#his heeling and engagement was FLAWLESS

[abirddogmoment]

scruffy man crushed it at the fun run! long stays need a bit more practice but everything else was 👌👌👌

[hxltic]

“YOU’VE NEVER SQUIRTED?” KENMA

part 1 | part 2

It was actually a really awkward conversation in the kitchen of his apartment. The fresh toast sizzled against your fingers as you removed it from the toaster, the sun shined bright through his black curtains without quit, and because it was in his disposition to be up ungodly hours, you incorrectly assumed he’d hibernate in his room so you planned to head to your friend’s house for breakfast in a full face and clothes you never wore. Or technically, a full face and clothes you only wore out to places you cared about. Otherwise, you didn’t really dress to impress.

500 FOLLOWERS?!

Footsteps sounded from afar and you retrieved the jelly from the fridge mindlessly.

“Where we going?”

Kenma taunted from his seat found on the island stool. You assumed he’d just woken up, accompanied with doing his daily hygiene because his soft voice still had the slightest rasp to it.

“We?” You jokingly snapped back. Kenma scoffed lightheartedly at you. The refrigerator door closed with a slight push, and Kenma sighed to where he could ask again. Some almost fully black stands came to fall in front of his face as he leaned forward on the cold, stone counter and his hair was pulled into a small ponytail, nothing left of the noticeable blonde but disproportional ends that fall into his large hoodie.

“Where are you going?”

You grab the plate but forget the juice for the morning. Back you go to the fridge almost in a rush.

“I’m going to a friend’s for breakfast, it’s this party thing she hosts every year,” you explain. “Almost like a friendsgiving. She takes it suuuuper serious.”

The juice is in one hand, a random cup in another. You twist around to pour the liquid on the island instead of the main countertop so you could engage in quick conversation with Kenma. As he got older he’s become more expressive and outgoing, just willingly reserved. He has, however, become a handful; and having lived with him, you’ve seen him take shots like a champ. You see his aloofness dissolve, his eyebrow coming up the slightest bit.

“And you’re eating breakfast before going to eat breakfast?” He slowed the pace of his words around the end of the sentence like he was judging you.

“I have to eat in the morning still, or I’ll pass out before I even get there Kenma! I’m kinda a little late though so you can heckle me when I get back.”

“Uhuh…”

Kenma hummed in response with an inconspicuous smirk on his face. You wouldn’t have even seen it if it weren’t for you waiting to see his reaction of your flawless vocabulary. He was however, changing his position to leaning back in the chair, already staring you incredulously. It was somewhat close to a manspread, his hands were tucked into the hoodie pockets, and the sight was way too much for you to handle this early in the morning.

So, you turned around to tend to your idle plate with jelly-less toast on it. You didn’t like Kenma specifically, persay, you would’ve liked it if any boy looked at you like that. Yeah. Don’t think too much about it.

Anyway, with the slide of a drawer you withdrew the knife and got to work. Unbeknownst to you, Kenma had not taken his eyes off your body. Your hair was still slightly wet but it made it easier for you to style. It was up. The backless halter top you wore was connected only by a string at your nape, and it left skin between that and your skinny jeans that fell down to your open toe, clear strap heels. You were dressed perfect for the summer occasion of a girls day out. And he was absolutely sulking in it.

“You look good.”

You hate the slight pause in your actions. You hate the way you had to question if he was talking to you or not, even if you were the only one in the house. You hate that you refuse to turn around to him. You hate the giddy smile that decorated your face. You hate that you had to cover up how everything you hated affected you, so you say “Thank you; flatter me more.”

He just outwardly chuckled, and ended with a “Maybe.” He starts again, “Hey is this who you were on the phone with last night? Who’s at the party I mean.”

“Hm?” Your chin did lead over your shoulder at this. “Yes actually, I’m surprised I’m up as early as I am considering she kept me up all night.” You resume.

“Tell her I said she should break up with him.”

You agree, “I will; she definitely needs to hear it.”

…

Suddenly, you snap your head back around quick enough to give you whiplash. You don’t get embarrassed easily, but you had to be blushing like a bitch.

This time Kenma’s smirk was very noticeable. You blink warily at him.

“Ken… how much did you hear?” Your voice was soft with curiosity mixed and thrown into fear. He just shrugged casually and quickly switched to an innocent façade. One thing you learned about him over the years: he has a badass poker face. And he’s a dick.

Such a dick, in fact, that after reassuring “I wasn’t eavesdropping so I didn’t hear much,” he let you take deep breaths of relief and turn back around to lather your second piece of toast. You felt the golden, low, cat-like eyes burning through the back of your head—so with indecision and obscurity—you looked over your shoulder again. He wore a shit eating grin.

You pointed the butterknife at him accusingly.

“You fucking liar! You heard all of it!!”

Kenma just smiled menacingly.

“I did hear all of it actually; but pushing that aside, why do I feel like I’ve never heard you say some of the words you said?” He tilts his head to the side, completely dismissing you.

“Kenma!?”

“Say pussy.”

This made you stop. You found him unbelievable, and you’d never admit what hearing him say pussy does to your mind, but his head was sideways in pure amusement like he was waiting on you to do it.

“Kenma. What.”

“Say it.”

You just stared at each other.

“Pussy,” you finally repeated. After lingering in the air a bit Kenma’s eyes went wide and he threw his head back to diminish into laughter.

“Kenmaaa.” You groaned loudly. He only laughed harder. “What all did you hear? Seriously!”

He calmed down to just a grin and ushered you to be as well with the palm of his hand.

“Okay okay—mainly the part where she explains how she hates the guy because she feels like he ignores her and has never made her cum—plus some other stuff, blah blah, that’s basically it,” He rambles.

It was your turn for your eyes to run wide, so in astonishment that your body couldn’t even address the other words that rolled out his mouth so easy. “I don’t want basically, I want all of it,” you declare.

“There’s not much more unless you’re including all the other dumb shit he did? Like how he told his friends she did something even if she didn’t, and she felt invalidated about it. I have amazing input on these types of situations by the way.”

Kenma was saying all this without any negative emotion, relaying it to you with normalcy. “The only thing after that was about yourself.”

You roll your eyes, but bingo. So he did hear it. He heard what you didn’t want him to. Your face may have dropped a tiny bit.

“…What was it? About how…I have—“

“—never squirted?” He finishes. Your chest tightened a little, and your face was red with what was anger transforming into something else. His ordinary apathetic gaze was locked on yours for a tiny moment, so you made it your responsibility to look away and grab your food.

“Gotta go now, I’m already late.” You swiftly unhooked the keys from the wall and opened the door. It wasn’t his fault he heard (because to be honest you two weren’t the quietest last night during your girl talk), but just now the fact that he knew upset you. Your best friend made it seem so easy, like she does it all the time, and it just made you seem like you were missing out how she explained it.

However, on your way out, Kenma did call for you from the kitchen. “Not everyone can do it,” He said. It was reassurance, you assume, but it didn’t really come off as such. He then says (more to himself you also assume), “Not everyone can make you do it either.”

This sat with you the whole breakfast/brunch party, champagne being passed around like candy but nothing could stop you from thinking about it. Of course it being a whole room of the closest friends, she re-explained last night’s gossip, the effects hitting you again as your friends chimed in on the situation. Was it really as good as they say?

——•——

You unlocked the house door, the apartment dim and quiet. It was around four now, you weren’t completely sober, and your heels clacked along the tile.

Dropping your arm to sit your purse on the counter and hang the keys, you undo a single strap and slip the shoes off. You carry them in your hand for the journey to your room.

Of course before you can reach your door, there’s Kenma’s slightly cracked open one to remind you of what he said. Not everyone can make you do it either.

What does that even mean; can’t you do it alone? Do you need someone else for it?

You weren’t dumb and at least knew what he was implying. It was an offer. Or maybe it wasn’t, and you’re just horny. Either way you find yourself stopped in front of the entrance to his room. You don’t bother to knock, it falls open with a slight push of your free hand.

Kenma resides at his setup, on his phone, the mic wrapped around his neck. The few moving lights in his room softly radiated from his pc, making him appear to be different strong shades of red and orange depending on when you looked. He didn’t seem to be streaming. Or he could be—he isn’t the nicest to his viewers.

He casts you a glance past his hair but dismisses your presence. You don’t really ever come into his room except to just grab something and go, usually a hair product.

You take a few steps inside. Then, you leisurely drop the heels at his bedside so he finally acknowledges your company.

“Ken?” Your delicate voice breaks the silence of the outside, completely unsure if there was music running through his headphones.

He clicks his phone off so you have his full attention.

“What’s up? How was it?”

You continued taking slow steps forward, with only one thing on your mind. And it wasn’t the party. “It was okay.”

Kenma surveys how you have yet to halt, inching closer and closer to him. It only took a slight examination of your face to see the solemnity. Blankness. He stands up from his seat and removes the headset from himself in concern before you can get any closer.

“You sure? You don’t look—”

“—Kenma. What did you say earlier?” You whisper. He was now directly in front of you.

He pauses for a second and his face converts to disbelief. “Are we still talking about the squirt thing?” He smiles mischievously, “I was just letting you know not to worry about it so much.”

You hate that word. It’s so gross sounding, so vulgar. But you can’t bring yourself to get him to stop saying it.

“Well I have been, so what happens now?” You peer strangely at each other, both acutely aware of where this was going.

“And you’re coming to me for this, why?” The ravenette taunts. He knew exactly why you were in his room right now, the curiosity having ate away at you all day. Like an itch that won’t go. You’ve gotta give in if this’ll go anywhere.

“Well you seem to know a lot about it…” you fumble with your bracelet nervously. You’ve gotten this far. “Could you…maybe help me?”

Kenma makes no sudden movements. He scans you suspiciously. A slight flush of red may have spread across your cheeks, but the darkness around you was protective. Hearing it actually come out of your mouth was a whole different story than imagining it.

“You want me to make you squirt?” He confirmed.

You may have physically cringed at that sentence because his hands find his sweat pockets in a ‘you said it not me’ manner.

“Yes.”

He scanned you again for good measure.

“Alright.”

With this he turned on his heel, stepped away, and sat in his gaming chair again. You stood there blankly, unaware of what to do. “Come here.”

You follow him to his setup. He sighs because he could see how uncomfortable you were.

“What usually do you do to get off?” He questions. He twists you around by your hips, your back facing him.

“Uh…It’s just kinda alone in my room I guess. I use my fingers usually.” You tried to keep your voice low enough to cure your embarrassment. Kenma, however, seemed to be doing this with ease. In fact, as he was asking you questions, he massaged your hips and waist soothingly.

“Is that it? You don’t watch or think about anything?”

You turn your head, “No. Am I supposed to?”

“I mean it’s not mandatory but you gotta think about something.”

“Whatever. Jeez, Kenma just say you think about me already.” You quip. Whatever he was doing was working, you were loosening up.

“Only when I’m about to cum. How do you like to be talked to?”

What?

You weren’t even going to ask about it. It was probably a joke anyway.

A moment of processing silence passed. “I don’t really know how I like to be talked to. Guys have tried to praise or degrade me but it never worked, so I just assumed I didn’t like the talk at all.”

He tugs on the shirt string at your neck. He watches you tense up at the action, so he rubs your trap in slow, circular motions instead. “If I say I like to be praised, all they do is say ‘good girl’ over and over. Gets kinda boring you know?” Is this you venting to Kenma about your boring sex life? Of course. You mess with your nails as you face away from him. Not for long though, because he turns you around.

“This is what I meant by not everyone can make you do it. Only you can guarantee yourself the highest pleasure 100% of the time,” Kenma drags you by your belt loops so you fall into the chair against him, “and me.”

He was so close now, your knees sliding under the chair arm. His breath could be felt on your skin and his hands were still pawing at your waist to glide up your back. You couldn’t bring yourself to put your full weight on him. However, he pulls you down anyway, and manually places your hands along his clothed chest so you could calm down. That was all he wanted from you right now. To relax and to take deep breaths.

“Warnings would be great Ken.”

“Yeah, but you said you don’t like to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“So should I warn you about how hard you make me dressed up like that?”

You moderately gasped at the comment placed right into your collarbone. You pressed down a tiny bit farther to see if you could feel it. You could. His breath fanned against your body and airy kisses lead.

You wonder where all of Kenma’s shyness over the years went because now you would never have guessed him to be like this. The friction fuels him to push you more.

Kenma could go on and on about these random intrusive thoughts he only gets at night—the only time where you seem to engulf his brain. Living with you over the years has been fine with zero temptation, but recently, it’s been like a hormone specifically for you snapped in his body. He feels the way you roll your hips the smallest bit for yourself. You liked the talk, just not the guys.

Soft fingers pull on a single string near your hair, releasing your breasts from the top as the fabric folded downwards between the two of you.

©️ hxltic

[crazymadpassionatelove]

Cool Fiancè

Notes: 18+ sex mentioned

Special shout-out to @ab4eva and her fabulous editing skills! This is the second installment in my cool girl saga. Read Part 1 here

---

Five Things to know about Austin Butler’s New Fiance ::

Although his reps couldn't be reached for comment, sources close to the Elvis actor confirm he has popped the question to his mysterious lady love!

Butler and the stunning brunette were recently spotted at the iconic Les Puces market in Paris last Friday, and she seemed to be sporting a new accessory. Austin was dressed in a black leather jacket, a white v neck tee, and black moto boots. She was clad in a classic trench coat and vintage Dior kitten heels as she kept her head down and let the winner lead the way. His face was mostly obscured by aviator sunglasses, but his smile was very apparent according to onlookers. “Austin was holding her hand and pointing out jewelry at different booths. They were very friendly with local vendors and Austin ended up buying her a gold charm bracelet. He told the dealer the bracelet was a momento to celebrate their recent engagement,” a fellow American tourist overheard. The twosome reportedly spent the prior week soaking in the city of lights and meeting with the YSL fashion house. Austin was recently tapped as the brand's newest ambassador.

Since returning stateside paparazzi pics have finally surfaced and revealed a closer look at that ring. Montana based indie jeweler Jada Kaye has been revealed as the designer of that serious sparkler. The 5 carat, flawless emerald-cut emerald is set in solid gold and flanked by two white diamonds on either side. Inside sources told Elle Magazine that Kaye and Butler worked closely together to craft the one of a kind creation. There's even rumored to be an inscription on the inside that's significant to the couple and the ring is estimated to cost a cool $100,000. Austin's fiancè was photographed heading into a ballet studio yesterday wearing pink tights, a pink leotard, Ugg boots, and of course that ring. Her curly dark brown hair was slicked back into a bun and she seemed to be sporting a pair of the actor's sunglasses.

Here's everything you need to know about the future Mrs. Austin Butler;

She's from New England —

A, as she's known, was born in Rhode Island. She grew up splitting her time between Rhode Island and Kennebunkport, Maine. Her teenage years were spent working the local Del’s lemonade truck, former neighbors say. She attended the Rhode Island School of Design after high school but never graduated.

She and Austin met via her former job –

Whilst working at the New York location of Vibrant Vintage, A, served as the fashion archives buyer. She also happened to be on hand when Butler visited the store. Supposedly she helped him find the perfect pair of leather boots, and the rest is history. Things clearly moved quickly between the two lovebirds, with A relocating to Los Angeles not long after. According to Vibrant Vintage, she is no longer employed there but “remains a close friend and consultant,” says their PR team.

She's a hit with his friends –

She organized a birthday party for her man’s co-star and close friend, Callum Turner. Turner posted an Instagram story showing off a fairly large garden party celebration and a “homemade blueberry glaze cake” according to the post. “Huge thanks to Austin's lovely lady xx” accompanied the video footage. She and Austin were also seen dining with his other Masters of the Air co-star, Nate Mann, while in Paris recently.

They've (supposedly ) got matching ink –

An unnamed employee at the iconic Bang Bang tattoo in NYC has said that Austin and A made a late night visit to the tattoo studio. Where exactly are the said-to-be matching minimalistic tattoos? Reportedly, Austin was inked on his left hip and A on her inner left thigh.

Old fashioned love letters are her thing -

Notably social media shy, Austin and A have taken up the lost art of handwritten love notes. Sources exclusively say that custom monogrammed stationery was crafted for the duo whilst Austin was filming in England. The hand pressed, vintage inspired paper bears a unique coat of arms style symbol with intertwining letter A’s and two sparrows (Fun fact! Sparrows mate for life and always find their way back, no matter how far they fly). While separated, the couple often writes letters to one another, even having the letters sent via jet instead of mail for privacy reasons!

_______

Suddenly one morning articles begin to pour in about your engagement. It catches you off guard, that ring akin to a skating rink has been sitting pretty on your hand for a bit now. The engagement had happened so naturally as everything with the two of you seems to. In the early morning hours while his swollen, rock hard member thrusts into you repeatedly you begin to awaken. On your side, his teeth clamp down on your shoulder as his finger twirls round the curls at the nape of your neck.

His gasps and needy groans tickle your ear. “Couldn't help myself..”, he shudders as you suddenly clamp down around him, barely able to register it all. You stretch and arch, allowing him the room and space to take what he needs. It is his after all. His teeth and pillowy soft lips mark your shoulder blades and when you reach down to where the two of you are joined, you feel his very full balls. Your newly manicured fingers tease and tug the best you can, scrunched up like some sort of acrobat. “Ugh, ugh…baby… you're gonna make me -”. Then he does. Hot, viscous, cream floods you and makes you sigh in a contented whimper. “Thanks darlin’,” he pets your head and you close your eyes dreamily. That is until you hear him rustling around in the bedside table next to him.

You cock open an eye, figuring he's looking for smokes or even the book he had been reading late last night. Your hands are stretched above your head, gripping a pillow. The perfect position for him to suddenly slip the most gorgeous piece of jewelry you've ever seen onto your finger. When your eyes shoot open and you jump up, he's lying there grinning that smile that makes you weak at the knees. “Will you be my wife?” As if your answer would be anything but yes, please Daddy. You smother him in kisses, straddling him and giggling. It's the perfect moment, the perfect proposal. You were never one to want a fireworks display or heaven forbid, those ridiculous and wasteful walls of flowers other celebrities seem to have for every occasion. This private, simple moment is everything you could ask for.

You feel the sudden urge to take him in your mouth despite him just finishing. With your head hanging off the side of the bed, you take him down your throat. Choking and gagging, you really give it your all. Fighting to keep your eyes open so you can see the way his lip curls and his eyes slam shut. Talking is always your thing. This time, though, he's sputtering and rasping words of utter devotion and love. Promises to worship your body until the day he dies. My perfect, perfect wife. Soon you can't be sure if the tears are from his cock down your throat, or his beautiful words. Maybe both. Those pretty boy fingers twist and tug on your nipples and then crawl lower and flick that special spot. The only fireworks you enjoy happen, twice for you actually. He's so dutiful and charming, when you're done pulling yourself back together and fixing your hair, he's handing you a surprise glass of champagne. What a way to mark the occasion.

You decline a proper press announcement. Phone and FaceTime calls follow to those who truly matter to you both - your families, both absolutely thrilled. Then Baz, Cal, The Presley's, everyone can't stop gushing about how perfect you are for each other. That ring, oh how sweet he designed it himself. You come up with a family-appropriate story to describe the proposal and the evening that followed, conveniently leaving out the mind-blowing sex the two of you have all over the house and in the hot tub. Why do things feel so different now that you're engaged? You can't get over the way the light hits the ring as you stroke him and something in that dirty girl heart of yours feels like it's really, truly, official when you have to clean his cum off the stone.

He's due back to set for some reshoots a few days later and of course you follow. Bringing throw pillows from your living room to spruce up his trailer and plotting out how to plan the most private, under the radar wedding possible while you lounge in his trailer in a cute little dress you sew yourself from vintage scarves bought in London. Your newest hobby, that and the ballet classes. He yammers on and on about wanting to sneak in and see you dance. You're sure it's just the tights and leotards spurring his interest though, let's be real. The paparazzi are as relentless as ever, but head down with big sunglasses helps keep the chaos at bay.

You visit Disney World, a whole crew, the two of you, your families, friends with their little ones. Thankfully Disney security is familiar with celebrity guests and you can actually let your guard down for once. Which is good, because seeing Austin chase after your friend's newly toddling little ones makes your stomach flip flop with joy. You make a mental note to expedite the wedding plans, he makes it known that he's chomping at the bit to be a father. When you visit Main Street, you decide a pair of new Mickey ears are in order. Gold stitching with Mrs. Butler is what you finally decide on after Austin's encouragement, his hand on your lower back as you walk miles and miles around the park with hands full of churros and cotton candy. Sure, some overzealous fans snap cell phone pics of you with your ears and immediately post them to those ridiculous Austin fan blogs who've now decided you are the evil villain in his story. You won't allow them to burst your Disney bubble though. Your fairytale is just beginning after all.

__

[naeverse]

Drunken Love

A/N: OMG guys, it took forever to write this due to my busy schedule as of late, but my classes are now complete. Hooray! 😆🥳 Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. ❤️❤️ Art generated on: niji・journey

🥃staring: FatherBestFriend!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

      🍴preview: Without looking at him, you nodded, feeling his burly arm around your waist and soon his breath fanning against your ear. “I want you to forget about your troubles and give your worries to me to bear.” He uttered, caressing your lower back in gentle, loving circles. 

“And in return, allow me to make things better for you, mi amor.” 

💰summary: After four years of studying abroad, you return home to a 'Welcome Home' party hosted by your father. However, you quickly realize that nothing has changed—your father remains the same rude and selfish man, solely focused on money and his business. As before, you're expected to conform to his strict rules and spend your days under his watchful eye. But with just a glance, Miguel O’Hara, your father’s best friend and business partner, seems to shatter all your desires to comply with your father's suffocating expectations, and offers an enticing escape...

Just like before…

🔥tw/cw: Age Gape, Big Dick Miguel, Body Worship, Car Sex, Cock Bulge, Cunnilingus, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Forbidden love, Modern AU, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Size Difference

❤️‍🔥Pet names: Amor (Love), Bebè (Baby), Cariño (Darling), Mi amor (My love) Princesa (Princess), Querida (Dear)

     ���Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🥀 Word Count: 8.2k words

As you stepped through the wrought iron gates of your father’s manor, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. It had been four years since you last set foot here, having been away studying abroad. Now, back home, everything felt familiar...

But not in a good way.

The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the aroma of sizzling meat on the grill, filling the air as your heels clicked cautiously on the smooth paved pathways leading to the center of your father’s luxurious backyard, where your 'Welcome Home' party was to be held. Yet, deep down, you knew it wouldn’t be the warm reception you hoped for.

The atmosphere exuded polished formality, with every blade of grass meticulously groomed to perfection. The yard held an aura that compelled one to straighten their posture and don their most radiant smile. Small tables, draped with white cloth, adorned the grassy area, displaying an array of finger foods and appetizers. Servants circulated with trays of alcoholic beverages, adding to the air of sophistication. Every attendee was elegantly attired, clad in lavish dresses, uptight suits, diamond necklaces, and gold bands, engaged in hushed gossip in small groups.

‘No wonder Jessica styled me this way,’ you thought, scanning the guests who greeted you with smiles, waves, and brief 'Welcome back's.' Jessica Owens, your personal assistant whom you hadn’t seen in years, had welcomed you at the airport and accompanied you to select a divine outfit tailored to your tastes for the occasion.

A one-shoulder column sequin dress hugged your figure, its scarlet red fabric boasting a leg slit that offered a glimpse of the matching closed-toe, ankle strapped heels you wore. Bold chandelier earrings adorned your ears, drawing attention to your exposed shoulder, while a delicate bracelet with sparkling gemstones adorned your wrist, subtly shimmering in the light.

Makeup further accentuated your beauty—a radiant red lip, sultry eyes, and flawless complexion with highlights completed your look. Your hair, styled as per Jessica's suggestion, cascaded around your face, having been released from an updo to frame your features perfectly.

You could feel eyes on you from every direction, a sensation you didn’t miss on your time away. The overwhelming attention began to stir a wave of nervousness within you. Seeking a moment to collect yourself, you slipped away to a secluded corner of the gathering, observing the events of your supposed 'Welcome Back' party from afar.

Musicians played a steady and upbeat tune, chatter and fraudulent giggles echoed throughout the night. Amongst the festivities, an even more rambunctious laugh caught your attention.

Your father, gleaming in a tailored suit, stood at the center of the gathering. Just like you remembered, his smile was as polished and white as the silverware laid out on the tables, scrubbed to perfection and shining like stars. Studying your father like a book, you couldn’t help but notice his forced chuckles and strained cheeks from grinning too much, a sight that churned your stomach.

After all these years, he remained unchanged—viewing you as nothing more than a tool for gaining him attention.

So why the hell did you expect a warm hug and genuine affection from him without a crowd present? 

Rolling your eyes, you politely signaled to a nearby server to fetch a champagne glass from his tray. You knew you would need it to endure the rest of the evening filled with your father's rehearsed conversations and gestures.

Taking a long sip from your glass, relishing its divine taste and the sizzling burn down your throat. Upon lifting it from your lips with a contented sigh, a voice filled your ears, causing your heart to skip a beat.

"Look at you, all grown up."

The abruptness of the deep, Latino-accented words left you momentarily speechless, a whirlwind of emotions bursting inside you like fireworks against a starlit sky.

There was no mistaking whose voice it belonged to...

It was one you could never forget during your time away, and just thinking about him made butterflies dance in your belly.

"Miggy?" 

You called out the sweet nickname of the older male in shock, turning your gaze up to the towering figure before you, successfully avoiding choking on your champagne in the process.

True to form, his tan face retained its stoic expression, marked by a scowl, tight-knit bushy eyebrows, and stern amber eyes, yet even you could see the familiar corners of his lips draw up into a tight lipped smile. 

"It's nice to see you again, Y/N," he replied nonchalantly, causing your entire face to light up. "Miggy!" You exclaimed, throwing your free arm around his neck as he chuckled lowly at your enthusiasm.

"What did I tell you about hugs, hmm?" he inquired, practically whispering into your ear, though you couldn't ignore the loving undertone in his deep voice. "That you didn't like them, but I do it anyway," you giggled, standing on tiptoes to deepen the embrace due to his towering height. Despite himself, you felt one of Miguel's burly arms wrap around you, pulling you close in return.

You sighed in contentment, his body heat engulfing your smaller self compared to his massive 6’9 height and muscular figure. The Latino's woodsy and wealthy cologne clouded your senses just like before, as the nostalgic feeling of security filled your being. 

I take it you missed me, Cariño," he uttered from above you, his gruff voice rumbling through the expanse of his chest. You nodded, snuggling into his beige collared and button-up top, eliciting a rare hum of contentment from the typically stoic man.

After a while, his arm gave your body another comforting squeeze before reluctantly pulling away. You pushed back the pang of sadness at his sudden absence of warmth.

Clearing your throat, you redirect your focus, following Miguel's gaze to the bustling, fancy gathering, a tranquil silence settling between the two of you.

"How was studying abroad?" Miguel's deep voice, though always soothing, retained its usual coldness. "It was honestly fun," you smiled, recalling the freedom you enjoyed without the scrutiny of your father's strict eye. To your surprise, Miguel scoffed in amusement, shaking his head.

Your eyebrows raised in confusion, and you turned to see him taking a sip from the glass of bourbon you hadn't noticed before in his hand. "What is it?" you urged, causing him to shake his head dismissively once more. But upon his amber eyes catching your growing pout, an expression you knew was always his weakness, he heaved a sigh.

"Dios mío, ese maldito puchero tuyo…" He muttered under his breath, turning to face you fully. "I'm not... pleased with the amount of 'fun' you had away," the older male stated, leaving you confused.

"W-what are you talking about?" you chuckled, watching him nod towards your champagne glass. "You are drinking... You didn't before," he acknowledged.

You followed his gaze to your half-empty champagne glass, a remnant of your previous gulp. "Why does it matter? It's just one glass," you stated, emphasizing your point with another sip, which seemed more like a gulp in Miguel's eyes.

"Querida, before, you could barely handle half a glass, let alone one," he scolded, unable to tear his eyes away from your alcoholic beverage. You gave Miguel a small smile, his overprotectiveness—a trait you actually missed while you were away—evident in every word he uttered.

"Relax," you tried to reassure. "I can handle my alcohol now, Miggy. There's no need to worry." At your words, he huffed, turning his gaze from you back to the gathering unfolding before you. "So you went abroad to become a party animal?" he asked under his breath, the question unsettling you like a disturbed hive. Your face twisted in confusion and a hint of hurt at his comment. "No, I didn't. I went because I wanted to, something I see you still do not understand," you explained, feeling your fingers tighten around the underside of your glass in growing irritation.

Miguel sighed in disapproval, taking a gulp of his dark brown drink. "I just find it hard to believe," he replied. "Studying abroad of all places?" he chuckled, tapping his ringed middle finger against his glass. "I didn't take you as someone to run away from your problems, princesa."

"I didn't run away," you retorted, shooting him a small glare before finding your eyes drawn to your father, who was shaking hands with a well-dressed man and woman. The more you stared at your 53-year-old father, the more your thoughts churned. 

‘Did you leave because of your father?’ you pondered as he was indeed one of the reasons, but mainly you departed to study far away from home to pursue your dreams—something your father greatly opposed.

Being away from your father and his strict rules felt like taking a breath of fresh air. It was the most free you had ever felt. But now, back home, the overwhelming restrictions and harsh regulations felt suffocating, and you wanted nothing more than to retreat back to the paradise you found on your own…

Your thoughts were soon interrupted when a set of ringed fingers gently cupped your chin, turning you to meet the owner of such calloused digits.

With surprise, you found yourself face-to-face with Miguel, his features still stern, his jaw clenched, but his touch gentle, and the coldness in his eyes replaced with something softer.

"I missed you, mi amor..." 

He whispered suddenly, his thumb caressing your skin affectionately. Your heart fluttered at the vulnerability in his words, as memories of every moment spent with him flooded back: Every conversation, every touch, every kiss, and every passionate night rose to the surface of your mind. 

Like a reviving fire, his mere words set your body ablaze. 

You never saw Miguel in this state, never heard him utter something affectionate to you as his love was mostly shown through his actions, making his confession leave you shocked and speechless...

Despite your disapproval and your desire for him to move on, Miguel had waited for you as he promised. The thought of you being gone from his side was unbearable for him. 

Every waking moment was excruciating, every sleeping night insufferable.

He knew how much you wanted to pursue your own dreams and be free of your father, whom Miguel knew all too well as someone very snobbish and selfish. But being away from you for so long was a pain he couldn't bear.

You and Miguel loved each other in secret, the two of you became so good at pretending, one only saw you two as just friends. But your father and Miguel were close—

Very close.

Miguel and your father were business partners before they were best friends. Your father managed the finances and marketing of their shared bourbon line, while Miguel owned distilleries and oversaw production, even owning his own bars where his bourbon was the highlighted beverage.

Their booming business soon forged a friendship, and like welcoming one to the family, your father introduced Miguel to you.

At the time, you were young, and Miguel was evidently older, but when your eyes met, you both fell hard.

You started off as friends, Miguel being a wise, older male you went to for advice, and you were someone who kept Miguel company, even though he once adored being alone. 

The more time you spent together, the deeper your feelings grew, until you both made it official to date in secret.

From then on, private getaways, hidden touches, and shared nights of passion became the norm, despite knowing how enraged your father would be if he discovered such a thing. But neither of you minded; staying attentive and careful kept your secret safe.

It wasn't until you confided in Miguel about your desires to leave and study abroad that reality kicked in.

All at once, your hidden life of fantasy collapsed.

You were going to leave to pursue your dreams, departing from Miguel for four years...

Miguel loathed that, and even more, he despised your reasoning. He wanted it to be because of your strict father, the overbearing rules he'd set upon you. Miguel didn't mind if you left because of him even! But you weren't going for either of those reasons.

"For me, Miggy. I want to go for myself," were the words you stated when he inquired why you must go.

He detested your reason because he knew he shouldn't fight you in the matter; it was what you desired. But he was selfish—possessive even. He wanted you, needed you by his side, so he couldn't accept you leaving him.

Many arguments ensued on the matter. He demanded you to stay, while you found every good reason to leave and achieve your dreams, ones that your father opposed you seeking. It ultimately led to you deciding to put an end to your secret relationship with Miguel.

It wasn't because of the many fights and arguments, but because you knew he loved you too much—too much that you didn't want him to miss you so intensely that it hurt, to the point where it would leave him in an irreparable state. 

To spare you distress and further heartbreak, Miguel agreed to end things, despite his sorrow and disdain at the thought of breaking up. However, while you were concerned about his emotional stability, Miguel's workaholic tendencies got the best of him after your departure—a trait only you could suppress.

He threw himself into his shared bourbon business with your father, meticulously tasting from each of his twenty distilleries, meeting daily with all his workers for updates, making significant improvements on the bars he oversaw, and even holding one-on-one meetings with your father to explore new ways to expand their bourbon industry. He became addicted to caffeine and deprived himself of sleep, to the point where hibernation seemed like the only cure to replenish his exhausted body. 

Miguel worked tirelessly in this manner simply to avoid missing you, and he consumed so much of his own bourbon that he might as well have emptied an entire distillery on his own.

Nevertheless, his attempts were useless…

Miguel thought of you and craved you every day. He spent his days recalling every aspect of you: your smile, your laugh, your fragrance, your hair, your body, and even your affection, which he once found discomforting due to his lack of familiarity with it, but now desired more than ever.

Despite Miguel's best efforts to forget you, he only fell deeper in love with you.  

His days of agony came to an end when Miguel was invited to dinner and golfing with your father. There, on the field, Miguel discovered that you'd be returning back home—back to him.

His heart skipped a beat at the exciting news, leaving him unable to perform a good swing as his golf game with your father proceeded; but to hell with it...

You were returning, and that was all that mattered.

On the day of your Welcome Back party, he found himself picky over his outfit, clicking his tongue and angrily muttering in Spanish at every disappointing attire he came across... until he found the one.

A beige, loosely buttoned top, styled with a matching sienna brown blazer and dress pants was his selection. Pairing it with his attire, he added dark umber oxfords.

To accessorize, the Latino added a complementary belt that matched his shoes and a classic watch with brown leather straps. Gold rings adorned his thick fingers, and a simple chain graced his exposed, muscular throat.

As he put on his outfit for the party, he found himself more nervous than excited. The last few times he'd seen you weren't on good terms. The days of secret getaways, kisses, and passionate touches always led to an argument about your departure, so he was worried you'd still be upset with him…

At the gathering, he found himself eagerly watching the entrance for you, his glass of bourbon in hand. His heart rose and fell with each arrival of another lavishly dressed guest, leading him to believe you wouldn't show.

Until you did...

It felt like everything stopped—the melodic tunes from the musicians faded away, the jumbled conversing of the partygoers ceased—as the only thing he heard was his heart beating loudly against his chest.

You were always beautiful to the older male, but tonight, after not seeing you for so long, you were utterly breathtaking.

His gaze trailed along your figure, remembering all the times he held your form in his hands, felt your body heat, and soft skin. He instantly noticed how enticing that scarlet dress hugged your body, teasing him to do the unthinkable right there, be damned to who was watching.

But amidst his burning desire, in that moment, he could only think one thing, and one thing only: 

"Gosh, I've missed you..." 

Before he could ponder or stop himself, he found himself leaving his spot to walk over to you, and the closer he got, the more his heart felt like it wanted to burst from his chest as flashes of what you shared before played on repeat in his head.

And now as you gazed up into Miguel's hardened amber eyes, you could see love for you in them. His thumb gently tracing patterns along your chin as you were still processing his touch, the closeness and the confession that spilled from his lips.

‘He... missed me?’ You repeated to yourself, almost finding it unbelievable if it wasn't for how he was looking at you as if you were the only woman in the room.

“M-Miggy…” You whispered when suddenly your heart dropped at the sound of another voice approaching.

“Why, if it isn't my little angel?”

Like the speed of light, you jumped away from Miguel to cast your eyes onto your father, instinctively gaining the urge to hide behind your champagne glass.Miguel's face returned to its usual expression of stoicism, hating how the both of you were interrupted. 

“Hello, father,” you said, lacking your previous enthusiasm that you showed Miguel, however, your father ignored you, hastily turning his eyes to his best friend and business partner instead. “And, of course, Miguel O'Hara,” your father grinned, giving the Latino a firm handshake before going into a ramble. “I'd love to set a meeting with you about the idea of releasing a limited-edition bourbon,” he proposed in a jolly tone, business seeming to be the only topic he spoke of.

“Imagine just how much buzz would circulate amongst customers, the collectors, and don't forget the drive sales,” your father beamed at the thought as you watched the interaction between the two men in silence.

Miguel simply grunted to show his attentiveness, but neither agreed nor disagreed with your father's business idea. “I'd rather enjoy welcoming your daughter home. We can speak about business at another time,” Miguel stated, casting a glance over at you before turning his sharp gaze back to your father.

Your dad's smile faltered at being dismissed, clearing his throat. “Of course, of course,” he concurred, turning to you due to Miguel’s mentioning of you, his daughter. “I'm happy you are… back, daughter. I hope you used your time away wisely,” he added, causing your eyebrows to narrow. ‘Wisely? What the hell does that mean?!’ you thought, knowing your father was an expert at backhanded comments and sly insults that can be described like poisoned cake—you never noticed the venom underneath his sweetness.

“I did. I enjoyed doing something to benefit myself for a change,” you politely said, adding more salt into the wound by downing the rest of your champagne. Your father's eyes looked down at your empty glass and then at you in irritation.

Casting a fake smile, he glanced at Miguel. “My apologies in advance, my friend, but it's nothing new seeing my disobedient daughter behave so poorly,” your father said, feeling your stomach twist into knots when he looked back at you, his facade of kindness dissolved into a snarl. “She thinks that she owns the place after leaving for a few years, it's only right I put her back in her place,” your father stated to Miguel, more than you.

Keeping your gaze on your horrible parent rather than the older Latino, you waited for your father's harsh words knowing they were to rain down on you like hellfire, and like anticipated…

it did…

“Listen here, girl, you might have fled from here for whatever reason, but I didn't,” he spat, eyes full of hatred staring back at you. “Without me, our family name would have been forgotten long ago; but for the entirety of my fifty-three years of life, I've worked my ass off to provide for us, and I'll continue to do so until my dying breath,” he said in anger between the three of you.

“And now that you've returned, I won't allow my selfish brat of a daughter to ruin things for me,” your father growled as you narrowed your eyes at him, reciprocating his disdain, but it only seemed to amuse him even more. He chuckled, giving your cheek a harsh pinch. “So do not think being away changes a thing, I expect the same from you as before—obedience and perfection,” he said, patting your face with each word. “Understand, or do I need Miguel here to say it in Spanish for you?” he asked with a smirk as it took everything to prevent the frustrated and angry tears from spilling down your cheeks.

You couldn't hear or see anything or anyone, only feel the overwhelming feeling of entrapment once again. It engulfed your being, feeling like a pair of hands were strangling you, and you were powerless against it…

All over again.

With a shaky breath, you stared back at him with eyes full of raging fire. “Yes…I fucking understand,” you said through gritted teeth, causing the businessman to laugh.

“Good and clean that attitude, girl. I never did like that mouth of yours,” he said, glancing over at Miguel, whose face was still completely hardened, emotionless, but a kinder tone was used by your father when speaking with him. “If you'd like, the meat is being served at the buffet table as we speak, my friend. I heard it's very tender and is satisfactory when hot,” your father smiled. “But I hope you enjoy the gathering. Miguel. Daughter,” he growled, casting you a glare and a hint of disgust found in the way he addressed you before he departed entirely—disappearing into the bustling yard of elegantly clothed persons and leaving you enraged. 

You stared at the spot your father previously stood in, a blazing fire of anger sizzling inside your being. Gripping your wine glass so tightly your knuckles whitened, you turned on your heel, shoving the empty cup into a passing servant's hands on your way out. 

Everything faded around you as the only thing you desired in that moment was getting away—from this party, rich society, and most importantly, your asshole of a father. You didn’t walk far before a large hand grasped your wrist, pulling you into a secluded spot out of the ear and eyeshot of the partygoers.

With a piercing gaze, you looked up, ready to release the fury that had grown inside of you when your eyes met Miguel’s narrowed, yet, concerned ones. His towering frame cornered you against the trunk of one of your father’s massive oak trees in his backyard, a tree he ordered to be particularly planted in this area.

Although Miguel normally didn’t care for others, finding empathy a hard thing, his heart tugged whenever you became like this. “Are you alright? It looks like you want to strangle someone?” He asked, amber eyes tracing every detail of your face in search of what you were feeling inside, but your turmoil was evident.

You released an unsteady exhale, the calm before the brewing storm. “Y-You saw him!” You exclaimed. “T-That rich bastard that has his money shoved so far up his damn ass, he’ll probably believe the sky is green if it means his pockets will be filled.” You ranted in anger, every word making you feel so much better, leaving you to continue your spurge. “And he’s so controlling that it’s suffocating; whenever my father is in the room…, I-I feel like I’m dying, Miguel.” The confession left your lips before you could stop yourself, angry tears beginning to run down your face.

“A-And, he pretends he’s such a great father, going around speaking of me—of my hobbies, interests, and so much more that is all bullshit. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care to know.” You cried, trying to wipe your cheeks clean of the tears, but they continued to fall despite your efforts. “My father only cares about himself, more than anything else.” You said in a brittle voice.

“The world can end tomorrow and he’ll still be trying to get over on everyone, and count every dime he has to make sure his pockets are hefty before his time ends.” You sniffled, shaking your head in irritation, the fury in your voice escaping into sorrow. “And…I’m just done. I can’t- I can’t do this anymore.” You admitted with a trembling sigh.

“I can’t be around him anymore, live with his lies, under his rules, and like I cannot exist in his presence.” You told Miguel as after your venting, you looked up at him to find his usual stoic features staring back at you. His tanned face devoid of emotion as he simply stood over you, listening like he always did.

You bit your lip, feeling a little embarrassed after saying so many deep things to Miguel—things you’ve never actually told him in-depth, but could simply be noticed as your father didn’t hold anything back from the rich Latino. “I’m sorry, I-I’ll just go.” You said, trying to walk around him when his hand was placed onto the tree behind you, blocking you under him. “No.” He said with the shake of his head, his coffee-brown curls swaying with the movement.

You gasped, eyes snapping up to meet him in confusion when his large hand cupped your rose-tinted cheek, his thumb delicately swiping away a stray tear. “I hated the way he speaks to you; I’ve always did.” He uttered, disdain found in his deep tone. “I’ve offered you many times in the past, Querida, to let me handle it— let me handle your father, and you turn me down each and every time.” He sighed, his amber orbs staring down at you in a blend of rage for the situation you were in, but also in sympathy.

A frown graced your lips, remembering what he spoke of. “Yes…I-I did, because it’s my burden to take on—my problem to deal with, not yours.” You tried to explain. “And if you intervene, it’ll surely ruin things with your shared business with my father.”

“To hell with it.” He spat, his hand moving from your cheek to grasp your hips possessively. “We've tried it your way for years and nothing has changed.” He retorted in anger. “Your father continues to treat you like muck on his shoe while I have to sit and watch.” Miguel said, his eyes narrowed in irritation, his jaw clenched, but his anger settled upon seeing your tears start to flow once more. 

“Listen to me, Cariño.” He began, staring into your eyes. “Your burdens are my burdens—your problems are my problems.” He said, determination etched on his tanned face. “I will not sit around any longer and allow your father to treat you like this, I can’t, and I won’t.” He blatantly told you.

Your heart fluttered at his words, despite not agreeing with Miguel's logic. Looking over his stern features, you could see that there was no way you could stop him—when his mind and heart were set on something, he sought to see it through. You averted your gaze away from the Latino, torn on the newfound decision he’d made. 

A quietness settled between the two of you, the gentle breeze of the wind, tunes and laughter from the distant party filling the silence.

Miguel's thick eyebrows furrowed, not expecting your reaction to be this. He rubbed your hip soothingly, trying to meet your gaze once more. “May you do something for me, Querida…? Y/N?” He said, your name being uttered by him was rare, using it only during serious talks, just like this one.

Without looking at him, you nodded, feeling his burly arm around your waist and soon his breath fanning against your ear. “I want you to forget about your troubles and give your worries to me to bear.” He uttered, caressing your lower back in gentle, loving circles.

“And in return, allow me to make things better for you, mi amor.” 

His words made your stomach flip as your head snapped to meet his gaze. Since you’ve arrived back home, a new side of Miguel has been introduced to you—one that you had never seen.

Before, he was always cold and stern, mostly only affectionate through a slight caress of the cheek, stroke of the hair, or even through a kiss that usually was controlled and led by him. 

He’d never actually spoken sentiments in this way to you, and it made you utterly speechless.

“M-Miggy, I-” You tried to reply but your brain had become mush. Miguel gave you a tight-lipped smile, shushing you with a shake of his head once more. “Come…” He simply whispered, taking your wrist and turning to leave when you hastily stopped him. “Wait, wait, we can’t just leave together. I-It’ll lead to suspicion,” you told the Latino. Despite your hate for your father and the status your family held, you didn’t want to anger him, nor damage his most cherished reputation, believing you’ll surely bring a monster out of your father if you did so.

Miguel looked back at you with tenderness in his eyes. “What did I tell you, hmm?” He asked with a smirk, his gaze instantly mesmerizing you and leaving you unable to speak once more. “Let me take care of things with your father and the rich assholes out there,” he assured in his gruff voice that usually held a rough edge, now gone and replaced with a loving tone that made you melt.

The Latino leaned in close to you, his arm pulling you to his body by your waist. Miguel gazed down at you, his rich, woodsy cologne filling your senses and the feeling of his pecs against your body made a rush of desire burn up inside of you, replacing the fire of hate you previously felt for your father. “Let me make things better for you, amor,” he told you once more, but this time, the adoration for you was evident in his voice.

Your heart skipped a beat, noticing just how close the two of you were—lips just a hair's breadth away. “O-Okay,” you finally mustered, unable to prevent yourself from pulling him into a searing kiss. Miguel groaned in surprise, his hand gripping your waist tightly while his other clawed into your hair, drawing you closer to him.

Gasps of air escaped you, incapable of stopping as with every kiss, it cured the need that you both craved of each other. Teeth clashed and tongues entwined, hands gripping clothes to try and close the nonexistent space between each of your bodies. You only parted when in the distance, a loud applause filled the air, one that startled you both.

Jumping in each other’s embrace, you shared a gaze over at the gathering to find your father in the center, continuing to entertain his guests, their attention solely on him.

You rolled your eyes at the anticipated sight, turning back to Miguel to see that he was already staring at you. His amber orbs burned with longing, and when he pulled you close once more, you could feel his evident bulge pressing into your thigh.

“I can't wait another minute, amor. I need you. Now,” he practically demanded in a hushed whisper into your ear, a kiss pressed upon your lobe following his desire. However, his words and arousal sparked a fire inside of you, matching his own longing.

With just a shared gaze, he knew your response without you having to utter a single word…

‘Let's get out of here.’

Your fingers combed through Miguel’s coffee brown curls, pulling him deeper into the intoxicating kiss you shared as his large hands roamed your bare skin. You moaned into his lips when his hand grasped your breasts, squeezing the sensitive flesh. His ministrations caused the peaked tips to harden as his fingers didn’t hesitate to flick and roll them. Miguel’s mouth continued to ravage yours, your moans becoming lost in your shared passion.

Your eyes fluttered, trying to recall past events on how the two of you ended up in the backseat of his black Lamborghini Urus, unclothed and practically devouring each other like two rabid animals; but the only thing that came to mind was the burning desire to feel him, touch him, taste him... 

Just like before...

“G-goodness, I missed you.” You whimpered between kisses, his lips trailing along your jaw as his massive body pressed you into the leather cushions, his heavy weight and body heat only arousing you further.

He breathlessly chuckled against your throat, pressing a final kiss to your skin before meeting your eyes. “As have I, mi amor,” he confessed, looking down at you with newfound love in his brown orbs. Your heart palpated at the sight as he leaned in to press another kiss to your lips. “Allow us to make up for lost time,” he whispered with a smirk. To your delight, he began to lower down your body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake: on your collarbone, through the valley of your breasts, to your navel, and finally settling between your thighs.

He passionately kissed your sensitive, plush skin before lifting your legs up to drape over his broad shoulders, bringing himself face-to-face with what he truly desired. You gasped, your lower back arching and rising off the soft cushions of the truck's seat, thankful for the enormity of your father's best friend's vehicle, as it provided plenty of space for all the activities you wished to partake in.

Your breathing came out shaky from anticipation, the warm air from your lover's lips onto your moist core doing nothing to calm your excitement. “Are you going to make love to it or simply stare?” You asked, almost breathless despite not even reaching the peak of your intimacy yet.

Miguel laughed at your fervency, his massive body rumbling. He glanced down, his eyes meeting yours. “I'm just admiring what is mine, amor—what has been away from me for so long,” he huskily uttered, running his thumb delicately along your folds and pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh, the sensation spreading through your body like wildfire.

“I... appreciate the admiration, but I don't think I can wait any longer,” you honestly told him with a small panting giggle. Reaching up to run your fingers through his brown curls, a deep hum of satisfaction escaped his throat at your touch.

"So eager for me, princesa. Always so eager," he groaned, pressing a kiss to your throbbing bud before flicking out his tongue to taste your arousal. The sensation eliciting a loud gasp from deep within your chest.

"Mierda, sabes tan bien… Tal y como lo recordaba," he rambled gruffly in Spanish, burying his face into your heat and wrapping his arms around your midsection to pull you closer. His desire to not part from between your thighs was evident in the growing tightness of his bulging biceps around you—his muscles gripping you in a vice like a starving man with his rations.

Your eyes rolled, the sensations so foreign yet familiar as his tongue seemed to be everywhere at once: circling your bud, thrusting into your entrance, and sucking at your soft folds. “O-Oh gosh!” you exclaimed, realizing just how much your body had been craving and missing his skillful intimacy, his age undoubtedly playing a role in his experience.

An unshakable burning sensation in the pit of your stomach began to brew, the position Miguel held you in leaving you only able to succumb to the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. Your hands tangled in his hair, not having anything else to grasp onto, while your back arched into his mouth, seeking more of his lips and tongue.

“Muy bien, babygirl. Hmm…let me taste you.” He groaned, his breath ragged with desire. His thumbs widened your pussy lips, your soft hood lifting to expose your bundle of nerves as he focused his ministrations on the pink pearl. Like his life was at stake, his tongue suckled and swirled on your throbbing bud in a frenzy until you were a trembling mess underneath him. 

“M-Miggy!” You cried out, convulsing and shaking in his arms. “I-I’m cumming!” You screamed out, feeling him smirk against your core. “That's my girl. Come for me, princesa,” he urged, his efforts intensifying as your sensitivity increased. With a cry of ecstasy, you released the coil of knots in your belly, feeling your thighs become drenched in your juices, eagerly slurped up by your lover.

Miguel adored when you were like this, a twitching, moaning puddle underneath him, knowing he was the sole cause of it. It always left him with a sense of pride. 

With his tongue, he traced a final circle around your folds and kissed your clit before lowering your legs back down upon the seats. He hummed in satisfaction at your flushed cheeks and heaving chest, finding the sight utterly beautiful.

“How’s my girl? Not too much, I hope?” he asked with a breathless chuckle, climbing up to brush a strand of your disheveled hair behind your ear and press a kiss to your temple. You sighed in contentment, his tenderness sending a wave of warmth through your being.

You shook your head at his inquiry, eyes slowly flicking up to meet his gaze above you. “No, I’m okay,” you replied, bringing a smile upon the normally scowling male’s face. “Muy bien. I’m not done with you just yet, baby girl,” he snickered, pressing his forehead against yours, his musk and cologne filling your senses. “I promised to make you feel better. I plan to stand by that,” he affirmed, gently pecking your lips. Your heart swelled, and your core throbbed back to life at his words. You returned his kiss eagerly, wrapping your arms around his muscular neck as his gold chain dangled from his throat.

When Miguel parted and gazed down at you, he saw nothing but devotion and love for him in your eyes—a sight that he’d never thought he’d see before. He nuzzled his face into your neck, relishing in your divine scent that he’d missed so much. Miguel’s hands caressed your bare waist, feeling the soft skin underneath his calloused, ringed fingers. His cock was painfully hard, the only thing soothing his need was the subtle grinding of his member against your thighs, and even still it wasn’t helping.

You bit your lip, feeling just how solid and needy he was, the knowledge only making you wetter. “M-Miggy…I need you,” you whimpered, wanting nothing more than to feel him after so long. Miguel grinned, finding your pleas to be music to his ears. He pressed a final kiss to your neck before parting, his hands grasping around your thighs to widen your legs for him.

A soft moan passed your lips at the contact of his tip brushing teasingly along your drenched folds, the erotic wet sounds echoing throughout the vehicle. “Are you ready for me, bebé?” Miguel practically groaned, his hand gripping your thigh, caressing gentle circles into your skin with his thumb. Biting your lip, you frantically nodded, unable to speak with how quickly your heart was beating and how filled with anticipation you were to be claimed by him again after your time apart.

Miguel growled at your response, guiding his length into your entrance as your joined moans filled the truck. You whined, feeling your walls stretch to accommodate his girthy length. “S-So big, Miggy,” you whimpered, burying your face into your arms. 

The Latino grunted, glancing up to see your concealed face. He took your arms in his hands, drawing, placing them to your sides to expose your facial features to his amber eyes. “I want to see you, amor,” he whispered. “I want to see my sweet girl’s face.” He murmured, leaning down to kiss your lips while waiting for you to adjust. 

Soft groans escaped him between kisses at each pulse of your walls around his length. Each peck of your lips was meant to be a cure for his burning desire to fuck your sweet pussy in total abandon after four years of being deprived of it; so he stuck to devouring your mouth whilst waiting for the magic words of your adjustment.

“I-I’m ready,” you told him between his intoxicating kisses, and Miguel promptly began to move. His thrusts started off slow and precise, each of his languid movements pulling a moan from deep within your chest. “S-So good…Miggy,” you were only able to muster, feeling every vein of his massive cock with his steady pace.

Miguel’s amber eyes were always trained on your face, constantly finding adoration for the pleasurable expressions that graced your beautiful features when the two of you were intimate. He leaned down over you, deepening his plunges as he gradually increased his speed until he snapped his hips into you in a frenzy.. “Yes, mierda, you feel so damn good…Fuck. Squeezing me just right,” he hoarsely said, his dark brown curls dampening against his forehead, and his grip on your hips tightening with each thrust.

Your eyes fluttered, hips moving to meet each of his movements. “M-Miggy…right there,” you begged, feeling your lover angle his hips to hit your desired spot repeatedly, causing your climax to hit you instantly. Your loud cry of pleasure erupted throughout the darken truck causing Miguel to smirk, pleased with bringing you to your orgasm so quickly; but not finished just yet. “Yes, princesa. There we go,” he muttered with pants. “But we’re not through yet, bebè. One more,” Miguel said. “Give me one more, babygirl.” He groaned, your stomach coiling again at his desire for you to release a second time as his thrusts resumed. .

The older Latino’s muscles flexed, his pecs and abs glistening with sweat and bulging with each brutal buck, his balls smacking into your ass. You could feel his pent-up frustration for your departure from him for the previous four years, every roll of his hips expressing his longing. “Fuck…I missed this pussy of yours, princesa,” he grunted. “Always so wet and tight for me,” he groaned between loud smacks of wet flesh.

Your chest heaved, legs trembling around his body as his shaft seemed to touch places inside of you that you didn't even know existed. Every plunge of his cock took your breath away, leaving only inaudible moans and slurred, unintelligible words to spill from your lips. Miguel cursed breathlessly, his eyes never leaving your face. He placed a hand above your head on the car seat, his thrusts deepening and making your eyes roll. 

Miguel could feel himself slipping; he was close—he was certain of that, but he wasn’t going to let himself go until you did for the second time. Leaning down, his mouth found your enticing peaked tits, his tongue swirling around your erect nipples. Your eyes screwed shut, back arching off of the cushions of the seat at the added pleasure coursing through your being. Miguel growled softly, sucking your breast into his mouth whilst his other hand dipped down between your legs, his thumb circling your throbbing clit.

With his ministrations, skilled tongue, and brutal pace, your body began to squirm underneath him, all of the sensations becoming too much to bear. A fire seemed to dance along your skin before your vision blurred, and soon another satisfying release washed over you. Miguel's lips pulled away from your breasts, the clenching of your walls bringing him to his climax. “Y/N- Ay cono, I’m cumming,” he said, plunging inside for the final time before a guttural groan erupted from his large chest. He hastily pulled out, his seed shooting from his tip to coat your bare stomach. You softly moaned, feeling his warm essence upon your abdomen, and soon his massive body atop yours once more.

A quiet silence fell upon the truck except for the panting of your joined breaths. You smiled softly down at him, finding his head upon your chest to be precious. “I take it that someone missed me,” you whispered playfully into the quietness once you caught your breath, repeating the same words he said upon the two of you seeing each other after four long years. He chuckled, rubbing your sides tenderly. “Must I admit it?” he asked, making you laugh. “Yes, it’ll make me very happy.”

“Fine,” Miguel stated, looking up to meet your eyes as amusement was gone from his features to become slightly serious. “When you were gone, I was a mess. I didn’t sleep, I drank a lot, and my work filled my days,” he confessed with a sigh, your heart sinking at his words. “Miggy…” you frowned, running your fingers through his hair to soothe him. Miguel melted at your caresses, eyes fluttering closed for a moment to relish in your touch. “I tried to forget you, but forgetting you only made the memories we shared even more prominent, making me want you further, crave you even, despite us being separated,” Miguel told you, while you listened. “So yes… I missed you so much, Y/N,” he smiled, leaning down to peck your lips. “And don’t leave me again, you understand?” he asked playfully, but you couldn’t help but feel that he meant it.

You cupped his face in your hand, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “I promise. I won’t be leaving ever again, but if I do… I’ll take you with me,” you giggled, bringing a small smile upon his lips. However, the topic made your father arise in your thoughts, as any reason for leaving would be because of him. 

Miguel noticed the saddened look that suddenly graced your features, causing his thick eyebrows to furrow. “What’s wrong, mi amor?” he asked, sitting up on the cushion of his truck’s seat, his hand gently rubbing your legs.

You sighed, biting your lip nervously. “My father… I can’t go back,” you admitted to not only Miguel but to yourself. The mere idea of returning to him, his suffocating rules, and lifestyle felt like a death sentence. The older Latino male gave you an emotionless look, his fingers tracing patterns along your calf, his mind seeming to be spinning.

“Then don’t…” 

Miguel's sudden proposal surprising you. "W-what?" you asked in disbelief, your shock making him chuckle. "Then don’t go back… live with me," he suggested. Skeptical, you eyed him, trying to determine if he was joking, but Miguel was always serious, so you knew he was being truthful. 

"But… I can’t just… stay with you, Miggy. It’ll draw suspicion—"

"Shh…" Miguel interrupted with a smirk, stroking your cheek softly with the back of his hand. "I won’t allow my girl to go back to a place where she isn’t comfortable," he explained. "So live with me,’ he stated once more. “I’ll provide for all your wants and needs, allow you to behave and speak however you like without any restrictions holding you down." Miguel's sincere voice was one you trusted more than anyone else's on this planet. 

"And… what if this angers my father?" you asked warily as Miguel chuckled. "You wouldn’t have to worry about that. You won’t have to see your father unless you wish to," he assured with a smirk. "And don’t concern yourself with me; the bastard cannot hurt me even if he tried," he added, reassuring you further. Your heart soared at his words. 

For the first time in your life, you were given a solution—an escape from your father and the enslaved life he’d placed you into. You pulled Miguel into a deep embrace, surprising him with the sudden affection, but he returned it nonetheless, wrapping his burly arms around you and pulling you close. 

Miguel caressed your bare lower back, relishing in your closeness as your next words made his entire body become rigid. 

“I love you, Miggy.” 

The endearing words escaped your lips, something he thought was as ethereal as your shared love for each other. Before he could ponder it, he found himself uttering the same words back—and wholeheartedly meaning it. 

“I love you too, Querida.”  

In that moment, you couldn’t fathom how happy you were about your freedom, but you were even more delighted that you could finally be happy with the man you loved. 

Certainly, there would be challenges and obstacles in the future, but you’ve never felt stronger and more confident to tackle them with Miguel O’Hara, your secret lover and father’s best friend, by your side. 

A/N: Thanks so much for reading!! I just want to say again that I'm very thankful for the patience that you, lovely people have given me for the past few weeks, months probably. 😅 So I'm very grateful. 😊

I have many story ideas, requests and the kink series, Entangled Desires to get to, I can only hope that I'm able to get more things out to you wonderful people in the next couple of days or so. There is a lot to get done as you can see lol! 😅

But once again, thank so much, and just want to give a shoutout to @serpentineaerodynamics. This girlie has been getting my brain flowing, since I've returned and she's gotten me pumped to get back into the groove of things. 💪🏽😁 So thank you bestie! Love ya! 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! If you'd like to add a request to the kink series, Entangled Desire, or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask. I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe! ❤️❤️

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[dani3lricciard0]

A Day To Remember | Daniel Ricciardo

Daniel Ricciardo x singer!reader

Summary: Daniel has recently returned to Red Bull. It's the Silverstone Grand Prix, and Daniel has a surprise in store for you.

Warnings: none but there is a brief Christian Horner appearance (I made him be nice)

Authors note: Literally no one asked, this is entirely self indulgent but I hope you enjoy <3

Silverstone Circuit buzzed with excitement as the British Grand Prix was set to begin. The sun made a rare appearance and beamed down on the tarmac, making the metallic surfaces of the Formula 1 cars glisten. Among the crowd, the tension was palpable; it was race day. Daniel Ricciardo, recently reunited with Red Bull Racing, has qualified P2, just behind his teammate Max Verstappen. Lando Norris, the home hero, started from P3.

For you, standing in the VIP area, this race was even more special. Not only were you here to support your boyfriend, Daniel, but you had been invited to present the trophies on the podium. As a renowned British singer, your presence added a touch of glamour to the event, and you couldn't wait to see Daniel shine now that he was back where he belonged.

Your day had started early, with a flurry of interviews and appearances. You had arrived at the circuit separately from Daniel, in a sleek black car, greeted by fans and photographers. Your outfit - a chic jumpsuit paired with designer sunglasses - turned heads as you made your way to the paddock. The atmosphere was electric, with team members hustling about and the smell of burning rubber in the air.

"Y/N!" Daniels voice called out, snapping you out of your reverie. You turned to see him walking towards you, a wide grin on his face. He looked great in his fireproofs, the Red Bull logo emblazoned on his chest, just as it should be.

"Hey, champ," you teased, wrapping your arms around him in a warm hug. "Ready to win today?"

"Always," he replied, giving you a quick kiss. "Even more so with you here. It's going to be a good day, I can feel it."

The race was a spectacle from start to finish. Silverstone's grandstands roared as the lights went out and the cars surged forward. Daniel had a decent start, maintaining his P2 position, not far behind Max who held on to the lead. Lando was hot on their heels, making it clear that he intended to fight for a top spot at his home race.

You watched from the VIP lounge, a mix of anxiety and excitement coursing through you. Every turn had you on the edge of your seat. The roar of the engines, the cheers of the crows, and the sight of Daniel's car chasing down Max made your heart race.

The first half of the race was intense, with Daniel and Max engaged in a thrilling battle for the lead. Max defended his position fiercely, while Daniel looked for every possible opportunity to overtake. The tension was palpable was the two Red Bull drivers pushed their cars to the limit, reminiscent of old times.

Your phone buzzed with messages from friends and family, all watching the race and sending their support. You took a moment to reply, smiling at their encouraging words, but your eyes never strayed far from the screen displaying the live feed of the race.

As the race reached its midpoint, Daniel came in for new tyres. The pit crew executed a flawless tyre change, getting him back on track with minimal time loss. Max decided not to pit, adamant he could keep pushing on his current tyres for a few more laps.

With fresh tyres and a renewed determination, Daniel began to close the gap. Lap after lap, he inched closer to Max, and the atmosphere was electric as the crowd sensed the impending battle for the lead.

On lap 40, Daniel made his move. Coming out of Copse corner, he found an opening and seized the opportunity. The two cars raced wheel to wheel down the straight, the roar of the engines echoing through the stands. Daniel braked later into Stowe, edging ahead of Max and taking the lead.

The grandstands erupted into cheers as Daniel's car pulled in front. You could hardly contain your excitement, jumping up and down with joy. The battle was far from over, but Daniel had proven himself, taking the lead when it mattered most.

The final laps were intense. Max was relentless, pushing hard to reclaim his position, while Daniel defended with everything he had. Lando, meanwhile, was closing in on the two Red Bull drivers, adding another layer of excitement to the race in front of his home crowd.

Your heart pounded as you watched Daniel skilfully navigate the circuit, maintaining position despite Max's best efforts. The crowd was on its feet, the energy palpable as the race drew to a close.

On the penultimate lap, Max made one last attempt to overtake Daniel. The two cars were side by side again, but Daniel held his nerve, keeping the inside line and forcing Max to back off. As they rounded the final corner and approached the finish line, it was clear that Daniel had done it.

Daniel crossed the line first, arms raised in triumph. The crowd erupted into cheers, and you couldn't contain your excitement, tears of joy streaming down your face.

As Daniel pulled into parc fermé, the team swarmed around him, cheering and congratulating him on a well-deserved victory. You made your way down from the VIP lounge to join the celebrations, feeling an immense surge of pride.

You found Daniel amidst the chaos, his face still flushed with the adrenaline of the race. He saw you and his smile widened, eyes sparkling with joy. "We did it!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"You were amazing out there," you replied, your voice shaky with emotion. "I'm so proud of you, Danny."

Reporters and cameras swarmed you both, capturing the celebrations. You took a step back to let Daniel have his moment with the media, watching as he answered questions with his usual charm and enthusiasm. Meanwhile, the podium ceremony was being set up, and you were guided to where you would be presenting the trophies.

The anticipation built as the ceremony began. The Australian national anthem played, and the three drivers - Daniel, Max, and Lando - stood proudly on the podium, their faces beaming with joy and exhaustion.

You stepped forward to present the trophies, first, handing the third-place trophy to your good friend Lando, who gave you a warm smile. "Great race, Lando," you said, your voice barely audible over the crowd's cheers.

"Thanks, Y/N. Means a lot coming from you," he replied, placing a hand on your shoulder as he took the trophy from your hand and raised it into the air.

Next, you presented the second-place trophy to Max, who winked playfully. "Keeping it exciting as always Max, well done," you said, handing over the heavy silver trophy.

"Thanks, Y\N. The best is yet to come," he said cryptically, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Finally, you turned to Daniel, your heart swelling with pride as you handed him the winner's trophy. He took it with a grateful smile, holding it high above his head. The crowd's applause was deafening. You turned to walk away giving them space for the traditional champagne celebration, but Max grabbed your hand, pulling you back.

Confused, you looked at Max, who grinned and gestured towards Daniel. Your boyfriend was down on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand. The crowd fell silent, the moment suspended in time.

"Y/N," Daniels began, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. "Fro the moment we met, you have been my biggest supporter, my best friend, and the love of my life. I can't imagine my future without you. Will you marry me?"

Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, words escaping you. "Yes, Daniel, yes!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with emotion.

Daniel slipped the ring onto your finger, and the crowd erupted once more, louder than ever. Max and Lando joined in the celebration, spraying champagne with reckless abandon. You and Daniel were soon drenched, laughing and holding each other close as the fizzy liquid rained down on you both,

After the podium ceremony, the celebrations continued in the Red Bull hospitality suite. The entire team gathered to congratulate you and Daniel, the suite decorated with balloons and banners, and a large cake sat on the table in the centre.

Christian Horner raised a toast to you both, his eyes twinkling with pride. "To Daniel and Y/N," he said, lifting his glass. "May your future be as bright as today, filled with love, success and countless victories."

The room erupted in cheers as you clicked glasses, the taste of champagne sweet on your lips. You glanced at Daniel, his eyes never leaving yours. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with happiness.

As the night wore on, the party showed no signs of slowing down. Music played, and people danced and laughed, celebrating not just the race but the love story that had captured everyone's hearts. You and Daniel were inseparable, sharing your happiness with everyone around you.

You stepped outside, needing to take a breather from the overwhelming joy and excitement. The cool night air was a welcome relief, and you leaned against the railing, taking in the serene view of the now mostly empty paddock under the moonlight. Daniel joined you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

"Can you believe all of this?" you asked, turning to glance at him.

"It's surreal,' he admitted, swiping your hair out of your face. "But it's perfect. Today was perfect."

You smiled up at him laid your head back against his chest. "Today was the best day of my life," you sighed, replaying the day in your mind.

"This is just the start, Y/N. We have so much to look forward to" Daniel replied, placing a kiss to your temple.

"I can't wait, Danny. You make me the happiest woman alive."

[dejwritesarchived]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀─── ⠀ ⠀⠀ faking it⠀ 〳 ⠀ s.riley ‵

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ( synopsis ) you beg your best friend to be your fake boyfriend for the night and he plays the role a little too well

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — reader discretion is advised: female reader, female anatomy described, written with black reader in mind, fake dating trope, best friends to lovers, ghost being best fake boyfriend ever, dinner scene included, sunshine!reader, slight soft!ghost, handsy ghost, reader and ghost like each other..they just too chicken to admit it, spit kink (ghost spits in reader's mouth), power kink kinda, missionary, slight choking kink, praise kink, he calls reader love while he in it yay, reader's parents highkey reader/ghost shippers, the leg and thigh caressing ghost does is highkey inspired by this tik tok, word count: 3.9k

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — also thank you @touyyes for beta reading for me. i really appreciate the feedback you gave me.♡

YOU STOOD OUTSIDE THE FIVE STAR RESTAURANT PACING BACK AND FORTH. You didn't expect him to agree with the idea. Okay, maybe you did beg him nonstop and even made him dinner last Friday. However, it still shocked you when he agreed to be your fake boyfriend for the evening. With your parents urging you to settle down now that your only other sibling is on the brink of tying the knot in two months—you wanted to avoid every blind date your parents poorly attempted to set you up on as possible. If you had to sit through one more dinner with a guy obsessed with Bitcoin or mansplaining the stock market to you, you would gauge your eyes out.

This led to your brilliant plan to ask your best friend, Simon 'Ghost' Riley. You knew practically everything about him, and he knew everything about you. Maybe it would take your parents by shock when you walk into the restaurant with the gentleman because you always denied any romantic relations with him. However, at least the dinner wouldn't be so awkward. It'll be like your sibling's engagement dinner that Simon tagged along to a year ago.

"You're doing that thing again," Ghost's voice interrupts your overthinking as you stop in front of him. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his black slacks.

You swapped your weight from one heel to another, "No, I'm not." You huff before you're back pacing.

The thing in question is when you mumble your thoughts under your breath in one of the languages you know. A nervous tick you did in certain situations like presenting for work or, in this case —pretending you're dating your best friend.

"Maybe this is a bad idea. You know my dad can tell when I'm lying." Your eyes glance up at the larger man in front of you. "You know what, let's just go back to my place. I can just say you got sick—"

Your words were interrupted abruptly by the feeling of Ghost's hand collecting yours and dragging you into the restaurant. He's ignoring your multiple curse words in different languages while maneuvering through the circular tables filled with other people. He could clearly see your parents sitting at a table, waiting for the two of you. Most likely gushing over the fact that their flawless daughter has finally settled down. Just as you two were becoming in the eye view of the older married couple—a gasp escaped from your lipstick-colored lips when you felt Ghost's callous hand linger on your lower back.

You forgot that this was all pretend. That when the dinner bill was paid, and your parents left the restaurant, the facade of him pretending to be your boyfriend was over with. His hand's warmth on your back felt soothing now that you think about it. It calmed the loud, nervous thoughts that were going around in your mind. As you approach the table, your parents stand excitedly to greet the two of you. Just as your mom walked towards you to embrace you, you could feel Ghost's lips brush against the brim of your heated ear.

"Just follow my lead," He then pecks the side of your temple before finally letting you go so you can be the perfect daughter and embrace your mom.

Your skin felt like it was on fire. Despite your dress showing much of your brown skin, you still felt like you were wearing too much. Insane to say a simple peck on the temple and a hand on your lower back had you feeling this way. You two never crossed that line before. Never.

But here you were, faking it.

The dinner started smoothly, the usual fake story about falling in love with Ghost as you two sat at the table together. At least your parents were buying it. But your awkward pauses to answer basic couple questions weren't the reason. Simon was surely stealing the show.

Now that you sat at the table and observed him, you didn't even notice how good he looked tonight. His hair was combed perfectly compared to the other times when it'll occasionally look like he just rolled out of bed. On some days, you're urging him to kneel to your height so you can fix his hair. The white button-down shirt he wore was neatly ironed and fit nicely on him. Each time he moved, his biceps seemed to flex through the shirt. Gosh, you couldn't get off the way a couple of buttons on his button-down shirt were undone to expose part of his tone chest. Has he always looked like this, or have you been blinded by your growing friendship with him, sometimes staying at your place and using your fruity shampoo?

Your thoughts were interrupted as you could feel him place his hand in your lap, laughing loudly at a corny joke your father told. Once again, your skin heated up at the feeling of his hand dancing upon your bare thigh and legs. You would have thought that he was Leonardo DiCaprio himself with the stellar acting he was doing. He was playing the fake boyfriend role so perfectly that you yourself felt like you were falling for it.

"I expect you to attend her sibling's wedding in two months, right?" Your mother sips from her wine glass as her eyes look in Ghost's direction.

You weren't sure about that yourself. Ghost's job could tug him away any moment—hell, possibly in the middle of this dinner right now. You leaned forward to answer the question, scooting your chair closer to Ghost's. Your movement caused him to remove his large hand from caressing your thigh and leg.

"You know he gets busy with work," You answered truthfully as you could hear the waiter finally arrive at the table with everyone's dinner. "So, don't expect him to come or tell the whole family he'll be there." Your eyes darted to your mother.

The one woman who could tell your business before the afternoon tv dramas came on. You didn't even notice that Ghost had dropped his tattooed arm behind your chair until you sat back.

"I know, I know. You never shut up about him," Your mother says out loud.

"Oh really?" Ghost's voice rings in your ear as he glances at you, as all the blood rushes to your cheeks, causing them to feel like they are burning.

"She's exaggerating. When she puts it that way, it seems like I'm your delusional obsessed lover." You forced a smile at him as your eyes met his bright ones.

You couldn't quite read Ghost at the moment. He said to follow his lead, but at the moment, you were the one now answering the questions that had you so hot. You were starting to feel overwhelmed. You pushed yourself from the table, quietly excusing yourself to go use the bathroom. You just needed to recollect your thoughts, actions, and feelings. You finally made your way to the bathroom; you let the cool water run over your hands, attempting to mask out the erupting butterflies growing in the pit of your stomach. You couldn't believe that a simple fake date made your knees feel weak and your skin feel like you were running a horrible fever.

"He's faking it," You say to yourself. "After this, we'll go back to being just friends." You add while drying your hands.

You did one glance in the mirror before leaving the bathroom. As you walked towards the table, you bumped into Ghost's tall stature.

"You okay? I thought we were doing okay over there," His head motions towards the table your parents sat at as they were currently devouring dinner. "Boyfriends check on their girlfriends when they leave the table."

"I just was feeling a little overwhelmed, that's all. They think we're such a serious couple." You answered. You noticed he had stepped closer towards you, and you had stepped back to be met with the wall.

"We can leave if you want; pretty sure they're as convinced that we are dating to ditch them now." His broad shoulders shrug as his eyes look at you with so much concern.

"I'll be okay," You answered as you gave him a reassuring smile. "We might as well eat our fancy dinners that my dad offered to pay for it." You chuckle.

Before glancing down, you noticed your parents eyeing the two of you from across the restaurant. Most likely talking about you like always. Ever since your sibling became engaged, the growing topic of when it'll be your time always was the talk of every family dinner. You didn't understand why you were doing all of this to appease your parents, but you were grateful to have Ghost go with your insane shenanigans.

You glanced down for a split second admiring how close the two of you were. Before you can joke about it, you glance up to be met with Ghost's lips on yours. It took you by shock. You two never actually kissed before. The closest you two ever had of a kiss was you asking him to try a margarita you ordered at a bar you always go to. It just felt different, definitely not fake. You could taste the alcohol he was sipping on within the night. You even could get a whiff of Marc Jacobs cologne. A familiar scent because you gifted it to him for the holidays. The kiss deepened as soon as you stepped closer to grasp the white collared shirt. It felt like you were only two in the restaurant as your lips moved in sync. But it was Ghost who broke the kiss leaving you flustered. In complete awe, he leans down and lets his hush whisper send a chill down your spine.

"It's good to know you're still following my lead." His words swirled around your mind as he collected your hand to lead you back to the table.

"You can't just do that without some warning," You snarled at him.

"It wouldn't be as believable if I gave you a heads up," Ghost says as he walks. "We're leaving."

"But we haven't even eaten yet?"

He stops in the middle of the restaurant to glance at you. "You're clearly uncomfortable with pretending to appease them. The kiss undoubtedly reveals that you're well taken care of, so I'm taking you home now." His jaw clenches, waiting for you to protest stubbornly.

"Fine. These heels are killing my feet, anyway." You answered as you looked at him.

"I figured, just go, and I'll meet you outside."

"Don't say something insane to my parents about why we're leaving," You warned before leaving him to deal with your parents.

The thing is, you didn't mind continuing the fake date after that kiss. You didn't want it to end, actually. However, you hated how well he knew you. He knew when something frustrated you. He noticed when you were overthinking. He knew that this situation would eventually blow up in your face, so it was best to get out of it now rather than later. When the month was to come for your sibling's wedding, it wouldn't be so hard to slide in—' Oh, you know, Simon and I didn't work out. Thought we were better off as friends. Your parents wouldn't let your lousy breakup overshine your sibling's wedding day, so this was perfect.

Better off as friends. Yes, you were better off as friends. Anything past that would complicate everything.

You felt his presence next to you, and your eyes looked over at him while the two of you waited for the valet person to bring his car around. "What did you say to them?" You asked, your eyebrows raising in curiosity.

"We were on a rigorous babymaking schedule." He admits and gains a shove from you.

"Why would you say that?" You asked before hearing his deep groggy laugh.

"I just said you weren't feeling too well. It was your mother to allude to the kid talk," Ghost says as he looks over at you. "Her fuckin' face lit up hearing me tell her you weren't feeling too well."

You let out a long dramatic sigh before watching the valet pull up Ghost's car. "That's not going to matter when I tell her we broke up at this wedding in two months."

Before reaching the car's passenger side, Ghost immediately opens the door for you. As you climbed into the car, you would say, "No need to do this. We're not dating." You joke.

You were expecting him to jokingly agree, for him to remind you that you did wonderful with pretending to like him when you two had only cared for each other platonically for years. The door was closed, and you sat back in your seat after buckling up. As soon as Ghost starts driving, you send apology texts to your parents about ditching. Like always, they showed compassion and excitement about finally meeting the man who was making you happy.

"They said it was nice meeting you and P.S. what's Simon's workout plan? He has nice biceps." You read the text message from your mother out loud.

Silence overcame the two of you as Ghost was driving you home. You hummed alongside lowly at Shirt by SZA playing lowly on the radio. As you made the journey towards your house, you kept glancing at your quiet best friend. His light-colored eyes never left the road ahead of him. He always drove with one hand because you constantly changed the radio stations. But tonight, he didn't protest your music choice; instead, his hand took comfort on your bare thigh.

He stopped at the last red light before you approached your neighborhood. You could feel the pad of his thumb rubbing circles on your thighs, mimicking the song's beat. Your heart was pouncing around your chest quickly at the actions unfolding before you. You were currently telling yourself that you should remove his hand. This wasn't right. This wasn't you guys. Or maybe it was? Maybe, you two actually did have feelings for each other.

"Thanks for helping me out tonight." You broke the silence to gain Ghost's attention.

You watched as his head fell back to meet with the headrest, and he matched your intense glare. If you concentrated hard enough, you could tell the two of you were inching closer to lean in to kiss each other. As the red traffic light twinkled through the windshield under the bright moonlight—Ghost inching closer as your lips barely touched.

"We don't have to do this. We're not faking for my parents anymore." Your words came out like a timid whisper.

It was hypocritical of you to say that, considering you wanted this too. You ached to break the line that could..actually; it would—complicate your friendship with him. You just hope the same thoughts running around your head were going through his head.

"Fuck it." Ghost huffed before he went all in.

Your lips collided with each other like a reckless car accident. You were sure that if the two of you weren't in the middle of the street, he would have dragged you over to the driver's side on his lap. He wanted this just as much as you did. His teeth nibbled at your lower lip, causing you to gasp. His tongue slid into your mouth so smoothly that you couldn't help but moan. The hand that was gripping the steering wheel was now on the back of your neck, entrapping you in the heated make-out session. You could feel his fingers on the back of your neck as if they could bring you closer than ever.

A car horn honking behind you caused the heated kiss to break apart. Your cheeks burnt from embarrassment as you pulled back innocently. Your body feels like it is going through a fever dream, and you feel so small in the passenger seat as the continued drive toward your place is silent. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of the radio and the surrounding sound of cars. You were counting down the seconds of when you had to exit his car because you knew you would invite him in to continue the actions you two committed that would instantly alter your friendship. When the time came to invite him in, you didn't have to say much. A few steps towards your door were brief, and you could feel your heart pouncing around your chest as you unlock your front door.

You never felt nervous about inviting a guy into your place, but you were very particular about who you invited over. Ghost has been in your home countless times—he has never been in your house in a predicament like this. The two of you tripped on each other's feet as you kissed each other harshly. Your fingers combed through his hair, bringing him closer as you could feel him tapping your thighs. When you jumped up, he instantly caught you with ease, carrying you further inside your house—the kiss you two shared only grew hotter with each step that Ghost climbed up the stairs.

When you finally reach your room, he gently places you on the bed like a doll. The kiss finally broke as you glanced up at Ghost. No words were exchanged, but you could tell by the twinkle in his light eyes that he wanted this. Your teeth nibbled at your plump lower lip, watching as he's unbuttoning each button of the shirt he had on. It didn't take long for different pieces of clothing to be removed and piled on your wooden floors, leaving you sprawled out on your bed in just the seamless thong you wore tonight.

Ghost took up the space between your thighs as he was on top of you, not leaving one body part of yours unkissed. His lips dragged across your jawline as he used his thigh to push your thighs apart. His fingertips traced down your body to palm at your clothed pussy that, through the countless lip locking, had grown wet. His fingers pushed your panties to the side to indulge in the wetness between your thighs. His fingers rub at your clit slowly before you breathe out the words Ghost wanted to hear.

"I want you, Simon."

Hearing you say that was like a switch went off in Ghost's head. He slowly dragged your panties down your thighs, taking his time and basking at the moment. You could feel his cock brushing against the inside of your thighs. The weight of it was heavy, and you couldn't help but swallow the lump that formed in the back of your throat. Your hand tiptoed between your naked bodies to teasingly let your fingers brush against Ghost's swollen tip. The groan he let out caused you to smile cheekily, your teeth biting down on your lower lip; eventually, Ghost pinned your hands above your head. Your lips form a pout before you lean up to place a kiss on Ghost's lip. "Aw, come on. That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair, love." Ghost grumbles as he grabs ahold of his cock to line himself up.

Your thighs tremble at the teasing touch of his tip, tapping at your clit. "I like it when you call me that, you know?" You joked.

You knew that joking like this was a poor attempt at 1.) bracing yourself for Ghost's cock to stretch you out and 2.) the fact that you two, as best friends, were about to sleep together.

Ghost didn't say much; he hummed at your humorous words before he shoved himself further inside your cunt. His fingers rubbed comforting circles on your heated, plush thighs to soothe you. After all, he was quite a big man. Your eyes traveled between your body, and noticed that he hadn't even fully inserted you. His chuckle causes you to bury your head further into the pillow below it. He leaned down to capture your lips and your moans due to his harsh thrust forward, fully bullying his cock into your drooling cunt. Your fingers grasped at his body as you broke the intense kiss to let out a broken moan.

You weren't sure what was louder, your moans, the sound of your headboard banging against the wall, or skin slapping against each other. Each time when you thought you were used to the pleasurable feeling of being filled up with Ghost's cock—he's teasingly pulling himself out thoroughly before pushing himself back and repeating the rhythmic pace you were trying to keep up with. He lifts himself from the place he took on top of you, his hand caressing your body as if you were leaving him. It shocked you when you felt his hand snake around your neck. You could get used to the eye contact you made with Ghost. The unique combo of your neck getting squeezed just a bit plus Ghost's hard thrusts—you felt like you saw stars.

"Fuck love, you look so good right now." Ghost utters.

You never thought you would be scribbling off letting your guy best friend spit in your mouth off your bucket list. It just happened in the heat of the moment. He just did it with your mouth gasping open, hiccuping, and uttering his name. You hated to admit that you felt your cunt pulse around his cock due to the action.

Your hand grasped his wrist while his hand wrapped around your throat like a designer choker. Ghost didn't put too much pressure around your neck, but it was enough for you to grow wetter for his cock to tap at that one spot that had your toes curling. Your eyes shifted close in ecstasy as you indulged in the feeling of Ghost's cock.

"Come on, love, keep them eyes on me. You're doin' such a good job taking me." Ghost said through groans of being pussy drunk.

Your eyes open to stare at Ghost with tears decorating your lash line. Your eyes weren't watering because you were in pain, but it was tears of pleasure. You stared up at Ghost as if you were in love. As if he was the one that placed the stars in the sky that you adored stargazing up on some late nights. Could this have been love? Could this have just been the moment you expressed your feelings for each other?

Ghost released the grip on your neck as he came closer to you. The rhythm of your body builds, moving in complete sync despite being completely trapped by all of Ghost's weight. His brash groans in your ear were like a sweet melody playing on a bright Sunday morning. Your manicured fingers dragged across his back, decorating it with marks similar to the scars he received during his job. The only that slurred out of your mouth were coos of his name—as if that was the only word you knew.

Your mind couldn't comprehend the way your body felt at the moment. Your mind felt fuzzy as you were coming off the highest cloud in the sky. Your thighs quivered with each sloppy thrust Ghost pushed forward into the cushion of your limbs. It was an explosive feeling of your orgasm finally coming to you. Granted, within the moment of you and Ghost having sex, your mind has lost count of your cunt fluttering around his cock. This moment just felt so intense that the only you could do was grasp upon Ghost and hold on for life just in time for him to cum also.

With your bodies intertwined, as you could feel Ghost layering your neck with subtle kisses, you let out a tired sigh before speaking.

"So much for faking it, huh?" 

TAGS — @maydayaisha @eiflawriting @woahhajime @suunmic @daeneeryss @sxlinakill @mommiej @stunnababyyabyyy @takemichiluvr @iplayghoul @monae0902 @whos-keira @syomi @sleepy3 @ezay @soumies @maxi8898 @rindouzfav @dior-fawn @getousbabymama @rose-ciana @xxabrixx @dontmockwhatilove @sirenh4ll @gojobabygirl @noriken @suchabea @shamelesshoefairy @akiyhara @tojikys @sexbob-ombbeck @whos-keira @fwvampvvs @persona-enthusiast

[saturnville]

a symphony of regret, corioloanus snow

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x black fem oc (illia furdoix). warning: book accurate snow, arranged marriage, toxic!coriolanus. trigger warning: stupid coriolanus. content: it's been weeks since their tense interaction, which has allowed coriolanus to ponder about his marriage with illia, and he begins to realize what he could lose.

an: I got an ask from @ietss about these two and figured I'd come out of temporary retirement to post it. anyway, I was listening to the "scheming" instrumental and this is what came to mind. by the way, this is long.

tags: @snowlandsontopp @babyzzlove @hlstead @rosewine-5 @unicornqueen05 @thegabbyh @neeville @fastlikealambo @urfavesim to keep your spot on the tag list, you are expected to interact! reblog and comment for continued work!

The air in Coriolanus Snow's office hung heavy with the scent of authority, a blend of polished mahogany and the subtle fragrance of Capitol roses. The room itself was a testament to his ascendancy—ornate furniture, walls adorned with portraits of influential figures, including that of his father, and the sprawling view of the Capitol below from the towering windows.

Coriolanus sat behind his desk, fingertips pressed together in contemplation. The city sprawled before him, a chessboard of power, each move calculated and premeditated.

His piercing blue eyes, cold as the ice in his veins, scanned the landscape below. The serenity of the evening concealed the storm brewing within him. It was a symphony of power and regret, a melody only he could decipher.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of crimson and burnt orange across the sky, Coriolanus's gaze fixated on a figure below. A siren dressed in all black, a stark contrast to the opulence of the Capitol. Illia Furdoix, his wife.

She moved with ethereal grace, scarlet heels clicking against the pavement in a cadence that echoed in his mind. He could recognize its cadence with ease. Her dark hair, meticulously blown out, danced in the evening breeze. A new bag adorned her arm, a silent testament to his observation. When they were engaged, he caught her eyes dancing across the details as they passed through a boutique.

But it was the wedding set on her left hand that held his attention—the flawless oval diamond in a high setting, a public symbol of their union. Only he knew the intricate secret engraved within the bands—his name etched into hers, hers into his. A silent vow, a binding commitment, a show that ended without applause once the audience was no longer around.

On her lips was a smile. It was bright and gleaming as she spoke to the individual in front of her. A man. Another man. A man who was not him. A man who was not him, that made her smile so wide that her dimples made a rare appearance.

Her head flew back in laughter. A sound he was not sure he could recognize by memory. What man didn't recognize his wife's smile and sound of laughter? A man who could only recognize the sound of his wife's cries. Cries that he provoked with ease.

Coriolanus felt a pang of recognition, a revelation unfolding. The grandeur of the Capitol office faded into the background as the weight of his regrets settled upon his shoulders. The realization was a slow burn, a dawning awareness that he had been blind to the depth of his own failings.

He was a terrible husband.

Coriolanus was used to control. He was used to fixing problems immediately, hovering over every move until it was completed to his standard. But, this, his marriage; was the one thing he couldn't control. The potential of losing his marriage, of losing his wife, was great. What could he do to combat that?

No amount of gifts, money, or luxury would change her mind. He couldn't buy her forgiveness. Coriolanus was many things but he was far from a fool. None of that would work on her. He wouldn't be convinced that it would work on him if the roles were reversed.

If the roles were reversed, he pondered. How would he feel? Having been fed a lie by a gold spoon. Having dreams of perfect love and marriage shattered by the hand of the one who was supposed to the heart with care and compassion. Could he imagine her brushing past him as she walked through the door when all he wanted was to feel her lips against his? What about her dismissing his attempts at conversation so she could bury her head in paperwork? Or if she only responded to his touch to get a release and not to feel their souls coming together as one? If she'd bullied him the way he had done her.

His world would crumble.

Coriolanus sat back in his white chair, the cold veneer of authority crumbling alongside the fragments of his self-assuredness. The sun had surrendered to the night, casting long shadows that mirrored the looming darkness enveloping his conscience.

Below, the Capitol glittered with its false promises, a city built on illusions that mirrored his own life. Illia continued her conversation, oblivious to the turmoil she stirred within him. The man by her side, a mere spectator in this intricate dance of revelation, remained blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in the nation's most powerful man.

Coriolanus' eyes, once icy and calculating, betrayed a vulnerability not often seen. A husband's failures, a leader's regrets—all laid bare in the privacy of his office.

Amid the turmoil, a determination ignited within him. He was a political strategist. A machine that could not be shut down or destroyed, If he, the most powerful man in the nation, he could figure out how to control the fate of his marriage. A plan unfolded, a strategy born of desperation and remorse. He would win her back, not with gifts or grand gestures, but with a genuine reformation of character.

The clinking of Illia's scarlet heels against the pavement below echoed in his ears, a haunting reminder of the distance that had grown between them. He rose from his chair, the crimson hues of the city below mirroring the resolve in his eyes. His eyes followed her as she made her way to the Capitol building.

It was not long before he heard soft chatter outside the door. "Is my husband in his office?" Her voice was soft, low.

"Yes, Mrs. Snow." Peacekeepers scrambled to open the door for her. The two doors peeled open, revealing Illia Furdoix Snow in all her wonder. Coriolanus' heart increased in rate for the first time in a long time.

Once the doors closed, the pleasant smile on Illia's lips dropped to a straight line. Her fingers brushed the flyaway hairs away from her face, then gripped her purse. "I cooked. Then I came to the city to look for new towels for the bathroom. Wanted to let you know your plate will be in the oven whenever you get back. I assume I'll see you in the morning, so be safe tonight."

Illia's tone was emotionless and it made his nerves spike. Was this how she felt all this time?

Coriolanus cleared his throat and walked around his desk. His dress shoes kissed the marble floor as he made his way to her. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. "I, um, I planned on coming home tonight. And eating dinner with you."

Illia's head jerked back and her eyebrows raised. The shock was written over her features like a book. Her lips parted but words did not flow from them. She wasn't convinced.

"Illia," Coriolanus said lowly. "I owe you an apology. It's long overdue and it won't make up for what I've put you through, but I..."

Her gaze remained fixed on him, a mix of skepticism and curiosity playing in her eyes. Coriolanus swallowed the lump forming in his throat, acutely aware of the gravity of his words.

"I've taken you for granted, disregarded your feelings, and failed as a husband. "The man you've seen, the man who rarely came home and when he did, brought nothing but a cold presence—I don't want to be that man anymore."

Coriolanus paused, allowing his words to hang in the air. The vulnerability he displayed was unfamiliar, a crack in the stoic facade he wore so effortlessly. Illia's teeth caught her bottom lip as her eyes welled with tears. She began to rock back and forth on the balls of her feet in anxiousness. Was this truly a reality?

"You deserve more than a distant husband. You deserve someone who cherishes you, who respects you, and who appreciates the warmth and love you bring into our home," he continued, his gaze never leaving hers. "I want to be that person for you. I know you may not believe it right now, I know actions speak louder than words, but I am going to show you that I want to be and can be the man you dreamt of having as a husband...if you'll let me."

The weight of the moment hung in the air, the room silent except for the distant hum of the Capitol outside. Coriolanus awaited her response, his heart pounding with a vulnerability he hadn't felt in years.

For the first time, she cracked a smile in his presence. It was small- and only showed a few of her teeth, but she smiled. She smiled because of him. Illia smiled because of him.

"Thank you for your apology," she started. "Accountability is important when trying to change. I can't make any promises to you, Coriolanus, of how long it will take for me to trust you or for us to get to the point where we would like to be, but, I do believe you're being sincere. So, we'll take it a day at a time."

Coriolanus released the breath he was unaware he held tight within his chest. Maybe he did have control over something after all.

"Let's go home, Coriolanus." Home. The word resonated with a chance at redemption. Taking her hand, Coriolanus followed Illia out of the office, leaving the weight of the past behind and stepping into the uncertain but hopeful future.

[muzzleroars]

One thing that comes to my mind is overtime Fallen!Gabriel coming to terms with his slow transformation and more hellish traits, maybe abandoning his swords at times and just claws at what comes in his and V1's way. Or maybe even him falling into despair after these instances happen and V1 bringing him back to reality idk all my thoughts are jumbled and *incomprehensible sputtering noises* ILOVETHATSDHITOH MYGOD

YES YOU GET IT.....gabriel's fall is a quick process initially - he dies, from the remains of his light burning out or in a final stand against v1 to resolve what little he can in the time he has left, but he doesn't fade into nothingness like he believes he should. he is brought back in the depths of treachery greatly disoriented but instinctively understanding his cosmic position, the punishment seeming swift and fully realized upon his resurrection - he is torn from all the other angels, feeling mentally and physically isolated in a way he has never known, his body is racked in the cold even from within and his wings are ruined so that he may never aspire to heaven again. this is what falling feels like, this is what it looks, and he believes the process to be complete as it gives him more than enough to grieve. but his halo is still intact, still fully luminous if not slightly dimmed compared to the other archangels, and only when it starts to crack and fall away does he realize he was mistaken.

upon waking in his tomb, gabriel doesn't have any weapons - his swords aren't with him and he can't summon any light to use his spear or axes. however, he's far too confused and pissed off to really notice too much - this fight is basically meant to play out much like a prime soul, where gabriel is using the sheer brute force of his body to relentlessly engage v1 (although i do imagine he tries, through habit, to call his weapons to him...and when he can't, it just enrages him. he self-enrages lol) he gets brought back to his senses with enough pummeling though, having to consciously now accept that his death resulted in his fall instead and then forced to acknowledge several punishments in quick succession with a clearer head. no flying, no teleporting, no light to aid him, and total isolation of the self. he despairs QUITE loudly for awhile but, like i mentioned in my last post about gabriel, he is now a character moved to action and since he has more time, he must learn to use it. gabriel had just been mourning the work he would leave undone so he wants to find a way to bear this weight...and perhaps action will keep him occupied. and he'll need weapons for that.

so v1 (gleefully) helps him steal from his own tomb, needing to wrench his swords free now buried into bodies of flawless marble in a way that sees them break. they are heaven-tempered blades and so gabriel knows they shatter by design to show the fallen angel that he has no claim to them anymore, at least not in their perfect state, but he knows too he needs to work with what he's given. no free passes ever again. and so he learns to fight entirely on his feet with broken swords, fresh anguish snapping at his heels but kept at bay by his natural inclination as a warrior, v1's now constant presence (as well as how they learn to fight together rather than against one another), and the ultimate peace he has with his decision. he did what was right, and he wishes to accept the outcome as it is, something he can manage to maintain until his halo starts to crumble. it sets into motion the true decay of his heavenly traits and the acquiring of demonic ones which he, being pretty much ignorant of fallen angels, had no idea to expect.

the horns on his helmet grow significantly and his nails fully sharpen to take shape into claws while he increasingly loses his ability to speak in the holy tongue, the words twisting themselves in his throat and making him sick until he can say them no more. his swords begin to burn in his hands while his still instinctive calls to the divine light start to instead attract massive amounts of hell energy to him through prayer now made infernal. and with all of this, he begins to forget himself in battle. his body, once airy and ethereal despite being solid, is growing hard, his own flesh like cold marble and just as difficult to pierce regardless of armor, allowing him a recklessness he would have never considered before. and so, in expedience, in anger, in something that's feeling increasingly natural, he abandons his weapons and tears into husks, machines, (other?) demons with horns and claws, and he revels in the visceral feel of it. he distinctly senses how he rends their flesh or their parts without the distance of a blade and he sees each time how v1 darts in to soak up the blood he spills, euphoric in the moment of abandon but horrified when it ends. his swords lay cast aside and the traits he has agonized over, that have caused renewed despair and that he has, quietly, tried to vainly and pointlessly pray over, are becoming a part of him. they are his new self, and something in him is accepting them.

he absolutely does fall apart more than once over the idea and over the inevitable, that he will become this no matter how he resists. but v1 understands his fear, all of it in its own way - it's error-riddled, its software is corrupted beyond recognizability and if humanity had ever seen it in such a state, it would have been destroyed. but this is itself, this is what it is now and what it now wants to be despite how terrifying it once was to know that it was warping far from the model it was meant to be. but humans aren't here anymore and neither is god. they make themselves now. which. probably also initially hits gabriel hard with how pointed it is, but he's much more accepting of truth than he once was and still, despite everything, he wouldn't have changed the choices he made that got him here.

[raainberry]

Last Waltz

« A last dance refers to the final opportunity for someone to engage in or enjoy an experience before it ends. »

Spy!Yeji x Vigilente!reader

Angst

synopsis - you and yeji’s ambiguous rivalry gets tangled in a last waltz

wordcount - 1.9K

T/W - Violence (?), Blood (mentions), Death (allusion but not really)

A/N - In celebration of Itzy’s latest banger and Yeji’s solo, may I present to you my latest piece of work that i finished half an hour ago but started two weeks ago. I did not mean for it to be as dark but alas, the voices. Too late Enjoy!

You squinted your eyes as you looked through the glass ceiling.

It was hard to focus when your own reflection kept getting in the way, staring back at you within such an obscure silhouette.

You struggled to see past it at times, but the changes you witnessed were necessary. You needed to become someone else to take on such a mission.

Cold blood was the most difficult trait you had to develop, you hated feeling it running through your veins. It’s been years now, and you knew it would never go back to the way once was, back to normal: warm and senseless.

Now it seems as though it could only run in two extremes.

Ice cold, when facing the enemy. Whoever it was, you couldn’t bring yourseld to care. Getting them out of the way is all that matters.

Burning hot was a rare one. Losing your cool was something you forbid to yourself, or else you’d be as good as dead. It only happened twice, and twice you escaped death by what you could only take as pity.

If her tongue held itself back, her eyes made sure to let you know.

She could have easily killed you both times.

Third time’s a charm?

You wondered as you reminisced about Yeji’s figure the last time you’d crossed paths. She seemed so flawless from afar. The way her dress fit her body, an accomplice in the act she put on around all those unlawful citizens…

Both of you had a past, one that lead to very different paths until they became one in this hunt of evil.

The chase brought you together, got you close enough to dance around danger and betrayal for far too long.

As far as you “knew”, she was part of that ring, attached to that man’s arm like candy he waved around to subdue whoever he needed.

You couldn’t blame anyone involved, she was stunning. Strikingly gorgeous in both literal and figurative sense.

She wasn’t your target. She never was, but it seemed as though she decided to be. You always ended up fighting her instead of her boyfriend.

A too powerful ring leader, one that caused harm on a much bigger scale than any criminal should be able to.

You couldn’t help but wonder how she’d landed by his side.

Such talent. Such beauty. It was almost too pure of a stain in the midst of all this filth.

To some extent, it felt wrong to feel bad for her. You certainly regretted it when it caused you to lower your guard the first time. When you let that sweet, tempting smile lure you to the harmful consequences of a brainless heart.

Waking up in need of stitches to several spots on your face didn’t prevent you from lowering it again a second time, weeks ago. She’d become too familiar. You’d gotten too comfortable. The bathroom of an underground Gala would have become the stage to your public execution if it weren’t for the public itself.

“Get in my way again, I’ll take you out of it for good.” You remember hearing.

Her voice was distorted, taken over by the ringing in your ear as the cold tiles beneath kept you conscious.

The sound of her heels against them as she left… It was identical to the one that had followed you into this third meeting.

A once cold and deserted hotel in which heat and chaos had emerged as you made sure to take everything out of your way…

It was obvious there was no one to care for what was within these walls in years.

The curtains danced in the wind welcomed by the missing bay windows as you slowly walked alongside them. Each step offered a new view, new information to take in.

The moon highlighted the dust on the ground, various trash items undoubtedly accumulated by some brave and rowdy teenagers. You made sure not to kick any of it, mindful of your surroundings.

The dim emergency lighting made it difficult to assess them, but you remained focused. Broken chandeliers glimmered, fighting for your attention along with the detailed marble floors.

The design was sophisticated. A perfect, oddly beautiful ambush spot you’d willingly stepped right into.

All because of her.

The air suddenly felt cold on your face, allowing it to breathe after so long in that mask you proudly wore for years now.

It felt good. If only your lungs were allowed the same breath as the skin on your bruised cheeks.

You choked up, feeling a fifth punch landing on your jaw. Not that you kept count, you couldn’t even tell how many of your own fingers if you were to hold some of them up.

That girl could fight. She’d rightfully earned her title in your books, all you cared about at the moment was to make it out alive.

Not because you had to live, rather because you couldn’t give her the pleasure of seeing you surrender to her blows.

That kind of pleasure she only could relish from pride. It made your blood boil.

If you could just get everything to stop spinning… Maybe you could try to bruise that ego of hers.

“I have to say, Y/N, you got me used to better.” You heard her say. Her voice was distorted again. Almost unfamiliar if it weren’t for the echo in your mind. “Get yourself together.”

Her foot found your stomach, making you aware of how low you’d fallen. That last hit had sent you to the ground, and the kick only made you sink further into it.

The marble felt as good as it looked earlier; cold to the touch and so relieving to your burning, wounded skin, but the feeling startled you.

You couldn’t give up. Not against her.

So you listened to her, pushing yourself up to your knees, and sitting back on your heels. You were thankful she allowed it, but wondered what she had in mind.

Her eyes were darker than you remembered. They looked so pretty just a few weeks ago, you couldn’t blame yourself for falling for them.

“So much for not showing me mercy, Yeji.” A broken smile pulled on your lips in an attempt to taunt her.

Months of rivalry. You knew her patience ran as thin as a strand of her own hair.

“The spy I know would have broken my back already.”

The moonlight betrayed her cold features, shedding light on the way your words managed to get to her.

It was for a split second, but you caught that eye twitch. It filled your worn out body with hope. You still had a chance.

“Spy…?” She repeated, out of breath.

You knew this whole time? Or had you figured it out? If so, how? When?

She’s been undercover so many times before. This wasn’t her toughest job, but you sure made it difficult. As if getting in her way wasn’t enough, you’d now just revealed yourself to be a genuine threat to her mission.

In her eyes, it was a permission to kill.

“Get up.” She ordered through her teeth.

The weak chuckle you gave in response only riled her up. She didn’t know what was with you, but something made her want to push not only you but herself as well to your absolute limits.

Some vigilente popping out of nowhere, sabotaging plans she’d spend days on, ruining a reputation she spent years building within her division—she could never let you get away unscathed.

Much less alive now that you’d blown her cover.

Though, if this was the last time she’d fight you, she had to make the fun last.

She reached for the collar of the rough tactical gear you mainly wore to look the part, furrowing her eybrows at the feeling of the fabric.

She hated the sight of it. It was as though you were mocking her silently, replicating and treating her uniform as a mere costume.

Your body suddenly rose closer to her, her pull strong enough to hold it there as she stared right into your eyes.

“Fight me.”

If that last laugh of yours hadn’t used up most of your remaining strength, you’d have done it again.

Was she begging? It sure sounded like it. What you were sure of was she certainly intended for her words to come out as an order.

Unfortunately, her voice betrayed her the same way her eyes had.

“I know you’re doing this on purpose.”

You smiled. She knew you so well.

You’d caught enough of your breath to retaliate, grabbing her waist and leg in order to pull her to the ground.

She barely had time to blink that her back hit the floor, the latter knocking the wind out of her lungs. The bit of air she managed to gasp for was soon trapped when your arm found her throat.

You made sure to look into her eyes as you applied just enough pressure to make her panic. You wanted to see it; her desperation to stay alive.

It showed she was human too, despite seemingly doing her best to hide it for that character of hers.

“All I’m asking for…” You panted, “Is you get out of my way.”

Taking that ring leader down was another job her boss had assigned to her.

You… You’d assigned it to yourself the day his power spread enough to reach your family.

She always got the job done, and she was set on completing this one too, going so far as going undercover and infiltrating the ranks as the leader’s girlfriend.

Unfortunately for her plans, you promised to yourself that man would be ruined beyond one could imagine by your hands.

“I was looking forward to this.” She managed to croak out.

She struggling as much as you were, but her words made you lessen the pressure on her throat as they made you realize something.

So were you.

Your eyes were defiant against hers, yet no pity in sight. The blood felt cold in your veins, despite her ever so provocative smile.

A soft chuckle left your lips in disbelief. You finally managed to overpower her.

Yeji fought to even get a couple breaths in, but she wouldn’t be caught wasting a single second to overthrow her opponent. She exploited that second of vulnerability your own body displayed against your will.

Another blink, and her hands shoved you away from her before her boots launched you back to the ground.

It was a last effort kind of move on her part, although not in the desperate way you might think. She was set on putting an end to this rivalry tonight, and nothing could stop her.

This was the last effort she’d put into this side quest. Her last attempt at getting you out of the way for good. It had to be.

She dragged herself up, making sure to look down at you as she walked to your side, priding herself at how weak she’d rendered you.

The glow in her eyes was entrancing. The longer you looked into them, the more you confused the weak fluorescent light it came from as sympathy.

“I told you to get out of my way…” She taunted from above.

You could only stare at her, following her hypnotizing figure as she lowered a knee to the ground. You would have loved to look at her a little longer before your eyes fluttered shut under her touch.

It was light as a feather. Her fingers were so delicate all of a sudden, it almost erased the blood she’d spilled from your veins.

“Why didn’t you listen?” She whispered.

She could draw a small shape with the amount of it on your face that night.

Maybe it was the fruit of your imagination. A last attempt at hope from your weakened brain as it fought to stay afloat.

You swore you she’d drawn a heart before plunging it under the surface.

[sunnysanae]

a ring on yours, a ring on mine. pt.2 victor lee 李泽言, f!reader, reader is mc *, fluff

part 1: angst

"you too, who's the lucky girl?" genuinely and kindly smiling at the man. whoever was to have him was indisputably lucky, victor was a considerate man with all the love a human could give. after all, he finally found the right person to spend the rest of his life with. except it wasn't you, and yours will never be him. a ring now decorated your finger, and soon, a ring would decorate his.

the edges of his lips pursed into a thin line, his entire expression flattening. this usually meant that victor was disappointed, only upon realising this once familiar gesture, had you started to examine his features a little further. his attributes seem to have deepened since the last time you saw them. his face more defined, with thin crinkles by his stern eyes and the corners of his lips. victor had aged like a bottle of fine wine, reminding you of the pinot noir you enjoyed in abroad in eastern france. seeing him again brought you a wave of comfort and bliss, the emotional remains of your relationship. but the slightest of firmness in his brows and the drooping corners of his eyes reminded you of the time that had passed. it set off tidal waves in your gut. he didn't say anything in response to your question. a dainty frown loomed over his face. and somehow, it made you feel guilty. guilty of what, you weren't sure. maybe of leaving him here, in lianyu, all alone. nevertheless, you were glad for him, that he was presumably living in happiness in the comforts of this city. best for you to leave, and bid him your best wishes you'd thought. you'd have to tell natalie you were reconsidering the ring, and maybe you'd come in to look at engagement rings at another time. you weren't engaged, and there was no meaning it proving engagement to anyone—the entire thing was childish of you. just as your eyes wandered downward to find the ring wrapped innocently around your finger, the jolly rhythm of natalie's heels chimed in. "goodness name, my colleague downstairs told me that someone had placed down this ring." her voice dulling to a whisper, "the very person i was speaking to you about." as natalie recognised you were in a trance, her gaze adverted to the tall man facing in your direction. you swear you saw her tremble a bit in her heels. in a jolt, she began, "sir, a big congratulations to you and your significant other! we've been delighted to witness this moment in such a beautiful love story!"

professionalism at its best you thought. it was around then that you'd started to connect the dots. billionaire crony, demanding a flawless diamond for his fiancée, as natalie congratulates the man standing rigidly afront of you. the ring on your finger, shining brilliantly under the boutique lights with all its sparkling splendour, now belonged to victor lee. a shadow painted half of his face, as the faintest spark lit in his eyes. he was about to provoke you and your false facade. "so, miss, that ring would be of my possession now, yes?" to the eyes of natalie, or anyone else in the room, this would have seemed like an honest question. the picture of his handsome face with the most minute upturn of his lips and the glimmer in his eyes. you'd remember this expression of provocation anywhere. it was the same look victor would give you on all your horrible report writing, when you worked tirelessly without fruition and ranted in his office, as you ate way too many portions of his finely made pudding, when you fell asleep on his couch after long hours of business dinners, and when you cried and sobbed in his arms over the littlest of things. oh how sincere this man looked, but you know he's making fun of your little lie. you weren't, in truth, engaged, nor married. although you tried to fight it, a deep scarlet still crawled up to the apples of your cheek. the sales representative's heels chattered again, as her delayed nods loaded furiously. upon witnessing your frown, natalie placed her hand on your elbow to lead you to the isolated room to remove the band on your finger. you heard the slow legato of victor's steps follow suit. you strongly disliked the warm feeling on your arms and cheeks when victor walked behind you. you didn't like to feel his presence. why was he still following along, was he so eager to get his ring? "give us a minute natalie, won't you?" he asks, as the three of you come to the doors of the booth. natalie's confusion is unhidden but she nods as some inexplicable commotion of understanding blooms in her eyes. you're still frozen when the glass door has been pushed open, until the warmth of victor's fingers encloses your left wrist. as the two of you sit down, you can hear his uneasy breathing, and he starts. "i didn't mean to embarrass you," he begins. you nod, responding with a little laugh, "it's okay, i wasn't planning to buy it either. i'm not actually engaged you know." you look down again, what a bright ring you think. "to be fair, me neither," he states blatantly. you raise your eyebrow, "oh really, then what's this?" you shine your crested finger into the light. "curious as ever, aren't we?" he mimics your funny look. "i heard you were coming back," you nod. "and i know we settled on odd terms," you nod. "but i wanted to be prepared." you nod, until the clarity hits. "prepared for what?" your voice pipes. of course you knew what he meant. it wasn't your first day with this simple man. his soft laughter illuminates the space between you, "you've gotten even dumber since you left, you know," "prepared for whatever business that involves diamond rings and wedding bands, silly." just like the description of the ring, the two of you were in love at first sight, but your love will last far longer for the many more sights to be shared.

| an. dearest victor, love you so so much.

** for reference, the ring in this piece is "pure emotion" from Mouawad's love story collection. i was debating between a tear-drop, emerald, or square cut, but i think emerald cut just screams victor. also contemplated between "soul of harmony" and "pure emotion", the design of soh fits victor more, though i enjoyed the description of pure emotion <3.

[emblematicemblazer]

World building and theories of Engage

Diamant

Diamant means 'diamond' in French. The diamond is one of the most valuable and coveted precious gemstones in the world and are prized for their beauty, their sparkle and their durability. Only a diamond can cut another diamond. A flawless diamond has no inclusions but if you look at Diamant's hair, his hair has an inclusion of neon colouring. This is a symbol that he is not flawless. His name is designed to be the opposite to Alcryst. Alcryst is an anagram of crystal. A crystal is a simulated diamond, a fake diamond. It is not as valuable, as durable or as rare. Crystals can still shine but they will never shine brighter than a diamond (poor Alcryst). People will wear crystal replicas of diamond jewellery to protect the real version from damage or theft. I like this as an analogy of the promise Alcryst made to his father to protect Diamant. 

Diamant wears a few items which are similar to his father's. Just like King Morion he adorns elaborate vambraces of plate armour and leather straps combined with elbow defences. Diamant does not choose to gild his armour with gold; instead he wears bronze tone armour with red markings. Red is the national colour of Brodia. The markings look like they could be a  reference to Celtic designs and symbols such as the triquetra. Similarly he wears sabatons that are made of bronze shades metal and red symmetrical triangular patterning. His sanctions have a duckbill shaped toe cap, four articulated lames, four plates, an ankle plate and hinged heel cap. 

Instead of wearing plate armour across his chest, like his father, Diamant wears a waistcoat, which has the advantage of being light and flexible, known as a 'jack' or a 'brigandean'. It still protects against thrusts and close quarter combat strikes but offers less protection from an arrow. The high neck serves to protect the wearer from strikes to the back or side of the neck and to the throat. If you look at the designs on the jack you will see a tartan design which would represent the clan of the royal family. 

The x belts around Diamant's waist serve to keep his body protection tightly to his silhouette. They have a decorative function as well, the buckles have an engraving and the leather is textured. The two upper cross body belts have a similar function and also hold the cloak.

A red cloak with the symbol of Brodia might seem an impractical item for a warrior to wear. On the contrary, a cloak is a useful item for a warrior to wear. Normally cloaks are made of a very thick, durable material and when wrapped around the firearm can be used as shields to block edged weapons and weapons can be concealed within them. Diamant used his cloak to veil the sword on his hip. They have practical functions as well such as: blankets, rolled into cushions, bandages, protection from the wind and rain (Brodia is based on Scotland so it will have a great amount of both), put over the head to protect from the sun, protect armour from eroding and rusting caused by magic and weather and they can be combined to create a tent. 

When Diamant becomes a successeur his findings turn from silver to gold (like his father's) and he adorns the Brodian crown. His cloak gains a flashy clasp which features a gemstone. The gold rope fastening of his cloak would have been woven from real gold. Gold would be beaten into long strips and wound around a core, such as a silk thread, and then wound into a rope. 

Red is important because it is the colour of the lion rampant on the Royal Banner of Scotland. Red in this banner represents fire, blood, energy and war. The gold in this banner represents wealth and wisdom. The emblem ring protected by Brodia is the 'young lion', in other words Roy. 

[theagent470]

Another short story

Artie's night out.

Art had spotted her as soon as she walked into the bar, she was with a gang of girls but something about her just made her stand out from the crowd. She was stunning but something and the way she held herself suggested confidence. He stood just over 6 feet himself but she was at his eye level, albeit in heels. A girl like that would have no interest in a guy like me he told himself as he sipped his first vodka of the night but he found his eyes kept getting pulled back towards her almost magnetically.

She was magnificent, he thought to himself, hair so black it almost seemed blue when the light hit it, a short pink sequin dress that seemed to shimmer as she walked and black ankle boots. She caught his eye whilst he was looking and seemed to give a coy grin but his nerves gripped him and he looked away. Where the fuck was Scott he thought to himself, they had arranged to meet here before catching up with the rest of the lads later on in the evening. He checked his phone and saw he had actually had a text but hadn't noticed whilst too busy gawping. Scott was running late and would be about another 45 minutes. Fucking great, now I look like a sad creep at the bar, he thought to himself.

He took himself out to the smoking area and lit a cigarette. He had been trying to quit but the slightest bit of frustration, especially when he had a drink, his willpower crumbled.

"Those things will kill you, you know" said a feminine voice. He looked up to see the beauty who had caught his eye stood before him holding a pink vape to her hands and grinning mischievously at him. Up close he thought his first assessment hadn't done her justice. She was flawless. Discrete makeup, long eyelashes and the most captivating green eyes. He tried to gather his thoughts and hoped he hadn't gawped too openly.

"Sorry I don't mean to be preachy, or cliché, I just couldn't think of a conversation starter" she said

"I know, I am trying to quit, but I fold like a paper towel after a drink" he said. "Maybe I need to get one of those instead" he added to try and keep the conversation going, nodding at her vape.

"Oh I swear by mine, got me of the cancer sticks, for the most part, and tastes so much better"

"For the most part? So you still slip up too?" He asked with a grin

"Well, this may be an overshare, but a real cigarette after sex is still hard to beat. I'm Crystal by the way." And at that held out a delicate hand.

Artie was sure he could feel himself blush at the thought of Crystal enjoying a post coital cigarette, and hoped it wasn't too obvious. He shook the offered hand.

"I'm Arthur, but most people call me Artie or Art. Are you new in town? I'm sure I would remember seeing you around before." He cursed himself as soon as he said it and thought he had sounded like a leech. She didn't seem offended though and responded

"Yes, I'm here for a conference in the city tomorrow, but the girls were adamant we had to experience the nightlife"

"It does get a bit lively as the evening goes on. I was supposed to be meeting a friend here but he's running late" Art blurted out.

"Well to be honest with you, the thought of attending the conference with a hangover tomorrow, doesn't fill me with joy. I'm probably only going to have a couple of drinks before I make my excuses, and head back to my hotel room" Crystal said. She seemed to be sizing Artie up and down as she spoke. He was dressed casually in just a black shirt and jeans, with Dr Martin boots. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, despite the chill evening air as an ex-girlfriend had told him this did something to women, and he felt that any edge helped.

"You sure you couldn't be tempted to stay out a while? Who knows what the evening has in store" he hoped he didn't sound desperate but after such a stunning woman had engaged him he didn't want to risk losing this one chance, even if it was just to spend time in her presence.

She looked at him quietly for a moment as if making a decision in her head.

"Here's my number, give me a dial so I can get yours" he immediately did as she said and heard her phone ring. She looked at it quickly and typed something. His name hopefully he thought not a block.

"I better get back to the girls, they will have noticed I am gone by now, I will give you a text for a goodbye drink before I run off" she told him, with a smirk, and with that walked back inside.

Art took a deep puff on his cigarette and shook his head. He doubted he would hear from her again but a boy could hope, he told himself.

About 15 minutes later Scott arrived and bought them a round of drinks. They chatted about work and the usual matters for a bit before Artie mentioned Crystal. He tried to discreetly point her out of the crowd to Scott, hoping she wouldn't see him. Scott caught sight of her and his jaw actually fell open. He was speechless for a moment before he laughed "she spoke to you? She could have any man in this building falling over to buy her a drink and she picked the only ginger in the room? Think you best make that your last drink, you sound shit faced. Is Crystal her real name or her stage name, did you ask?"

Artie was hurt but chuckled along for appearance sake. He finished his drink and ordered another before excusing himself for a trip to the smoking area. Scott was an ex smoker and hated the practice. He lit another cigarette and sipped his vodka. He felt his phone vibrate and looked to see the message was from Crystal.

"U ok? Look pissed off" it read. He wasn't aware that he had shown his disgruntlement but it must have been apparent.

"Yeh fine thanks. Scott being a bit of an asshole. Don't think will be out long" he replied. He didn't see much point in hanging around like a love sick puppy, and it may not have been intentional but Scott's comments had struck a nerve. He had never been particularly lucky with the ladies.

His phone vibrated again and he read the message

"Don't suppose you could walk me to my hotel? None of the girls are ready to leave but don't want to walk alone in a strange town?"

At this point Art was all too happy part from Scott and head home. And the thought of spending more time with Crystal was intoxicating. Even if it was just walking her back to her hotel

"Yeh sure, let me just tell Scott I'm leaving," he replied. He quickly stubbed out his cigarette and headed back to the bar. He walked up to Scott and put his empty glass on the bar

"I'm off mate, not feeling it tonight. Sorry to leave you hanging" he said

"I only just got here though, come on one for the road at least" Scott said. Art knew what his one for the road meant. It was invariably five or six for the road. At this point Crystal appeared next to them, now with a small leather jacket over her dress.

"Are you ok to walk me back still?" She asked

"Of course I was just telling Scott I had to go" he replied.

Scott was looking visibly shocked and mumbled something but Art didn't hear it. Crystal took a hold of his arm and they walked out into to cool evening air together.

The hotel was only actually about a five minute walk from the club, through the quiet town centre. There were a few rough sleepers in the streets and as they passed them Crystal pushed herself up tight to Artie for reassurance. They chatted amicably and Art was surprised to find out that she actually worked in medicine, he was sure she would have been a model. As they reached the hotel Art lit himself a cigarette and prepared to say goodbye.

Crystal looked up at him with her magnificent green eyes.

"Would you like to come up to my room?"

Artie was floored. He wasn't sure if he was being invited in for coffee or sex but knew he didn't want to miss this chance.

"If you're sure that's what you want" he said "how much did you have to drink?"

She laughed before replying "cheeky, two gin's. The rest were all soft drinks. I told you I have a conference in the morning "

"Ok then just……" he tailed off not sure what he was saying

She smiled and put her arm through his. She took his cigarette and took a deep puff before flicking it into the ashtray and walking them into the hotel and to the elevator.

Her room was on the top floor and they walked the corridor arm in arm to her room where she swiped her key card and opened the door.

The room furnishings were more expensive than Art was used to in his travels and the bed was a king-size with what looked to be satin sheets. A flat screen TV was hung on the wall and a mostly empty suitcase sat on the sofa in the room.

Crystal walked to the suitcase and picked up some small items before excusing herself to the bathroom.

"Just need a quick freshen up, make yourself comfortable" she told him. He sat nervously on the edge of the bed far from comfortable in a state of shock still, unable to believe his luck. After what seemed like an age, but was probably ten minutes Crystal emerged from the bathroom in a white fluffy robe. She sat on the edge of the bed next to Art and nuzzled into his arm.

"You ok?" She asked him

"Yeah sure, just a bit overwhelmed I think. Have I told you how beautiful you are?"

She smiled at him "no you haven't, and thank you. Did you want to freshen up?"

"Yeah that might be a good idea" he said, still unable to come to grips with what was happening. He stood and walked to the bathroom door.

"Oh Artie?" Crystal said.

He turned to look back at her. She stood and let the robe drop to the floor, revealing a matching red thong and lace bra set.

"Don't take too long freshening up, I might just get started without you" she smiled at him and he stood grinning like an idiot for a minute before heading into the bathroom. He quickly stripped and turned the shower on, careful to turn down the heat first. He was already erect as he started to scrub himself down and took some slow breaths to collect himself. He scrubbed his body quickly and just rinsed his hair when he heard a low buzzing coming from the bedroom. She hadn't been joking about starting without him!

He turned the shower off and wrapped a towel awkwardly around his waist, his erect penis making it difficult.

He left the bathroom to see Crystal led on the bed holding a vibrator against her clit, still in her underwear. She locked eyes with him and said

"I did warn you. Are you going to join, or just enjoying the show?"

For a moment he was tempted to do just that but then something occurred to him and he thought why not play along. He stood and let his towel drop, and saw Crystal eyes widen in surprise. It was a common reaction, no one expected the normally quiet withdrawn guy to be packing 8 inches.

"As you already started without me, how about you help me catch up? Your hands are clearly busy but your mouth's still free"

"That seems fair, get over here then"

That was all the invitation he needed and he walked to the head of the bed. Crystal took his cock in hand, her fingers just touching as they encircled his girth. She teased the tip of his head with her tongue for a few seconds before taking him into her mouth. She slowly worked the base of his cock squeezing tightly whilst sucking enthusiastically. She clearly knew what she was doing and Art couldn't help but out a low moan and ran his fingers through her hair.

She slowed her pace at this which was probably for the best he thought to himself. She had pulled her bra to the sides and was playing with her nipples with her free hand, The vibrator forgotten for the time being. As Art took in the sensual sight before him he could hardly believe his luck.

He could feel himself getting close and knew he wanted to prolong this experience, so stepped back. Crystal looked a little confused for a second but Art walked down the bed. He grasped at her thong and she lifted her ass to allow for its removal. She had a cute landing strip of pubes and a gorgeous pussy he thought to himself before lowering his head to let his tongue do some work. First he gently licked at her clit, before running his tongue down her slit to push his tongue inside her. She gasped a little at this and Art slowly drew his tongue back up to her clit alternating between sucking gently at it and teasing it with his tongue. She reached down to his grasp at his hair pushing his head tighter against her pussy and grinding against his face, which he took as encouragement to increase his tempo. He felt her release his hair with one hand and lifted his eyes to see her once again playing with her magnificent tits. She was clearly enjoying his work and he was happy to keep going! He gently eased one finger inside her, she was already well lubricated, and she moaned his name in a breathy

"Oh Art, don't stop!" He turned his hand so his finger was facing up and he could try and find her g spot and eased another finger in. He started to suck at her clit as he moved his fingers back and forth and she gasped

"Oh god I think I'm going to come!"

Unperturbed Artie kept his pace, with his fingers, though eased back on the sucking of her clit to just gentle laps, then felt her muscles tighten around his fingers and grasp his hair so tightly he thought she was going to rip it out. She clamped her thighs tightly around his head and her whole body stiffened. He kept going until she let out a mighty "Oh fuck" and relaxed.

At this Artie stood, a little light headed, from the pressure on his head. He thought about just driving his cock straight into her pussy right then, but that wouldn't have been the decent thing to do, so went to retrieve one of his emergency condoms from his wallet. She looked at him quizzically as he went to put it on before saying

"It's ok, I'm on birth control"

He had a brief moment of indecision, not just worried about children, but then thought, hell she knows what she's doing. He put the condom down and climbed onto the bed. He rubbed his helmet across her still sensitive clit and saw a shudder run through her body, before teasing her by sticking just the tip of his penis in. She was clearly already aroused and had no problem accepting it, but he held it there for a second.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked with a grin

"Oh yes, come on, fuck me already" she replied looking back at him smiling. He maintained eye contact as he slowly slid his whole length in and her mouth fell open. He started to slowly pump before she said

"Is that the best you have?" Still smiling at him. Not wanting to disappoint he quickened his pace, her warm moist pussy eagerly accepting his member.

He wasn't sure how long he could maintain this, he thought to himself and grasped her hips and rolled so she was on top.

"How about you set the pace for a bit then?" He said with a smirk.

She sat up and ground against his hips whilst fondling her breasts. Something about still having the bra on made the whole thing seem dirtier and he revelled in the sight of this stunning woman flaunting herself whilst grinding against his hips.

She leaned forward and quickened her pace and her breathing got heavier.

She leaned on the bed either side of his head and he reached back and grabbed at her firm ass and pulled her close and started to jerk his hips in time with her motions.

"Oh god I think I'm going to come again" she breathed. Hearing those words sent a twinge through Artie's cock and he worried he might explode then and there but he closed his eyes for a second and concentrated on his breathing. He tried to slow the pace but she wasn't having it and he felt her muscles tighten

"Oh god I'm coming!" She moaned and Artie felt himself start to lose control. He matched her pace and before he knew it felt the orgasmic release. It felt like the most he had ever come and as soon as he finished she quickly rolled off him, legs still twitching. She curled into his chest like they were long time lovers and this wasn't the first night they had met. She nuzzled into his neck before muttering into his ear

"So how long till you're ready for round two?"

[xprojectrpg]

Moment of Awesome - Emma Frost/The White Queen:An invitation to a Maggia engagement party is the perfect cover for the White Queen and her Knight to gather information.

The fact that the Maggia’s cover was an engagement celebration had thwarted some of Emma’s more extravagant choices of outfit; even in the highest of societies it was considered absolutely crass to try and outshine the bride-to-be. So she’d reluctantly put aside a number of fabulous designs and instead was wearing a gown of the palest silver. It was almost decorous in appearance, except when she moved, when it became obvious the gown was sheer beneath the lights, and that Emma wasn’t wearing any particularly noticeable underwear. Except she would move again and then it wasn’t obvious at all that it was anything but a trick of the light, a suggestion whispered and withdrawn.

In the circumstances, Emma decided, it would do.

“We wield what weapons we must,” she murmured into Doug’s ear, her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow. “Including fashion.”

"Words are weapons sharper than knives," Doug quoted, a low guitar riff flitting through his mind where Emma was connected to it. Most everyone Doug was close to could prompt a little musical sting to run through his head when he thought of them. Emma, of course, had more than a few that suited her. Given that this wasn't a Court event, he wasn't wearing his habitual all-white suit, but the color definitely featured prominently in his dinner jacket, along with a silver bowtie and vest to match his Queen.

::looking good friendos:: he dropped along his link to the nanites. Since he was out in society, among people who might remember discrepancies when they saw him at another function, tonight would be his first test drive of his new hand in 'looking normal' mode. With Emma close by, any lapses could be covered up, and the stakes were relatively low since they were guests and the focus would largely be elsewhere.

“But a good stiletto on the right throat…” Emma sighed to Doug, adding in a mental picture of her foot, dagger-edged heel resting in the notch in the throat of an anonymous muscled man. Then, “Darling! Giovanni! You look splendid,” she trilled, leaning forward, flawless skin nearly brushing the cheek of the man in front of her, air kissing once twice three times as nimble, diamond-tipped fingers dropped a bug into the man’s trouser pocket. “I haven’t seen you in such an age.”

Whatever the response was, it was lost behind them as Emma and Doug continued to move through the crowd with the fluid grace of hunting sharks.

[fayeandknight]

For a lot of reasons I am pretty much the only person who handles/trains with Forte.

But tonight my coworker (L) wanted to try demoing something for a class (taught by a different coworker) and didn't have a dog to do so with. So I offered them Forte. L asked if he'd work for them and I said guess we'll find out and handed them his leash and bag of treats.

The demo was for building eye contact/getting the dog to check in. The first few times L used the Watch cue Forte looked at me.

After a few reps he started earnestly offering L engagement and by the time they were ready to demo it was pretty much flawless. (The exercise was having the dog sit in heel position, place food on a nearby chair, wait for voluntary eye contact, then release to the food.)

It was really cool to watch because I seldom get to see his work ethic outside of working him myself. And it made me reflect on what an awesome dog he is and how much he really does have the handler focus I wanted.

Objectively, this is not new information for me. But sometimes I get too focused on our mistakes and miss the forest for the trees, so to speak.

But watching him pick up on the game and give L his rapt attention was a neat experience. I thought, damn that's a fun dog to train. Look at that focus. Look at that eagerness to work. And then thought, oh shit that's my dog!!

So I guess this is a gentle reminder to myself to occasionally take a step back and get out of my own head. That the foundations are there.

[sciencestyled]

Get Your Groove On: The Science Behind Why Beyoncé Is Basically a Physics Professor in Heels

Ladies, gentlemen, and the six people still clinging to their flip phones—welcome to the wildest mashup of science and art since someone decided to combine yoga with goat therapy. We're diving into the chaotic, kinetic wonderland of human movement, or as your gym teacher might’ve called it, “Why can’t you do a cartwheel without face-planting?” Buckle up, because we’re about to dissect the secrets behind dance that your TikTok FYP has been hiding from you—anatomy, physics, and enough biomechanics to make your brain do the Cha-Cha Slide.

First off, let’s get one thing straight: dance isn’t just a bunch of people flailing around to Top 40 hits like they’re trying to escape an invisible swarm of bees. No, it’s a sophisticated symphony of muscles, tendons, and bones all collaborating in a performance more coordinated than the Kardashians’ collective media strategy. Seriously, every time you see someone nail a pirouette, you’re witnessing a feat of engineering that would make Elon Musk spit out his soy latte.

Let’s start with the physiology of movement—also known as “How does my body not collapse into a heap when I try to moonwalk?” Imagine your muscles as the over-caffeinated minions in your body’s Gru-like mastermind plan. Each muscle is a little soldier, contracting and relaxing in a perfectly timed sequence that, if you squint hard enough, might even look like a scene from “The Avengers.” Your tendons, those stretchy little strings connecting muscle to bone, are basically the bungee cords that keep you from becoming a human Jenga tower. And bones? Well, they’re the steel framework of this whole operation, making sure you don’t just flop onto the floor like a forgotten pool noodle.

Now, if you think that’s impressive, wait until you hear about the nervous system. This is the control center, the iOS update that keeps all those muscles and tendons in check. Every time you attempt a leap or a shimmy, your brain is sending more electrical signals than a Tesla on a cross-country road trip. You might think you’re just flinging yourself into the air, but what you’re actually doing is executing a carefully choreographed electrical storm. Your brain doesn’t just say, “Jump!”—it orchestrates a full-blown flash mob of neurons, all firing off commands to every muscle in your body. The result? You achieve liftoff, and with any luck, you land without snapping an ankle.

But let’s not forget about balance and equilibrium, because gravity is the one dance partner that won’t ghost you after a bad date. Keeping your balance isn’t just about standing on one leg and praying; it’s about engaging in a full-blown negotiation with the laws of physics. Your inner ear is like that overly dramatic friend who always knows when something’s off—constantly monitoring your head’s position and sending updates faster than you can say, “Is this dress blue or gold?” Meanwhile, proprioception—your body’s ability to know where it is in space—is the unsung hero here, making sure you don’t spin yourself into the next dimension. Ever seen a dancer land a triple spin without turning into a human top? Thank the proprioception gods.

Speaking of spinning, let’s talk momentum—specifically, how dancers manipulate it like they’re starring in a low-budget Marvel movie. When you see someone pull off a flawless turn, it’s not just because they practiced for hours (though, let’s be real, they definitely did). It’s also about harnessing angular momentum, which is basically the “fetch” of physics—it’s never gonna happen until you figure it out. Imagine you’re twirling in place like a figure skater on Red Bull. Your arms, when extended, slow you down, because now you’re fighting against the very air you breathe. But pull those arms in tight, and suddenly you’re spinning faster than the latest conspiracy theory on Reddit. That’s angular momentum in action, folks, and it’s what keeps dancers from spinning off the stage and into the audience’s popcorn.

Let’s do a quick case study—pirouettes and fouettés in ballet. These are the ultimate showstoppers, the dance world’s equivalent of dropping the mic. A pirouette is basically a spin on steroids, where the dancer whips their body around while balancing on one leg. The secret? Conservation of angular momentum, baby. When a dancer pulls their arms and leg close to their body, they accelerate their spin faster than a roller coaster on launch day. Fouettés take it up a notch by adding a little kick-out move with each spin, which sounds like a recipe for disaster, but somehow it works. It’s like watching a high-speed blender on the verge of exploding, but instead of chaos, you get grace—grace that could decapitate you if you get too close, but grace nonetheless.

Now, here’s where we pull it all together like a YouTuber making a montage of their most cringe-worthy moments. Understanding the science behind dance doesn’t just make you sound smart at parties—it can actually improve your dance skills. When you learn science with art, you’re not just hitting the books, you’re leveling up like a character in “Fortnite.” You start to see every leap, spin, and pop-lock as a complex equation that, once solved, unlocks the next tier of awesomeness. And if that doesn’t make you want to bust out some moves, I don’t know what will.

So next time you see someone nail that perfect pirouette or leap into the air like they’re auditioning for Cirque du Soleil, don’t just clap—appreciate the sheer scientific brilliance that went into making it happen. These dancers aren’t just artists; they’re human physics experiments in action, defying gravity, manipulating momentum, and doing it all with a grace that seems almost supernatural. But remember, it’s not magic—it’s muscle, math, and maybe a little bit of Beyoncé-level confidence.

And on that note, let’s conclude this wacky rollercoaster of a lesson with a final thought: dance is where science meets swagger, where kinetics and creativity collide in a spectacle more dazzling than a fireworks show on the Fourth of July. So whether you’re moonwalking across your living room or attempting your best impression of an Olympic gymnast, remember—there’s a method to the madness, a science to the art, and maybe, just maybe, a bit of Beyoncé in all of us.

[fairlyabookie]

Song in Moonlight (Chapter 2)

Synopsis: A haunting voice fills the air with sultry lyrics, a playful piano accompanying the act. Beautiful and flawless can describe this act, yet this isn't enough, thought the singer, as all eyes train on him and his beautiful self.

Part 1

Part 2

It was the crack of dawn when [Reader] was roused to Vil’s side. The performer had an early performance in the morning, a private conference with him as a special entertainer for the client. 

“Good morning, Vil.” 

[Reader] enters the room, taking a trolley of cosmetic products with them. 

“Good morning, [Reader]. I trust you’ll be providing me the best quality work for me?” 

Morning drowsiness deepened Vil’s voice to a sultry and husky tone, nearly croaky from waking up earlier. A warm cup of black tea sits by the vanity, a reminder for Vil to drink up. 

“Of course, Vil. The concept is golden hour, yes?” 

“No, I want to try something bold. Perhaps an aurora pattern?” 

“Of course, Vil.” 

“I’m counting on you.” 

With Vil’s blessing, [Reader] begins their work, painting a masterpiece onto the canvas of Vil’s features. Glittering eyeshadow accentuate violet orbitals into glittering gems, blush the color of peonies portray a healthy glow, and painted lips the color of scarlet red all blend for a flawless mask befitting for the singer. 

The mask was picture-perfect, worthy enough to turn the heads of a passerby. 

But it wasn’t beautiful enough. 

The slight frown by Vil’s lips indicated disappointment, a sentiment [Reader] knew too well. There was more to be done. 

“Thank you, [Reader],” 

He inspects his reflection, eyeing for any imperfections in his complexion. Should I redo it? [Reader] frets. Yet, the singer had more to worry about than an imperfect makeup job - the private gig was important. 

“Gilbert.” 

“Yes, Vil?” 

The butler’s muffled voice answers from the other side of the door. 

“Prepare the carriage.” 

“Of course, Vil.” 

An anxiety blossoms in [Reader]’s bosom as they watch the singer depart without a word. Had they done something wrong with the makeup? Wasn’t it not up to Vil’s expectations? These questions swirl about [Reader]’s mind, a calamity by a calm demeanor. 

 ━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━

The morning sun graces the arrival of an eloquently decorated carriage, soft neighs and snorts uttering from the horses’ snorts as the vehicle stills to a halt. 

“Vil, we have arrived.” 

Gilbert announces, bidding the stable boy a grateful nod before attending to his superior. Sharp steps click defiantly against tile, a train of silk and velvet trails behind gilded heels. With every step, Vil the singer enters into a ballroom of eloquence. Few people fill the room, dressed in equally beautiful outfits, engaged in conversation. 

“Announcing Vil Schoenheit, singer and model of the Queens Theater Troupe.” 

The guardsmen by the doorway booms the singer’s arrival, eliciting many curious gazes to his direction. Whispered rumors of long ago flit about like moths to a light as an elite approaches Vil with an amicable smile. 

“Mr. Schoenheit, a pleasure to meet you! Allow me to escort you to the stage.” 

Violet orbitals under an embellishment of a mask hone onto a host’s semblance; a sliver of a smirk dances upon his lips, an unfortunate sight Vil had been familiar with. 

“Sir Kyle, I see you’re doing well.” 

“Why, thank you, Vil. It’s an honor having you here. I followed your troupe member’s advice and redid my morning routine. That change has cured me of my morning moods!” 

Rook helped you, didn’t he? I told him not to get himself involved in our clients’ personal affairs. A simple disguise of a smile washes away any sign of contempt from Vil. Not now, I’ll deal with Rook myself after this. 

“I can see the improvement in your complexion, my good sir. You look well.” 

“Why, thank you! Now, pretty bird, will you do me the honor to see you this fine morning?” 

“My pleasure, dear sir.” 

A content smile and a practiced nod was all it took for the host to let go of Vil’s hand. He thanked the stars for his first gig being a private masquerade, the scowl by his lips would’ve been easily seen by everyone in the venue if he were exposed. Gossip would ensue, thus ending his career right then and there. For now, he must keep grace and sing as he saw fit. 

Applause sprinkles amongst the ranks of masked attendees, welcoming the singer to the stage amongst the string players and woodwind players. 

“Music, please.” 

Vil bids with a nod. 

Largo, graceful notes begin a warm melody, the voices of the strings and woodwinds singing a duet of melancholy and romance. A soprano voice joins the duet, words of a past love uttered from a matured individual. The lyrics were nothing more but a vain love letter from the composer to a married, unrequited lover. Yet, this was art, an art many relish as beauty. 

 Followers of beauty are often those who to control it to how they fit, shallow elitists with fragile egos who claim to be knowledgeable about aesthetics. Alas, those who claim to know art as an aesthetic frequently claim to know “beauty” as a value; everyone believed in vanity, a notion Vil had observed in many of his gigs. If they desired a song of beauty to be shared, the singer must be equally beautiful. 

The singer belts out lyrics of a story, beautiful notes resonating throughout the ballroom. The acoustics of the strings and woodwind accompany the vocalist in song, embellishing in dynamics and timbre. It was beautiful to many, but for Vil, it wasn’t his best.

As the song concludes, a standing ovation congratulates the artists for a beautiful rendition. Whistles and many echo about the ballroom, enthusiastic cheers praising the musicians.

“Beaute, Vil! Your performance gave me goosebumps! Must I say your voice always enriches me with its warmth! Ah, I’m always enamored by your singing, mon etolie!” 

Vil could fathom Rook’s voice in the distance, a twiddling voice singing his usual praises amongst the thunderous applause. The singer had no doubt that his admirer would be present at the masquerade. As the ballroom returns to its pleasantries, many guests flock to Vil with appraisals of their own, a series of voices overwhelming him. 

“Vil, your singing is so wonderful!” 

“Please, come sing for my daughter! She’d be delighted to listen to your voice on her coming of age!” 

“Vil!” 

“Vil!” 

The singer’s lips open for a response, but a silhouette intervenes, shielding him from the onslaught of guests. 

“Now, now, my dear guests! Our lovely Vil would love to have a word with you, but now, he must rest his precious voice for the time being.” 

“Oh, oh, oh! Many pardons, Vil. We shall not disturb you. Come along, everyone! We mustn’t disturb Vil from his rest!” 

Thank you, Rook. The two weave between enamored patrons and eloquently dressed guests, treading in light steps until they arrive to the calming embrace of night by the balcony. 

“Thank you, Rook.” 

Words from Vil’s lips finally break the silence. 

“Why, thank you, Vil. I had the greatest honor of hearing you sing today. You sounded splendid as always!” 

“Enough with the flattery, Rook. You know I rely on sincerity in your words.” 

“But, of course, Vil. I was being honest!” 

Yet, the cheerful demeanor by Rook’s demeanor quickly fades to that of concern as he notices something amiss.. 

“Vil, you don’t look well.” 

Rook’s observation comes as a whisper, a frown listing by his lips. With a sigh, everything about the proud, beautiful singer dissipated, leaving nothing but a vulnerable Vil under the moonlight.

“.. it wasn’t enough.” 

“Your singing?” 

Vil’s frown deepens. 

“Everything.”

“How so, songbird?” 

“I practiced day and night, singing, but everything wasn’t enough.. Tonight, I wasn’t beautiful enough. No one heard it, but I felt my voice giving out. I felt I wasn’t singing loud enough. Rook, what should I do?” 

“Oh, songbird. Please..” 

Rook could watch as the demeanor of the great vocalist Vil Schoenheit crumbles in front of him. Moonlight cloaks Vil’s fallen silhouette in a cruel spotlight. 

“Tonight, I wasn’t beautiful enough.” 

The fallen songbird whispers to the darkness, tears soaking the pure white stone of a balcony.

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