

Or: in the fourth month of the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Mingjue notices that Wei Wuxian is showing symptoms of imminent qi deviation. He takes steps to try to mitigate the fallout—and the course of the war changes, first slowly, then much less slowly... Notes: this one is NMJ/WWX/LWJ

Once upon a midnight dreary by vamillepuddling - 15k

Summary: On the joyous occasion of the second Lan heir's birth celebration, a terrible shadow falls when the Yiling Patriarch arrives, much displeased that he wasn't invited. 20 years later, Lan Wangji learns the terrible price he extracted, and knows that he has only three weeks of freedom left until he meets the man again.

*

“Compensation,” the Yiling Patriarch echoes. “I like the sound of that. What will you give me? Gold? Jewels? Weapons?”

“Name your prize,” Lan Qiren repeats.

The Yiling Patriarch smiles again. He says, “Your nephew will do.”

when I look over my shoulder by cafecliche - 10k Summary: When you let the dead in, it takes a toll on you. There hasn’t been a single exception in history.

(Or: second heir to the renowned Lan exorcist clan Lan Zhan takes medium Wei Ying home after a difficult exorcism. He's in for a long night.)

This Tornado Loves You by feelsforbreakfast - 8k Summary: Hanguang-jun is dating a mild mannered, non-cultivator named Wei Wuxian. The Yiling Laozu rolls up to a nighthunt on a motorbike, no relation at all to the previous statement.

[softliebgott]

— scottie dog

about: hello my friend 🤗 can i request "i got you something! i remember you mentioning it before...i hope you like it" with martin? THANK YOUUUUU❤️❤️ — @tvserie-s-world

warnings: i’m a lil rusty 🥹, gn!reader, war angst

word count: 683

aldbourne, england

chalk hills, rolling like an unsettled ocean, hugged the idyllic wiltshire village. enthralled, webster said he thought he’d passed out on a hollywood movie set, but england wasn’t for everyone.

along the village street you sat on a stone wall, watching jeeps pass, soldiers eating lardy cakes, carving into trees with their bayonet knives, and knocking on locals’ doors asking if their pants could be washed. dick winters walked down toward the field in his dress uniform, brasses shining.

you didn’t like being so far from home. every time you remembered how far, you shocked your own body, mere thoughts being thousands of volts. innards trembling, and warmth unable to grab hold of you, you tormented yourself with how aware you were. the world was at war. who would win? will i die? how long will i be fighting?

you tried to distract yourself by naming the colors in the morning sky.

sunrise, orange juice spilled onto the blue fabric of the sky, peeked over its blanket of green with tired eyes. sunrise remembered greeting life every morning with warm colors, but now it had to say goodbye too often each day. life bled from hundreds, thousands; too much red for the earth like too many strawberries for a stomach.

only the sunrise would see how many bodies were left behind, and you wondered who would get to go home. who would be the lucky few?

but this wounded world was still giving moments of wonder and joy. you had found someone.

the hell of camp toccoa bonded both of you like complimenting colors being sewn into a picture. you and him had felt the same needle, the hand gripping it being sobel’s. he had an image of the perfect company of soldiers, and it didn’t matter how much he twisted or stretched beyond limits, because it worked in the end. the screaming eagle would trademark history, and you were proud to wear it even if you were just a small thread among others.

you saw him, johnny martin, the man who opened the sun in your heart. he walked toward you, arms tucked behind his back. the sun gilded his eyes, and he smiled ear to ear, disarming you completely.

“hey, cookie.”

you held your chin high, smirking at what he was hiding behind him. “what have you got there?”

he revealed a tawny box tied with thick string. “i got you something. i remember you mentioning it before...i hope you like it.” he handed the gift box up to you.

“johnny,” you said, taken aback. “you shouldn’t have. you didn’t use your jump pay did you?”

he rested his arms on the stone wall, leaning forward. “it was worth it.” he winked.

eyeing him playfully, you pulled the bow, unraveling it and removing the box’s lid. your heart fumbled with its beats, and you had a telltale pinch in your eyes. inside was a stuffed animal, but it was much more than that. it was your childhood.

as if picking up a day old baby, you gingerly took the black scottie dog out. the bell on the yellow ribbon tied around the neck spoke in a clear, melodic tone—as though in greeting after so long.

vision blurred, a lump bobbed in your throat. you had lost your scottie dog years ago, and as a child you used to carry it everywhere. you had believed it was alive in some way. on cold nights, you’d tuck it under its own blanket. you’d brush the fur from its eyes, thinking it couldn’t see otherwise.

even when your love left its fur matted and eyes scratched and cloudy, you wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

“i found it in an antique shop in the village,” johnny said.

“johnny martin.” gripping the scottie dog, you hopped down from the stone wall and wrapped your arms around johnny’s neck, molding yourself to him. “i’ve already won this war by having found you.”

he buried his face in the warm curve of your neck, lips warm against your skin. “and i’ve won the world.”

@general-taylor @mgdln97 @gottapenny @morgan108 @thegermansarebad @snafus-peckuh @junojelli @inglourious-imagines @wexhappyxfew @ineffablewants @sunflowerchuck @alienoresimagines @fandomscenariosforyou @ray--person @tvserie-s-world @keoghans @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @mrseasycompany @mrsalwayswrite @meteora-fc @order-of-river-phoenix @thoughpoppiesblow @50svibes @alejodi0nysus @now-im-a-belieber @mads-weasley @multifandomlover01 @heartbeats-wildly

[glowinggator]

Happy Valentines Day!

Request: Hey since tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, think we can have a Rottmnt special? Like crush made them homemade chocolate and shyly gives it to them? ✨✨ pretty please! 🙏

Pairing: All, Non-Poly. (Raphael, Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, & April O’Neil.) 

Content Warnings: None! Except for swearing?? I don’t know if people still tag for swears or not </3 

Word Count: 1658

You thank the universe that nobody could hear your heartbeat, for if they could, the world would surely fall apart at the intensity of its beats. Your face burns hot, and your body shakes with each step you take. You pray to every deity you can think of that you don’t drop the chocolate you stayed up all night making. Pan after pan and recipe after recipe lead you to this moment, finally finding the perfect concoction. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. No, it is perfect! Right? Fuck, what’s the backup plan if he doesn’t like it? Should you scrap it? Should you have brought some for everyone? You’re so lost in your thought, you hardly recognize your surroundings as you step into the lair. An enthusiastic “hey!” from your friends seals your fate: there’s no turning back now. No second-guessing.

You’re gonna give it to them. 

Raphael:

He’s so excited!! Chocolate? For him? From his crush?

He actually has to ask if you’re serious first, he can’t help it. Like really? Ethereal you made him homemade chocolate? He has to be dreaming.

“Are you sure you’re not confusing me for someone else? Not that I’m saying I don’t want it! Wait hold on, this isn’t coming out right-”

Raph what other giant, anthropomorphic snapping turtles do we know???

He smiles so big when you manage to stammer out that yes, this is for him, and he cradles the package so gently too. He’s such a sweetheart.

He actually made you something too!

He puts the box down gently before going to his room to grab it.

It’s a small handmade card with a little bouquet of wildflowers! (White trillium and starflower to be exact. He thought they were really pretty.) The bouquet is tied loosely with a red ribbon, pulled gently into a bow.

He was so nervous about giving it to you, that he actually wasn’t planning to at all! He’s had everything planned for weeks, but his anxiety kept getting the better of him. But getting something from you was exactly the kind of encouragement he needed to take that final leap.

He’s so flustered when he hands it over, and the way his hands shake makes you feel a little less shy. Maybe he does feel the same way?

Two shy dorks in love <3

Leonardo:

Yoo, for real? For him? Hell yeah, thank you!

He’s really confident on the outside. Like, he’s so excited and accepting about it it’s unreal. All of your anxieties melt away, as they tend to do around him, and you can’t even remember why you were so stressed in the first place! It’s Leo, after all.

He’s dying (in a good way) on the inside though. He’s just internally screaming. Holy shit his crush is giving him chocolate? And it’s homemade? Oh my god look at that tiny white chocolate drizzle, that’s so cute!! Is that a strawberry?? MANY thoughts, head FULL, and in LOVE.

(He’s gonna hardcore brag about it to his brothers later.)

His heart is pounding out of his chest, although he doesn’t divulge that information.

He asks you out right then and there. Like!!!

He doesn’t actually say the word “date,” but god. You’re suddenly all shy again, and you can’t do anything but nod furiously.

The date is super casual, (yes its at Hueso’s. He begs him to pull out all of the stops, and he does so, even if only to shut up Leo. Actual king <3)  and it really puts you at ease. At some point he moves to hold your hand, and you can’t help the way your heart leaps into your throat. And he'd be lying if he didn’t feel the same way.

His confession is so eloquent, and yet… dorky. Sweet. Like he’s rehearsed it a million times, trying to find the best possible words to win your heart. Little did he know, he’s always had it.

Donatello:

oh no

He didn’t plan for this. Like, this was literally the one thing he didn’t plan for.

(He has confidence issues, give him a break!! How could he have known that you were going to give him something too? And give it first as well?? Which sets a precedent for the gift he gives?? Social interactions are Awful and he’s in Hell.)

He’s still pleasantly surprised though!

He kind of short-circuits for a moment, and he’s completely deadpan for at least three seconds. It’s the worst couple seconds of your life. Then he comes back to reality and thanks you super genuinely.

(It’s hard to read him at the best of times, and this is. So much. He just doesn’t know what to do with himself!!!)

He takes his time looking at every detail on the chocolates, and your anxiety dies down as you see the softest smile grace his features. It’s so genuine, and you don’t even think he knows he is smiling, so it’s really reassuring.

You take the time to really study his features, and fuck, he’s really pretty. You’re both flustered when you guys come back to reality.

He made you a gift too!! In fact, he has a whole day planned out.

It’s a long and fun day of running around the Hidden City, and at night, in New York.

It’s incredible.

He’s confident, and he says all the right things. He’s had this night planned out for weeks, and fuck if it doesn’t shine through.

At the end of the night, he gives you his gift with averted eyes. It’s a strange contrast to the pure exciting, confident persona he’s been putting on all day.

It’s handmade, and tailored to your exact interests and equipped with his own, Donatello-Style flair.

He’s confident in his tech, and he knows you like the back of his hand, but this is… completely new territory.

Valentine’s Day has never been so perfect.

Michelangelo

He did the same thing, actually!!! So this is actually so perfect for him!!

He spent all night making the perfect chocolates. Most of them are filled, and those that aren’t have some unique, artistic drizzle adorning them. If you hadn’t known better, you would have thought he got them from a fancy chocolate place.

He genuinely can’t contain his excitement when you hand him the box all shyly. His eyes light up with the brightness of a dying star going supernova.

He immediately hugs you, careful not to crush the chocolates, and then his mouth is moving at a mile a minute. It’s almost hard to keep up!! He’s just so happy and excited, and he’s running to the kitchen and he has a box too??? Hello, what’s going on??

He’s trying so hard to not just blurt out a confession here and now.

It’s completely impromptu, but he suggests going out on the town. He didn’t plan it, he was honestly just planning to stay in and watch some movies with you, but now that you’ve brought him a Valentine’s Day gift too? That means you like him too right, maybe?

If he’s gonna confess to you, it’s sure as hell not gonna be in a sewer. (Even if it is his home. It just ain’t right, man!)

It’s really fun! You feel so at home with him, and there’s no pressure at all.

Everything just seems to fall into place around him. He’s your home. Unbeknownst to you, he feels the exact same way.

He confesses by the end of the night. It’s so sweet and sincere, but there isn’t a single moment of hesitation. He’s so head over heels for you, and that love shows itself in every movement and word.

April

She’s never been given chocolates before!! She’s always looked on in envy through middle school, highschool, at work, etc. So fuck, if she’s not immediately swarmed with emotion. She’s like, two seconds away from crying. I love her so much…

It’s actually really funny, because she ordered a really nice bouquet of ivory & pink flowers from her local flower shop for you, but they hadn’t arrived yet! She’s super upfront with it, and it gets a good laugh out of both of you. The classic April O’Neil luck, ey?

It definitely lightens the mood, and she suggests going out to a local restaurant to get lunch, and then maybe go sightseeing! Or maybe just goof around in the Hidden City? No pressure!

It’s super fun! You never want the night to end, to be quite honest.

You get to choose the music while you guys drive around, and you end up picking the silliest stuff. You guys laugh and belt out the lyrics to every song.

The food at the restaurant is perfect, and everything goes off without a hitch. At some point she reaches across the table to interlock fingers with you, and you’re suddenly alight with so much love and recognition that this is an official date, and your best friend - your crush - is holding hands with you, and her hand is so soft and warm and… you’re so in love. And unbeknownst to you, she’s feeling the exact same strain of emotion.

At the end of the night she takes you to a rainy spot in the Hidden City, and you guys dance and sing in the rain.

Everything feels so natural and perfect with her. She’s your safe space, your home, your world.

You can barely stand to part at the end of the night.

When you do get back to your home, you find her gift at your front door. It’s a beautiful bouquet of white Gardenias, pink Carnations, pink Peonies, and… a white Lily. They stand perfectly in a vase, apparently left at your doorstep by the delivery driver. You place them on your kitchen counter as soon as you can, and text her immediately.

You love her with all your heart, and she’s head over heels for you, too.

[amorousadepti]

❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)

another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry 

summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)

warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe

length: 2.7k

The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.

You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while. 

Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation. 

If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place? 

Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—

You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion. 

(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)

"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!" 

You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.) 

"Happy birthday, Chi—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?" 

"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns." 

Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—" 

"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."

"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon. 

"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.

"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something." 

"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this." 

You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."  

He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes. 

"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday." 

The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!" 

The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield. 

You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip. 

"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!" 

His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile. 

He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you." 

"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."

"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?" 

"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?" 

"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone. 

You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand. 

Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him. 

It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow. 

Except— 

His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before. 

You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier. 

Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place. 

The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar. 

"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!" 

You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick." 

"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade." 

You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is." 

He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed. 

"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"  

You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?" 

You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?" 

"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."

You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.

"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"

Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier. 

His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot. 

A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—

Shine. 

"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!" 

You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place." 

He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!" 

"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"

Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please." 

You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker. 

Hungrier. 

"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."

The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more." 

Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering. 

"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax." 

Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him. 

You're glad to drown. 

[oceantail-oceantail]

reflected (just like you) | 640 words

characters/ tags: Illumina, Eret, MCC setting, Eret is related to Herobrine, the Universe loves Illumina, the Universe hates Herobrine

inspired by "mirror image (who am i)" by @belovedgamers (tumblr link, ao3 link)

The Universe's most loved and most abhorred meet again in MCC 17. ~~~ (except Illumina and Eret are good friends by now, the Teal Turkeys' victory lives on, as it should)

read on ao3 (comments appreciated)

or under the cut (reblogs appreciated)

The 17th Minecraft Championship was about to start shortly and Illumina was almost late, still berating himself for forgetting to change into his Pink Parrots themed MCC gear.

In his communicator, he hears Fruit, Sasha, and Zuez still giggling about how Illumina had shown up wearing his regular pitch black running gear while they’d been decked out in bright pink fabrics and lavender ribbons.

He gracefully leaps over the oak fencing near the center of the Hub, cheeks still burning in mild embarrassment for the whole incident. Thankfully he’d made it back to the dance floor just in time for the final minute of countdown.

Out of the corner of his eyes he spots a tall, bright figure wearing aqua team colors and suddenly, the Universe hums angrily at the base of his skull, a deep low hum of disdain, a cold warning.

Not that different from the first time Illumina had come face to face with Eret.

Illumina lets out a huff of frustration.

He knows the Universe has no love for Herobrine's kin.

But Illumina does. He remembers MCC 13 so fondly that he still carries his winners coin on his person, even when running and liberating worlds, the small award reminding him of the one of the happiest days of his life.

A day he shared it with three friends, including the Universe's most loathed.

The jubilation that filled the air when Krinios fired that last winning shot was unparalleled. Illumina’s screaming nearly tore out his own vocal cords for a week. The exhilaration that raced through his body when his teammates threw their arms around him when they ran forward onto the podium, matching golden crowns settled upon their heads. (“WE WENDYS!!! WE WENDYS!!!”)

Eret and Illumina's empty eyes, blazing white and endlessly black, were framed by their ecstatic faces in the candid photos Punz snapped after the event. ("It's for the memories, Illumina!!" Punz had defended himself as he took his 500th photo)

Those two void eyes meet again now, white and black, a curse and a blessing, borne by two living entities who were hated and loved by the Universe, respectively.

And just like the first time, an unfriendly current reflexively runs up Illumina's spine and the same bittersweetness of the stardust burns his mouth. He grimaces on instinct, but the pain quickly subsides and melts away as affection overtakes him at the sight of an old friend.

Eret shoulders their practice bow and lifts a hand in greeting, flashing Illumina a broad smile. Her MCC outfit today shone as brightly as her eyes, a glowing aqua corset and skirt with a matching flower crown that rested on his braided hair. Illumina had a suspicion they both commissioned their outfits from the same seamstress, because his own pink gear and lavender ribbon had a similar shine to it, though not as blinding.

That thought was funny to him. Probably wasn’t as funny to the Universe.

They're too far away for either of them to hear each other, (the Hub is simply packed with people, participants, admins, and spectators alike) so Illumina just waves back, grinning beneath his glowing pink mask.

Eret gives him a final thumbs up before disappearing into the crowd again, just as Fruit grabs Illumina by the elbow to yank him towards the lowering staircase.

Illumina watches the staircase descend just as it had done at the start of every Championship, the familiar adrenaline beginning to pump in his veins. MCC was truly such an amazing thing to be a part of and experience.

And who knows? Maybe one day he'll be able to team with Eret again. Teal Turkeys was truly unforgettable. Who would have thought that one of the Universe’s beloved runners and the kin of Herobrine would become friends?

But Illumina has always been the First, after all.