#if i had to think it you have to witness it

[tsuyalovebot]

make him lose his cool.

suggestive and sexual content. mdni, ageless blogs dni.

xia yi zhou / caleb x reader.

cw. drabble (~1k wc, written in one sitting. ignore any typos.) no sex, but caleb popping a boner like a victorian man. afab reader (that also wears bras). mc=reader.

"caleb is an ass man!" "no, he likes tits!"

personally, i think caleb would have a near panic attack upon seeing your shoulder, elbow, or ankle.

he just does a really good job of pretending he doesn't mind it. after all, the two of you grew up together. he's had to put his hands on you many times — carrying, tending to scrapes and cuts, tickling you, ruffling your hair, squeezing your face. skinship was a language that the two of you were plenty fluent in.

but the year spent apart failed to maintain this, like some half-assed video streaming subscription, and caleb's the newborn fawn learning how to walk.

so what happens when he knocks on the room to his bedroom — it belongs to you now, technically — with a plate of breakfast before coming in, and he witnesses you sitting up, all sleepy and the neckline of his shirt slightly sliding down your shoulder?

he's going to throw himself off a cliffside. maybe even off skyhaven itself.

the plate hits the bedside table on your side with a loud clatter. none of the food spilled over, luckily. he has half a mind to garble some lame excuse about being busy and a quick good morning before trying to bolt.

but, caleb nearly snaps into two when you tug at the hem of his shirt, slumber still slurred in your words as you ask where he's going. there'd been no strength in that tug. yet, he stopped in his tracks all the same. he ends up listening to your grumbles, ones reminding him that it's his day off, remember? you promised you'd spend it with me.

"i gotta take a shower first," he chuckles, hoping his voice wasn't too shaky. please don't notice. please don't notice.

"but caleb," you keen.

god, it's like when he'd take leave from the academy for a few days just to go back to you and gran. always coming home to you, thoroughly acquainted with you not being a morning person but still making the effort to cling to him and savor every second you two spent together.

he assumed it would be the same now, but clearly, that was a mistake. because the coiling tension of warmth threatening to boil over in his stomach was nothing short of treacherous.

caleb does manage to escape; albeit pained by the half-awake whines behind him and the sound of you falling back into bed. god, how badly he wanted to cave into your demands. you don't even know the half of it.

he wonders if you've ever curled into his side of that bed he once slept on, seeking his cologne, his body, his warmth the same way he looks for your silhouette in every corner of this home. a melody he knows, but a name he can't quite place in this shell of a house that transformed in your presence.

regardless, it's really difficult to let this relationship rebuild organically when he was popping a boner over the slightest sliver of skin. the shower's streams are icy on his skin, the impromptu bath having thrown a wrench into his morning routine. he refuses to even touch himself. letting the proof of his sin soften under the biting cold of the water, despite the discomfort.

because nothing was more horrific than having his body react to you like a prepubescent teen discovering porn online for the first time.

caleb thinks he's safe after spending an hour in the bathroom, fingertips pruned and mind cooler than the iciest of planets. but as he's changed back into his clothes, he discovers you beside the door, a blanket around your sitting form and those eyelids droopy.

"pipsqueak? what're you doin' here?" he's crouching down — mortifying boner forgotten as he gathers you into his arms before he realizes it.

then, you stir. a whine muffled into the crook of his neck as you wrap your arms around him, the vibration seeming to ripple down his spinal column. the blanket falls from your body in the motions, and you're so soft compared to the firmness of his body.

his arms tighten around you on instinct and you let out a pleased sound and—

he stiffens. you weren't wearing a bra.

"caleb, you're done." you yawn, like the spoiled, pampered figurehead of royalty you are. you arch up into him, and he swears he feels several of his neurons die, dropping like flies in the empty cavity of his head.

"take me back to bed." he feels the air shift as you seem to inhale his scent. your voice softer, more content when you say, "i wanna sleep some more."

he's so fucking doomed.

[whorelaud]

꒦꒷ ﹏ destory me on camera ¡

pairing best friend!rafe x OF creator!reader

summary Rafe finger fucking you for you OF content, not because he's been dying to lay his hands on you, and carress every curve of your body, after only being able to admire such view through the screen. 

contains smut, fingering (obvi), cameras, squirting, spit as lube, dirty talk, praise & degradation, teasing, brief mention of rafe jerking off to your videos, perv rafe...? wc; 2k

a/n this had me insane i needed to do it omff i hope you enjoy as much as i did writing it!! bsf rafe is such a whore he needs his own appreciation :p

"Pretty please, Rafe?" Your lips jut into a pout, eyes innocently fluttering up at him. Your hand lightly trailed up his thigh, landing right around his crotch, where his cock was already leaking with pre-cum, desperare to be caressed by your pretty, delicate fingers. "C'mon, you don't want to be mean to your best friend, do you?" 

"You're insane, you know that?" He barely managed to stutter out a breath, arms haunched over the couch, where he was struggling to maintain his position, and hold back from pushing your head down on his cock. 

"Is that a yes?" You excitedly perked up, face mere inches away from Rafe's. You planted a small kiss to his cheek, moving away before he could process the gesture. "Thank you, I'll make sure you won't regret it." 

"Do something before I change my mind, then." He shot back, causing you to shove his arm. A breath knocked out of his chest at the lack of warmness when you moved away to stand to your feet. His gaze followed your figure, halting just around your cleavage, where your boobs laid exposed to the chilly air, barely covered by the sheer, see through top you were wearing.

Rafe's gaze furrowed upon landing on the hand you offered him, hesitating to accpet the touch till you further explained. "You don't think I'm gonna let you fuck me here, do you?" You questioned, sly grin plastering across your lips. Rafe's throat dried at the statement, failing to keep his compusure, and feign nonchalance over whatever the hell stunt you were pulling on him. "Let's go to the room, I already have the camera set up." 

"You do?" He mumbled, letting you drag him towards your room. You nodded, twisting the doorknob open, and revealing the set up you had going on, camera adjusted over the bed, the same view he was used to witnessing through the screen while he secretly got off to your videos. 

"I've got to be prepared," you giggled, letting go of his hand, and throwing yourself on the bed with a thud. You plopped your arms on the bed, crossing your legs seductively, as your skirt rid up your thighs, revealing the plump flesh hidden beneath the material. That alone had Rafe's cock stirring in his pants, desperate to explore your whole body, dive in your pussy till he no longer could coherent normal words out. "Knew you'd agree to this." 

"What made you sure I was gonna agree to this?" He cocked his head to the side, fingers finding your ankle, as he deliberately traced the soft skin, leading all the way to your thighs. You tilted your head back, groping your tits through the fabric, the action immediately earning a grunt out of Rafe. 

"I know my best friend," you shuddered out a breath, tugging the sheer of your top down, causing goosebumps to instantly break out across your chest. "You wouldn't say no to this." 

"Fuck, yeah I won't." He hissed, grasping one of your tits in his hold. He squeezed the fatty flesh, kneading and carressing your nipple in between his fingers, until it was hard and perky. His attention settled in between your thighs, admiring the wet mess he made out of you, a wet patch visible through your lace panties. "While you look fucking great in those, I need them off your body now." 

"Relax, Rafe, I'm not goin' anywhere." You teased, gliding your tongue over your teeth, as you leisurely tugged at the strings of your panties, merely to mess with Rafe, and get a reaction out of him. "Why don't you get the camera rolling first? Then I'll give you what you want." 

"Fuck, how do I start this thing?" Rafe mumbled, pressing random buttons to get the camera started. His gaze fixed on the small lense, gulping at the sight of you practically half naked on the bed. Fuck, you looked surreal, out of world, he wished this wasn't just for content. "Is it on?" 

You nodded upon spotting the little red light, waving him over with your hand. "How are we doin' this?" You asked, shuffling around for Rafe to squeeze himself behind you, quickly relaxing in his arms after he adjusted his position. A yelp almost shrieks past your parted lips as Rafe's hardon brushes over your lower back, clearly as turned on as you were, probably ever more. "Comfortable?" 

"Don't worry about me," he hummed in your ear, bunching your hair to the side, where he could catch glimpse of your figure loose in his hold. He began by toying with the necklace hugging your neck, trailing his hand all the way down to your cleavage. From soothing circles turned into him groping you through the fabric, kneading the skin in his hand, the moans you mewled out like music to his ears. "Moaning like a fucking slut, huh, that feel' good?" 

His name threatened to leave your mouth, washed down by a gasp when his lips brushed over the blade of your shoulder, littering wet, open-mouthed kisses to it as his fingers continuously massaged your tits, immediately releasing them when he tugged the fabric down. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, teeth grazing over his throat, far overwhelmed by the pleasure from the touch. 

"You gonna let me fuck you in front of that camera?" Rafe whispered, mostly to you, dragging his hand down your lower stomach, past the waistband of your skirt. He pushed it up your waist, gaze settling on the camera lense as he fingered at your panties, sliding then beneath the fabric, as he toyed with it back and forth, the action teasing, causing you to arch your back. "Such a desperate slut, aren't you? Dying for my fingers to fuck your needy pussy." 

"Mhm," you nodded, lips pressing into a thin line to contain your whines from scooping out, not wanting to come off needy, though your body language spoke otherwise. "Fuck me, please, destroy me on camera for everyone to see, 'want your fingers inside me." 

Using the arm wrapped around your waist, Rafe pressed you down as he managed to slide the lace panties off, the action casual, yet deliberate, oblivious to your fucked-out state, and the mess he created out of you. 

He almost chuckled, amused by the ragged whine that escaped your throat, lips parting with awe, as Rafe glides his digits up and down your folds, fingering at your sensitive clit, making you squirm in his arms. It felt heavenly, most times, you had to fake your reaction for content, but with Rafe? It came flawlessly, his fingers worked magic. 

He traced your hole with the tip of his long digits, collecting your juices in the process of sliding his fingers up and down your hole, until your cunt was drenched with your arousal. 

Pride swelled his chest, knowing he was the cause of this, as well as the whines you kept letting out, far too gone to acknowledge the camera yet rolling. Rafe used your parted lips as an opportunity to slip his fingers inside, taking in the sensation of your hot spit gliding over the digits, desperately licking off your juices clean. 

A groan knocks out Rafe's mouth, as his fingers exit your mouth with a pop, the sound causing him to twitch in his pants. He was rock hard, it was starting to hurt, he could not wait to get off while remincing over your little moans that displayed how eager you were to have him, feeding into his sick fantasies. 

"So good with your fingers," you praised, encouraging him to continue rubbing circles to your clit, flicking the nub over and over again, till your cunt was slick with (your) spit. 

"Such a fucking whore." He murmurs, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. His attention fixed on your cunt, hole gripping around nothing, and leaking with your juices. Turned on was underestimating how Rafe felt in the moment, heat pooling past his neck, until it settled on his face, tinting his cheeks a deep shade of red. 

"Fuckkk..." You trailed off, fluttering your lashes through hooded eyes. Your body jerked as Rafe spread your folds with his fingers, revealing your glistening nub, coated with a glossy layer. "You like playing with your best friend's pussy baby?" 

Rafe palmed your cunt at the statement, the gesture spiraling a wave of pleasure through your insides. Rafe's grunts were barely audible, though they were loud and clear like music to your ears, only for you to hear and enjoy. 

The latter eventually decided to quit teasing you and line his fingers with your entrance, tracing them up and down, only inserting the tip of his digits to test you. You whined in protest, wiggling for a fraction, anything to help with your pent up sexual frustration, one only Rafe, your best friend could relieve. 

He easily slid a finger inside, immediately engulfed with the warmness of your cunt, as you clenched around him, growing blinded by pleasure. He moved slowly; with a purpose, exploring each and every inch of you, afraid he'd miss out if he didn't pay you enough attention. 

"Such a pathetic doll, letting your best friend ruin your pussy with his fingers." He grunted, fastening his pace, and lining his other finger with your hole. 

"Yes yes yes yesss," you threw your head back,

as Rafe inserted another finger inside you, pumping them in and out of your hole, till you got used to his digits stretched you out. "Fuck me, please, 'wish it was your cock instead!" 

"Bet you do," he heaved out a breath, scissoring his fingers inside you to explore every corner. "You'd like that, huh? Wanna fuck you dumb like a pathetic lil slut." 

Rafe continued fucking you with his fingers, main focus on your face as it twisted with pleasure. His calloused digits repeatedly moved inside you, hitting your sweet spot in the process, and causing desire to spiral through your insides, coating every blood vessel and vein. 

"You like fuckin' me like this?" You questioned through a whine, littering kisses to the curve of Rafe's jaw. "Much better than jerking off to my videos, don't you think?" 

Fuck, you knew. 

You chuckled when you recieved no response from the latter, a mere whimper as he thrusted his fingers inside your hole, rather pleased with himself, hoping this was your actual reaction, and not just for content. 

"Come on my fingers," he demanded, request filthy,

something he fantasized about in the dim of the night. "I know you're close." 

He was right, in the span of seconds, your climax built up, indicating you were close everytime Rafe would apply pressure, or use his thumb to rub your clit, spiking more and more heat through your body. 

Your orgasm reached its peak, coming hard as you squirted all over Rafe's fingers, with Rafe riding his digits through your orgasm, not stopping even when your legs trembled as you came down from your high. 

Rafe's fingers dripped with your sweet arousal, liquid tracing along the veins kissing up his arms. The sight alone had him a fucking mess, you dare make it worse when you bring his fingers to your lips, and suck his fingers clean. 

The latter observed in awe, spit pooling in his mouth, as desire fogged his vision, eager to get a taste of your lips now glossed with your arousal. 

A grin formed on your lips, quickly closing the distance seperating you in a chaste kiss, one breaking the boundaies you built for your friendship. Rafe's lips moved desperately over yours, licking into your mouth for the mere purpose of tasting you. 

That didn't last long, interrupted when you inched back, just enough to whisper out your next words. "Pizza?" 

"What?" Rafe's caught off gaurd by the question, too sudden for him to process it. 

"Should we get pizza?" You asked, sitting up straight. "I'm hungry." 

"Did we not jus–" 

"That was for content!" You reasoned, face immediately growing hot. "It's done now, take care of your business and come on out, you drained me out, I'll help you out next time." 

"There's a next time?" He nearly choked on his own spit. 

"Only if you're up for it..." You shot back, searching for a reaction out of the latter. 

Up for it? Screw that, he'd fuck you right now if he could. 

[servicpop]

short n' sweet ♡ valentines day special　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　adrien ( delinquent oc ) x student president m reader

ⓘ　fluff fluff fluff ! jealous adrien , reader gets confessed to by a girl

A day where cupid strings his bow and aims his arrow at couples is the day you spend the most time stringing up heart decorations around the school. Its only a few small splashes of pink ribbons and red hearts since Valentines isn't a huge thing—some people simply don't enjoy it as much as Christmas or others—but it's a nice opportunity to liven up the school with some fun flare.

For the most part, you can see cheesy couples receive bouquets neatly arranged into something pretty for their partner or love letters being handed out the old-fashioned way. You weren't a big celebrator seeing as you didn't have a romantic partner. Of course the occasional chocolates being given to friends was a tradition you practised when nobody bothered to give you a flower or a sweet confession.

But this year was different.

After finishing the decorations, you took the time to wander the grounds before returning to your councillor room. It was early enough for the walk to be rather peaceful with the occasional wave to people you knew when they walked by. Reaching the room you, place your hand on the doorknob, twisting it until it makes that click before a hand plants on your shoulder.

“Been awhile.”

You turn your head to see him in the flesh. Adrien, with that shit-eating grin. It was completely out of character for him to show up so early—or show up at all. That fact alone sent shivers down your spine. A coincidence that he shows up bright and early on valentines day?

“Bit late but,” Adrien takes a moment to exhale before his eyes meet yours.

“Will you be my valentines?”

You stand there, blankly staring at him. No flowers, no chocolates and certainly no handwritten love letter stamped with a wax seal as you were wishing for. He couldn't have been this unromantic. For all you knew, Adrien was just some ill-mannered guy who weaseled his way into your life thinking he had you wrapped around his finger just because you two 'hooked up' underneath the staircase.

“No.” Short and sharp; unintentional or not. Sure you liked him, a little more than you'd ever wanted to admit, but Valentines was meant to be unrealistically romantic, a day where you can feel like you're living in those old romance films.

“What?” You could hear the confusion in Adrien's voice as he watches you brush past him and slam the door infront of his face, drowning out his complaints through the door.

That whole ordeal in the morning definitely wilted your mood. The entire morning session of classes felt like a drag as if time was purposefully going slower each time you glanced at the clock.

You were probably the first person to leave the classroom when you were dismissed, rushing out to your locker to reunite with your friends in hopes of charging your social battery.

“Hey— prez? I have, um, something for you.” The nickname felt like deja vu, like you've been called it countless times by a certain someone. But it wasn't him; it was a girl around your age or even younger. In her hands was a square, pink box with 'milk chocolate' printed in a cursive font. Her face was flushed pink and it looked as though if she met eyes with you, she'd melt under your gaze. On top of the chocolates was a pretty letter with equally pretty handwriting.

It undoubtedly made you smile even if it was just a little.

You accepted her gift, making sure you flashed a polite smile at her before watching her scurry off like it had been the hardest thing of her life to come up to you like that. It was charming in a way. You skimmed the letter which was mainly just her stating her appreciation for you and how she wanted to get to know you better with her name signed at the bottom with a small heart next to it.

A few of your friends who had just made it out of class had witnessed the whole scene, patting your back and pawing at the chocolates like hyenas. It wouldn't hurt to share the love, especially when your friends seemed like they'd die without sugar.

You let them all take one before sealing the box and placing it in your locker for later, you pocketed the note just so you didn't accidentally lose it or have it slip out.

Come to think of it, the more the day went by, the more you noticed a lack of Adrien. Usually he'd make an appearance by now, whether that was to stare at you with a smirk while you walked by eachother or to 'accidentally' brush your arm on any opportunity he got.

You made nothing of it though, it was probably because he thought today was boring—given all the couples would boast their affection towards eachother in the hallways—and decided to skip. It was typical of him to do so. But it still weighed in your mind all the way until the home bell rung.

Your locker was the last stop before you could go home, opening the metal door to see that your box of chocolates were gone; replaced.

Godiva chocolates in the shape of a heart, a letter sealed in an envelope, and a bouquet of flowers that look strangely like the ones from the school garden was neatly arranged in your locker.

“Do you like it?” You practically jump out your skin as your turn to see the man you haven't seen the while day.

“You put this here?” You ask, looking back at the gifts stuffed in your locker.

“Who else would— nevermind don't answer that.” You could tell from the furrowed set of his eyebrows that he was pissed off about something, like it bothered him enough to replace the chocolates you were given.

“I thought that maybe you didn't like how forward I was this morning.” It was one of those rare occasions where Adrien wouldn't have that cocky look on his face or that teasing lilt to his tone. He wore an almost shy expression, like he wasn't used to giving gifts this romantic.

“Seeing as you liked that girl's gift so much.” You could hear the venom roll off his tongue when he said that.

You glance down at what Adrien gave you. Godiva wasn't a cheap brand and those flowers would probably have taken Adrien awhile to personally pick and choose the ones you liked to plant in the gardens. Your heart flutters at the thought that maybe Adrien was gone the whole day because he was trying to pick up gifts for you, all cause he felt a little guilty.

“I know its over the top but—” “I like it.”

He pauses and stares down at you like its the most baffling thing in the world to hear you say 'I like it.' You look up at him, and you can't hold your smile back—this time, you smile wholeheartedly.

“Thanks, Adrien,” You look both ways to see if anyone was watching and you lean up to kiss just shy of his lips on the corners of his mouth. It was a quick peck as you almost instantly pulled back to pack up your things and walk past him.

He stands there, frozen in place before his own fingers touch his face, grazing over the spot you kissed him at.

There's a sharp bang of his fist against the neighbouring lockers as he internally crumbles, holding his face like he needed to shield what was left of your fleeting kiss.

A victory perhaps?

a / n ; dividers made by anitalenia , and the gift graphics are made by my dearest anby !

[kashverse]

I love your drabbles!!

What about nanami preparing to confess to us?

i wrote this with teacher! nanami x teacher! reader in mind :)

you never in a million years thought the nanami from the class next door would like you.

sure, you had an undeniably stupid crush on him—the kind that made you stare too long when he rolled his sleeves up, or made your brain short-circuit when he adjusted his tie with those his hands. but he was nanami. effortlessly cool, the most responsible adult in the building, the man whose serious expression could make a room full of five-year-olds sit up straight. he was way out of your league. so when he pulled you aside in the middle of the kindergarten hallway—two fully grown adults wearing aprons with cartoon animals on them—and said, "i like you," your brain malfunctioned.

“oh, uh, you like—what, my new markers? yeah, they’re pretty great, got them on sale, actually. or wait—did you mean you like my lesson plan from this morning? yeah, the pigeon thing was a hit, huh? unless—oh god, you meant my classroom decor, didn’t you? listen, the rainbow border was a choice but—”

“i like you.”

“right, so when you say ‘like,’ do you mean as in friendly coworker appreciation, or like as in—like my handwriting? because i know it’s neat, but—”

“i like you.”

you opened your mouth. closed it. opened it again. nanami sighed, then—he took your hands. your hands. in his hands. like it was nothing. like it was normal.

and he was blushing. cheeks dusty pink, a ridiculous contrast to his sharp blonde hair and the completely straight-faced delivery of his confession.

meanwhile, your entire nervous system short-circuited. the world blurred for a second—just you, standing there, trying to process what was happening—until a piercing shriek shattered the moment.

“OH MY GOSH, MR. NANAMI IS HOLDING MS. Y/N LIKE A PRINCE!”

followed by more shrieks. the tiny, high-pitched chaos of your entire class losing their minds.

you turned your head in slow, mechanical horror to see dozens of little faces pressed up against the glass door, hands smushed against it, their muffled cheers breaking through the barrier. nanami’s class, having witnessed the commotion, joined in. soon, the whole hallway was filled with kindergarteners chanting ‘KISS! KISS! KISS!’ like a cult.

nanami let out the heaviest sigh of his life. “i should have picked a better place for this,” he muttered.

“you think?!” you whisper-hissed, face now hotter than the sun.

he squeezed your hands. seriously. earnestly. like he meant it. like he meant all of it.

the chanting only got louder. the kids were now banging on the glass.

“so…” you swallowed, eyes darting around. “wanna run?”

nanami nodded.

you ran.

[rafayelxsylusho]

How do the LADS men fu¢k the jealousy out of you.

Xavier/Rafayel

Already working on Caleb/Zayne/Sylus

TW: SMUT SMUT AND MORE SMUT.

Xavier 🌟🌟

The training session had been grueling, as all of all of your sessions tended to be. You pushed the new recruits hard, demanding perfection in every drill and exercise. They needed to be in peak form to face the horrors that awaited them out there in the No-Hunt Zones, battling the vicious creatures known as Wanderers.

The training session had wrapped up, and Xavier was wiping sweat from his brow with a towel, his chest heaving slightly from exertion. That's when you noticed the gaggle of giggling girls from his team hovering nearby, all batting their eyelashes at him and whispering to each other.

Typical. You could practically see the hearts floating above their heads as they fawned over their fearless leader. It was always the same - his reputation as the most successful Hunter in Linkon City tended to have that effect on people. Especially the young, impressionable rookie girls fresh out of training.

As you watched the scene unfold, a flicker of annoyance flashed across your face. The way they kept asking question after question, giggling at every word that fell from Xavier's lips, was starting to get on your nerves.

Don't they have anything better to do than hang around him like a pack of lovestruck puppies? you thought to yourself, feeling a twinge of possessiveness. This was hardly the first time you'd witnessed such a display, but it was no less grating.

Shaking your head, you decided to head to the locker room and get cleaned up after the long day of training. As you walked away, you couldn't help but overhear snippets of their conversation:

"...did you really kill 70,000 Wanderers all by yourself?" a blonde girl gushed.

"And with a sword, no less! I can't believe you wield it with such skill and precision," another chimed in.

You turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your body as you tried to wash away the irritation. But even as you stood there, the image of them hanging off Xavier kept flashing through your mind.

Little did you know, the seeds of jealousy planted by their behavior would only grow more tangled and thorny as the day went on.

As you stepped out of the shower and started dressing you overheard two of the girls from Xavier's team. They were huddled together, whispering and giggling, clearly gossiping about their beloved leader. You froze, not wanting them to know you were within earshot, as they continued their hushed conversation.

"I swear, I've seen him around the headquarters a bunch of times, but he's never mentioned anyone special," the first girl said, her voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and envy. "Maybe he's just too focused on hunting to settle down with anyone."

"I don't know, Sarah. A guy like that? I bet he has girls throwing themselves at him all the time," the second girl, whose name you didn't catch, speculated. "Did you see the way some of the new recruits were fawning over him today? I'm surprised he can even walk with all that ego inflating!"

Just then, the second girl's eyes widened. "Oh my god, what if... what if he's actually gay? That would explain why he's never been spotted with anyone."

Sarah scoffed. "No way. I've seen the way he looks at y/n. Trust me, he's into girls... and I don't think he's the type to hide it if he was seeing someone."

"Well, if he's not taken, then maybe one of us should make a move. I mean, he's just so... captivating. Those piercing blue eyes, that chiseled jaw, that amazing body..." She sighed dreamily.

Her friend nodded eagerly, a similar starstruck look on her face. "I know, right? And he's so brave and skilled too. He's like, the total package."

Sarah giggled conspiratorially. "So what do you say, Lisa? Should we have a little competition to see who can get his attention first? Loser buys the winner dinner at that fancy new restaurant downtown?"

Lisa licked her lips, a determined glint in her eye. "You're on, Sarah. But I warn you - I play to win. That hottie is mine!"

You slam the door of your locker hard enough to make the metal clang and rattle. The room fell silent for a moment before the whispers restarted, more subdued this time.

As you exited the locker room, you couldn't shake the feeling that their stupid gossip had only added to the growing uneasiness you felt about Xavier's apparent single status.

Why hasn't he mentioned me? Does he not want people to know about us? Or is he just so used to women throwing themselves at him that he doesn't think he needs to bother? you wondered, your mind racing with increasingly paranoid thoughts

As you stepped out of the locker room, you were greeted by the sight of Xavier leaning casually against the wall across the hall, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up as you approached, a warm smile spreading across his handsome face.

"Hey there," he greeted you, pushing off from the wall and falling into step beside you as you made your way out of the Hunters Association headquarters. "I was starting to think you might have snuck out the back way to avoid me." He chuckled, playfully nudging your shoulder with his own.

As you walked together, you couldn't shake the lingering irritation from overhearing the other girls' conversation in the locker room. You knew it was silly to be jealous, but you couldn't help feeling a flare of possessiveness at the thought of anyone else trying to stake a claim on Xavier.

As the two of you walked hand in hand towards your apartment building, you decided to bring up the elephant in the room. Glancing up at Xavier, you asked him about his thoughts on the day's training session with his team.

"How was the training with your team today? How did it go?" you inquired, genuinely interested in his take on the day's events.

Xavier was quiet for a moment, considering his response. "It went well, actually. There were a couple of new girls who really stood out, to be honest. They were strong, quick learners, and seemed to have a real knack for the techniques I was teaching."

"Do you think they have a real shot at making it as Hunters?" you asked, genuinely curious what Xavier thought of their potential.

He was silent for a long moment, considering his next words carefully. "Hard to say. They have the physical capability, but being a successful Hunter takes so much more than just brawn. It requires heart, determination, and a deep commitment to protecting others. We'll see how they hold up under pressure in the long run."

Without really thinking about it, you let go of his hand, feeling the need to put some distance between the two of you.

"I think I'm going to sleep early tonight," you announced abruptly, hoping to cut the conversation short before your jealousy got the better of you. "I'm feeling really tired after today."

Xavier looked down at you, a flicker of concern in his blue eyes as he sensed the sudden shift in your mood. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, reaching out to gently squeeze your shoulder. "You've been quiet since we left the headquarters. Did something happen that I should know about?"

He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "Look, I know today was a long day, but I was thinking... what if we stopped by that little hotpot place on our way home? We could share a meal and unwind a bit before calling it a night. My treat, of course."

Xavier smiled at you, hoping to coax a similar smile out of you in return. "Unless you'd rather just head home and collapse into bed. I completely understand if you're too tired to go out tonight." He kept his tone light and casual, not wanting to pressure you into anything, but secretly hoping you would agree to spend a little more time with him before the night was over.

As the jealous thoughts swirled in your mind, you felt your grip on your temper slipping away. Without really considering the harshness of your words, you blurted out your next sentence, your voice dripping with an unintended bitterness.

"No, but I think Sarah or Lisa would be more than happy to go with you instead," you snapped, immediately regretting the sharpness of your tone. As soon as the words left your lips, you wanted to take them back, but it was too late.

Xavier's eyes widened in surprise at your sudden outburst, and he stopped walking abruptly, forcing you to halt alongside him. He looked down at you, a mix of confusion and hurt flashing across his handsome face as he tried to process your jealous accusation.

"What are you talking about, y/n?" he asked slowly, his brow furrowing with concern. "Sarah and Lisa are on my team, yes, but that doesn't mean I have any intention of asking them out. Why would you even say something like that?"

Xavier stared at you, taken aback by your sudden outburst of jealousy. He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off abruptly.

"Forget it, okay? Just... just forget I said anything," you muttered, feeling your cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment. You couldn't believe you had let your jealousy get the best of you like that.

Without waiting for his response, you spun on your heel and stormed off down the sidewalk, leaving Xavier standing there looking bewildered. You knew you were being irrational, but you couldn't seem to control the green-eyed monster raging inside you.

As you neared your apartment building, you hesitated, part of you wanting to go back and apologize to Xavier, and another part of you stubbornly insisting that he should be the one to come after you, to reassure you that you were the only one he wanted.

Maybe I should just go inside and cool off, you thought to yourself, knowing that you were still too worked up to have a rational conversation at the moment. I'll apologize properly later, when I'm not so angry and jealous anymore.

As you fumbled with the key, your hands still shaking slightly from the lingering anger and emotion, you finally managed to unlock the door to your apartment. Stepping inside, you quickly turned to lock the door behind you, wanting nothing more than the solitude and safety of your private sanctuary.

But as your hand reached for the lock, you suddenly felt a presence behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun around, a gasp escaping your lips.

There, standing just a few feet inside the darkened apartment, was none other than Xavier. For a moment, you simply stared at him in shock, your eyes wide and your heart pounding in your chest. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, not the least of which was a fierce mix of relief and guilt.

Before you could even formulate an apology, Xavier began walking towards you with a determined stride. His blue eyes flashed with a mix of emotions - hurt, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite place. He stopped just a breath away from you, his tall frame looming over your own.

"Is that what you're going to do, y/n?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "You're going to act like a brat and accuse me of being interested in other girls, only to run off and try to slam the door in my face?"

Xavier shook his head slowly, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "I thought we were past this kind of jealousy and insecurity. I've never given you any reason to doubt me or question where my loyalties lie."

Xavier's grip tightened in your hair as he pulled you flush against his firm chest, his other hand coming up to grip your hip possessively. He tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his intense, smoldering gaze.

"Do you need a reminder of what you mean to me?" he growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

His lips crashed against yours in a searing, dominating kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. He kissed you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly, leaving no doubt as to his intentions.

When he finally pulled back, you were both left panting and flushed, your bodies pressed so tightly together that you could feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat against your own.

"Only a fool would ever look at anyone else when they have you," Xavier rasped, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip. "You're all I see, y/n. You're all I want."

He stepped even closer, if that was possible, until you were pinned helplessly between his hard, muscular body and the wall behind you.

"I had other plans for tonight," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Like holding you close, feeding you a nice dinner, and then slowly, gently making love to you all night long until we both collapsed from exhaustion."

Xavier's hand slid from your hip to grip your ass, squeezing the supple flesh possessively as he ground his hardening cock against your belly. "But it seems like you need a different kind of reminder first."

His other hand released your hair to grip your jaw, tilting your head to the side to expose the column of your throat. "So I'm going to fuck the jealousy out of you," he growled, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "I'm going to fuck you so hard and so thoroughly that the only thought in your pretty little head will be my name."

Xavier's lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin as his hands roamed greedily over your curves. "And then, once I've erased every trace of doubt from your mind, I'm going to fuck you all over again, until you're drowning in pleasure and completely overwhelmed by the knowledge that I belong to you."

He nipped sharply at your earlobe before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Does that sound good, baby? Or do you need more convincing?" Xavier purred, his voice a sinful promise of all the deliciously wicked things he intended to do to your willing body.

Xavier silenced your attempted apology with another searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth and leaving you breathless. When he finally pulled back, his eyes flashed with a dark, hungry intensity.

"Apology not accepted," he growled, his voice rough with desire and a hint of anger. "You wanted to be a brat, so now you're going to be treated like one."

His hands made quick work of your clothes, practically tearing them from your body in his haste to bare your flesh to his greedy gaze. Buttons popped and fabric ripped, the sound of destruction filling the air as Xavier laid waste to your wardrobe.

In a matter of moments, you stood before him, naked and vulnerable, your skin flushed and tingling from his rough touches. Xavier drank in the sight of you, his eyes burning with a fierce, possessive hunger.

"Look at you," he rasped, his large hands skimming over your curves. "Feel how hard you make me, baby?" Xavier panted against your lips, his hips rolling in a slow, filthy grind. "You're going to take care of that later, with your cunt. But first..."

His fingers plunged deep inside your fluttering channel, pumping in and out of your tight heat with a punishing rhythm.

Xavier paused, his fingers still buried deep inside your clenching heat as he gazed at you with an intense, searching look. His brow furrowed as he studied your flushed and panting face, his thumb circling your clit with maddeningly light touches.

"Tell me what got you so jealous baby," he demanded, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. "I want to hear you say it out loud. I want to know exactly what made you doubt me, doubt us, like this."

His other hand slid up your side, cupping the soft swell of your breast, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, pinching and tugging at the sensitive peak until it stiffened into a hard, aching point.

“Ngh-Xav—” The whimpers just won’t stop spilling from your lips, his gaze drilling into your eyes and falling straight to your drenching cunt. “I- fuck-”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice a dark, commanding rumble.

"Talk to me like a big girl, y/n," he growled, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Use your words, baby. 

His fingers pumped faster inside your dripping cunt, his palm grinding against your clit with each thrust. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room as Xavier fingered you hard and fast, determined to wring an answer from your lips.

"Sarah and Lisa they were saying.....ah fuckkk!" You try to tell him about what you heard but his fingers are still deep inside you hitting the perfect spot.

"Sarah and Lisa?" he repeated, a sharp edge to his voice. "You're jealous because of them? Because of my teammates?"

He withdrew his fingers from your clenching heat abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. Before you could protest, he spun you around and bent you over the arm of the couch, your bare ass and dripping pussy on full display.

Xavier delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing through the room. "Let me make one thing crystal fucking clear," he snarled, rubbing the reddening flesh. "I. Am. Not. Interested. In. Them."

Another smack landed on your other cheek, harder than the first. "The only reason they were even talking to me was because we were discussing strategy and team dynamics. Nothing more, nothing less."

He gripped your hips punishingly, yanking you back against the thick ridge of his cock. "You're the only one I want, y/n. The only one I crave. The only one I fucking love." To punctuate his words, Xavier thrust his hips forward, grinding his clothed erection against your soaked folds.

Xavier knelt down behind you, his strong hands gripping your thighs and pushing your legs apart. He forced your knees to bend, opening you wide and exposing your glistening, needy sex to his hungry gaze.

"Keep these legs spread for me, baby," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire."I want to see this pretty pussy as I eat it."

With that, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, savoring your tangy essence with a low moan. He licked and suckled at your folds, his skilled mouth reducing you to a writhing, mewling mess in record time.

He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the swollen bud with expert precision. Two fingers plunged deep into your clenching channel, pumping in and out of your soaked heat.

"Mmm, sweet girl making such a mess" Xavier purred, his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

He spat directly onto your dripping, glistening folds, watching as fresh waves of your arousal gushed out to coat his chin and drip down onto the couch below. Without hesitation, he leaned in and began to lap at the slickness, sucking and slurping up every drop of your essence.

"Your taste is intoxicating," he groaned, his tongue delving deeper to plunder your fluttering channel. "I could spend hours feasting on this pretty pussy and never get enough."

Xavier's hands slid higher, gripping the globes of your ass and kneading the pliant flesh. He spread you wider, opening you fully to his relentless onslaught as he ate you like a man possessed.

"Please, don't stop," you whimper, your hips bucking needily against his face as you desperately seek more of that blissful friction.

Xavier pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal as he fixed you with a stern, disapproving glare. He released your thighs, allowing them to close with a soft, intimate sound, then you feel him gripping your hips and pulling you to straddle his lap.

"No," he said firmly, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Good girls get everything they want. Brats like you don't get to cum when they need it."

He punctuated his words with a sharp smack to your ass, the stinging pain sending a jolt through your body. Xavier rubbed the reddening flesh soothingly.

"Since you seem determined to act like a spoiled brat, I think it's only fitting that you be treated as one," he said, a wicked glint in his eye. "You can sit here and squirm on my lap, feeling my hard cock through my pants, until I decide you've learned your lesson."

Xavier's other hand slid up your spine, wrapping around the nape of your neck. He tilted your head to the side, exposing the slender column of your throat to his hungry mouth. He licked and nipped at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point.

He rocked his hips upwards, grinding his rigid length against your aching, empty sex. The thin fabric of his pants created a maddening barrier between you, allowing you to feel the shape and size of him but denying you the sweet friction you craved.

"Be a good brat and sit still," Xavier ordered, his voice a low, dominant rumble. "We have all night long for me to teach you the consequences of jealousy and insecurity."

Xavier's fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his thick, hard cock from his pants. The moment his length sprang out, he gripped your hips and lifted you slightly, allowing his shaft to slap against your dripping, swollen clit a couple times in quick succession.

"Feel that, baby?" he whispered, his voice rough and heavy with desire. "Feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"

He pinched your nipple hard, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers as he continued his torturous teasing. Each pass of his cockhead over your aching clit sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, stoking the fire in your core.

His cockhead pushing against your entrance before sliding back up to bump against your clit. He set a maddeningly slow, teasing rhythm, denying you the deep penetration you desperately craved.

"Please..." you whimpered, your body writhing in his lap as you tried to chase more of that glorious friction. "Please, Xavier...I need...I need..."

"Need what, sweetgirl?" he purred, a wicked glint in his eye as he watched you squirm. "Tell me what you need. Use your words, brat."

His hand slid from your breast to your thigh, gripping it tightly as he spread your leg further to the side. This new position allowed him to grind the thick ridge of his cock directly against your dripping slit, the head catching on your entrance with each torturous thrust.

"Tell me how badly you want it," Xavier growled, his voice a dark, sinful rumble. "Tell me what it would feel like to have my big, hard cock stretching out your tight little cunt. Filling you up so deep and so fucking full..."

He punctuated his words with a sharp, sudden thrust, his cockhead popping inside your entrance before quickly pulling back out. The brief, fleeting sensation of fullness only served to heighten your desperate arousal and frustration.

Xavier's eyes darkened with lust as he watched your eyes flutter shut, your head lolling back in ecstasy with each maddeningly slow thrust. The needy, desperate sounds spilling from your lips only fueled his own desire, his cock throbbing and leaking against your soaked folds.

"That's it, baby," he purred, his voice a low, wicked rumble. "Let me hear how much you want it. Let me hear how badly you need my cock."

He gripped your thighs tighter, spreading your legs wider as he ground his hips against yours with ruthless precision. Each pass of his cockhead over your aching clit sent electric shocks of pleasure zipping up your spine, your back arching as you chased the sensation.

"Please, Xavier..." you whimpered, your voice breaking on a desperate moan. "Please fuck me. I need your cock so badly. I need you to fill me up and fuck me hard and don't stop until I'm screaming your name..."

"Since you asked so nicely, baby..." he growled against your lips, his voice rough and heavy with desire. "I suppose I can give you what you need."

Xavier gripped your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he lifted you up with a grunt of effort. He positioned your dripping, aching sex directly over his throbbing, engorged cock, the swollen head nudging against your entrance with a teasing promise of the pleasure to come.

With that, he surged upwards, driving his thick, pulsing shaft deep into your tight, clenching heat. Your body stretched deliciously around his girth as he hilts inside you, his heavy balls coming to rest against your ass with a lewd slap.

"FUCK!" you both screamed in unison as your bodies joined, your voices echoing off the walls.

Xavier gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided your movements. "That's it, baby. Ride me just like that," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Use these sexy legs and fuck yourself on my cock until you make yourself cum."

He leaned forward, capturing your nipple between his teeth. He bit down just hard enough to make you gasp, sending a jolt of pained pleasure straight to your core. At the same time, one of his hands slid around to grip your ass, spreading your cheeks and tilting your hips to take him even deeper.

"That's it. Fuck...I can feel you getting closer," he groaned, his hot breath washing over your breast. "Your cunt is squeezing me so fucking tight."

Xavier's grip tightened on your hips as he watched your core slide up and down his shaft, your velvet walls clenching and fluttering around him with each upward glide. The exquisite sensation of your silken heat gripping his cock so tightly sent a surge of primal lust crashing through his veins, his balls drawing up tight against his body as his own release approached.

"That's it, baby. Fuck...keep squeezing my cock just like that," he growled, his voice a low, guttural rumble. 

The words “C-cumming-” are barely starting words out of your mouth before it crashes into you headfirst. You arch your spine into the perfect semi-circle as your orgasm crashed over you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your fingers clawing at his skin as you clung to him for dear life, your cries of ecstasy filling the room.

"Fuck....fuck..fu...!" Xavier roared, his voice echoing off the walls as your velvet walls clamped down on his cock like a vice. The sensation of your cunt spasming and fluttering around his shaft pushed him over the edge, his own release slamming into him.

He slammed his hips upwards one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your quivering heat as his cock jerked and pulsed. Thick, hot ropes of cum painted your insides, coating your walls with his seed as he emptied himself inside you with a guttural groan.

Xavier's body shuddered and jerked as he rode out the aftershocks of his intense climax, holding your trembling form tightly against his chest. He peppered your neck and shoulder with soft kisses, his hands roaming over your curves possessively as he slowly came down from the high of his release.

Xavier tangled his fingers in your hair, gripping the silky strands gently as he tilted your head back to look up at him. His blue eyes searched yours intensely, the emotion and sincerity in their depths making your heart flutter in your chest.

He brushed a tender kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin for a long moment. "I meant what I said before. I love you more than anything in this world or any other. You're my everything, my reason for living."

"Believe me, my love," he murmured, his voice a low, fervent whisper. "No one can ever take your place in my heart. It belongs to you, completely and utterly, now and forever."

Rafayel 🐡

Rafayel was already awake, his mind too restless to sleep any longer. He sat on the balcony of the resort hotel, watching the sun begin to peek over the horizon. The desert landscape seemed to glow in the early morning light, the sand dunes casting long shadows across the barren expanse.

He heard the sound of your footsteps approaching and turned to see you emerge from the bedroom, your hair still tousled with sleep. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he took in your appearance, remembering the feel of your body pressed against his as you slept.

Rising from the balcony chair, he crossed the distance between you and took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. His eyes met yours, a flicker of mischief dancing in their purple-pink depths.

"Good morning, my love," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. "I have to run some errands at the art gallery today. Would you come with me? I promise it won't take long."

He knew he was being selfish, asking you to accompany him. But the thought of spending even a moment away from you was unbearable, especially in a place like this that felt so foreign and oppressive to him. He needed your presence, your calming influence, to ground him.

"Fine, but you have to invite me some dinner after" you say rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

Rafayel leaned back and laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and gratitude. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice warm with a newfound lightness. "I know a little place not far from here, a local gem hidden away in the back alleys of the city. They serve the most divine seafood, as fresh as if it was caught that very day."

An hour later, you emerged from the bedroom dressed for the day ahead. Rafayel had already finished getting ready, looking devastatingly handsome in a crisp linen shirt the color of a summer sky and tailored trousers that hugged his lean frame. He leaned against the wall opposite the bedroom door, his arms crossed over his chest and a playful smirk on his lips as he watched you approach.

"Well, don't you look good enough to eat," he purred, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few quick strides. His hands came up to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him as he dipped his head down to steal a heated kiss. He lingered for a long moment, savoring the taste of your lips and the feeling of your body pressed against his.

As you ate breakfast, Rafayel couldn't keep his eyes off of you. He watched as you bit into a piece of fruit, your lips parting and your tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of juice. He felt a surge of desire rush through him, his body responding to the simple, intimate gesture with a fervor that surprised even him.

He reached across the table and took your hand in his own, squeezing your fingers gently as he leaned in closer to you. "I'm so glad you agreed to come with me today," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "I don't think I could have faced that place alone."

As you guys arrived at the gallery, a sense of unease began to creep over Rafayel. He had been looking forward to seeing Thomas and discuss some important business matters they had to attend to. However, as you stepped inside the cool, air-conditioned space, Rafayel's brow furrowed in confusion.

As you turned a corner, Rafayel spotted a note taped to the wall, the paper fluttering slightly in the breeze from the AC vent. He released your hand and stepped forward, plucking the note from the wall and unfolding it with a sense of growing trepidation.

The note was from Thomas, the handwriting hurried and slightly illegible.

Thomas wrote that something urgent had come up, a family emergency that required his immediate attention. He apologized for not being there and promised to make it up to Rafayel soon. However, he also mentioned that there was a package waiting for Rafayel in his office, something important that he needed to deal with right away.

"Well, I suppose you'll just have to play the role of my assistant for the day," he murmured " And i can't leave without my important...package"

" I wouldn't call myself a package"

Rafayel's head snapped towards the source of the voice, his body tensing up as he recognized the redhead girl emerging from the office. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something like irritation and unease flashing across his face before it settled into a blank, guarded expression.

Releasing you from his embrace, Rafayel took a step back, putting a bit of distance between your bodies. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening as he regarded the girl warily.

It was clear he knew her, though from the look on his face, not particularly well or fondly. There was a history there, something unspoken that hung heavy in the air between them. Rafayel's posture was defensive, his body language radiating a subtle warning.

The girl smirked, her green eyes glinting with a smug satisfaction as she took in the scene before her - Rafayel's guarded stance, your confusion, the charged atmosphere. She was enjoying the clear discomfort radiating off of Rafayel, reveling in catching him off guard.

"Rafayel," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I've been waiting for you. I do hope I won't be kept waiting much longer"

Rafayel's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he met her gaze head on. "Celine," he acknowledged coolly, his voice tight. "I apologize for the delay. I had some...unexpected business to attend to first."

He glanced back at you, a silent apology and promise in his eyes before turning his attention back to Celine. "What brings you here? I thought we had an arrangement..."

Celine's lips curled into a sharp, wicked smile at Rafayel's words, a glint of triumph in her green eyes. She took a step closer to him, invading his personal space as she gazed up at him with a challenging smirk.

"Oh, I remember our arrangement perfectly, darling, but I'm afraid things have...changed. I need to discuss some new terms with you. In private"

She jerked her head towards the office, a clear gesture for him to follow her. There was a commanding edge to her voice, a tone that brooked no argument or refusal.

Rafayel's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he glared down at Celine. It was clear he was not pleased with this development, the interruption to his plans and the demand for a private audience. He glanced back at you, a flicker of apology and frustration in his eyes.

"I apologize, cutie," he said softly, his voice tight. "I won't be long. Wait for me here? "

He didn't wait for your response before turning on his heel and striding towards the office, Celine falling into step beside him. As they disappeared through the door, Rafayel cast one last lingering look your way, a silent promise that he would explain everything once he was free of this unexpected obligation.

Left alone in the gallery, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a shroud. Who was this woman, and what hold did she have over Rafayel? And more importantly, what secrets were they hiding from you?

An hour had passed since Rafayel had disappeared into the office with Celine, each minute feeling like an eternity as you waited anxiously in the gallery. The once vibrant space now felt cold and sterile, the art on the walls losing their luster as worry gnawed at you.

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, you made your way towards the office, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached the closed door. You raised your hand, knuckles poised to rap against the wood, when you heard the muffled sound of raised voices from within.

Rafayel's voice, low and angry, cut through the silence. "I can't believe you're doing this, Celine. I thought we had an understanding."

Celine's voice, sharp and mocking, followed. "Circumstances change, darling. And you're hardly in a position to refuse me anything."

You froze, your hand hovering inches from the door as you strained to hear more. But the voices fell silent, a tense, heavy quiet descending upon the office.

With a deep breath, you knocked firmly on the door, your nerves on edge. "Rafayel? It's me. I'm going to step out for a bit, maybe do some shopping. I'll call you when I'm done, alright?"

As you approached the office door, ready to knock once more, Celine emerged from within. She stepped out, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she paused, looking you up and down with a critical, almost disdainful eye.

Celine's gaze lingered on you for a long moment, a smirk playing at the corners of her painted lips. She lifted a hand, pretending to wipe at the corner of her mouth with a dainty finger, a mocking gesture that sent a chill down your spine.

She tsked softly, shaking her head as she stepped closer to you. There was a wicked glint in her green eyes, a cruel amusement that made your skin crawl.

"Look who it is. Rafayel's little pet, come to check on her master?"

Celine circled you like a shark, her heels clicking an ominous rhythm on the floor. She leaned in closer, her perfume washing over you, the scent cloying and overwhelming.

"I must say, darling, she purred, her breath hot against your ear. You don't look like you have what it takes to keep a man like Rafayel satisfied. I do hope you're not feeling...inadequate?"

She threw her head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the gallery. The cruelty in her eyes was unmistakable, the malice behind her words impossible to ignore.

Celine smirked at your stunned silence, your obvious discomfort clearly amusing her. She took a step back, smoothing down her tailored suit jacket with a self-satisfied air.

"Well, this has been...enlightening," she commented, a mocking lilt to her voice. She glanced down at her manicured nails, picking at a nonexistent speck of lint.

"But I must go and clean myself up. All this...business can be so messy, don't you think?"

With a final, cruel smile thrown your way, Celine turned on her heel and sauntered off, disappearing down the hallway towards the restrooms, leaving you standing there, your mind reeling.

With a sense of trepidation and growing unease, you pushed open the office door, the hinges creaking softly as it swung inward. As you stepped inside, your gaze fell upon Rafayel, seated behind the large mahogany desk that dominated the room.

He looked up as you entered, his purple-pink eyes meeting yours. There was a weariness in his expression, a tension in his shoulders that spoke of the difficult conversation he had just endured. The room was filled with a heavy, charged silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and secrets.

"Don't let her get to you. Celine is...a complicated part of my past. But you don't need to worry about her.

"Is she now?" You ask, " well since she thinks I'm not good enough to keep you satisfied I think I know what kind of relationship you had"

Rafayel's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt at your accusation. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk as he fixed you with an intense, almost accusing stare. The air between you crackled with tension, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the space.

He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he seemed to struggle with how to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tight, tinged with a bitterness you had never heard before.

"You think you know, but you have no idea," he bit out, his words sharp and cutting. "Celine and I...we had a business arrangement. Nothing more.

He paused, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a raw honesty that made your heart ache.

Rafayel leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he studied your jealous expression. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and something else, something darker and more intense.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice even as his gaze remained serious. "you think I can't see it written all over your face, my love?"

He stood slowly, rising to his feet and rounding the desk until he stood before you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

As you turned to leave, unable to bear the tension and uncertainty any longer, Rafayel's hand shot out and caught your wrist in a firm grip. He pulled you back towards him, his eyes flashing with a sudden intensity.

"Where do you think you're going, cutie?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. Before you could respond, he had already crossed the room and closed the office door with a sharp click.

"I don't think I'm done with you just yet. We need to talk about this little...outburst of jealousy"

He stepped closer, backing you up until your back hit the door. His hands came up to grip your hips, pulling your body flush against his as he gazed down at you with a mix of amusement and something else, something darker and more primal.

"Tell me, y/n", he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Do you really think so little of me? Of us? I thought you knew me better than that... But it seems I was wrong."

Rafayel's hands slid down to grip the backs of your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he lifted you effortlessly. He carried you towards the desk, sweeping aside the clutter of papers and art supplies before setting you down on the polished wood surface.

He stepped between your parted legs, his hands coming to rest on your knees as he leaned in close, his face mere inches from yours. The desk creaked softly beneath your combined weight, the sound echoing in the tense silence of the office.

His hands slid slowly up your thighs, his thumbs tracing teasing circles on the sensitive skin just below the hem of your skirt. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the pulse jumping in his throat as he stared you down.

"I won't have you doubting me, doubting us", he said softly, but there was a steely undercurrent to his words. "Now, pretty...what makes you think you know the true nature of my relationship with Celine? What makes you think you know anything at all about the man you claim to love?"

As you began to stammer out an explanation, Rafayel silenced you by suddenly reaching between your thighs. His fingers deftly pushed your skirt up and out of the way, and in one sharp, aggressive motion, he ripped your panties clean off, the flimsy fabric tearing like tissue paper in his grasp.

You gasped, your body jolting at the sudden, intimate contact and the brutal destruction of your undergarment. Rafayel's eyes flashed with a wild, almost feral light as he watched your reaction, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Shhhhh", he hushed you, his fingers already delving beneath the tattered remains of your panties to stroke along your most sensitive flesh. "No more words out of your pretty mouth, my love. No more words at all."

He pushed your thighs further apart, making room for himself as he stepped even closer, the hard, muscular length of his body pressing against yours. His hand cupped your sex possessively, his thumb finding your clit and circling the tender bud with a maddening, teasing pressure.

Rafayel's hands gripped your ankles, pushing your feet up and outwards until your knees bent and your legs fell open, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze. Your skirt, now bunched up around your waist, left you bare and vulnerable, the tattered remnants of your ruined panties dangling off one ankle.

He drank in the sight of your naked, glistening sex, his eyes darkening with lust and a possessive intensity that made your heart race. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned down, his breath hot and heavy against your most intimate flesh.

He leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth with a low, approving groan.

"You taste like heaven" he murmured against your flesh, his words muffled and distorted by his greedy mouthing at your sex.

" Raf.....the door isn't locked" you warn him.

Rafayel paused briefly in his ministrations, glancing up at you with a wicked, almost defiant grin. He seemed not at all concerned by the possibility of being caught in such a compromising position.

"Let them come," he challenged, a reckless edge to his voice. "Let the whole fucking world see me claiming what's mine. I don't care anymore."

With that, he dove back in, his mouth latching onto your sex with a hunger that bordered on feral. His tongue pushed inside you, thrusting deep and hard, fucking you with a intensity that stole your breath.

One hand released your hip to slide up your body, pushing your shirt out of the way to expose your breasts. He palmed the soft mounds, his fingers sinking into the supple flesh as he rolled and plucked at your nipples.

Rafayel lifted his head, his lips glistening with your essence as he stared up at you with a wicked, challenging grin. He seemed to relish the idea of being caught in such a compromising position, of giving the world a peek into the dark, passionate side of his nature.

"The walls are thin here", he murmured, his voice low and rough with lust. "So it's up to you cutie, Do we keep your sweet cries of pleasure to ourselves...or do we let everyone outside hear just how much you love being fucked by me?"

As Rafayel's fingers pinched and rolled your nipple almost painfully, and his teeth clamped down hard on your sensitive clit, you could no longer hold back the tide of pleasure that crashed over you. A loud, wanton scream tore from your throat, echoing off the thin walls of the office and no doubt carrying out into the hallway beyond.

"Fuck, yes!" Rafayel growled in approval as he felt your body convulse beneath him, your juices flooding his mouth and chin. He lapped at you greedily, his tongue delving deep to catch every drop of your essence as he pushed you ruthlessly through your intense climax.

In a sudden, aggressive motion, Rafayel flipped you over onto your stomach on the desk. He pressed your chest down against the cool, smooth wood, the air forcing out of your lungs in a rush. Before you could catch your breath, he had already gripped your hips and tugged them back, bending you at the waist and exposing your bare, dripping sex to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, look at this ass", he growled, his hands kneading and squeezing the round globes roughly. "Such a perfect, fuckable ass. It's a crime to keep it hidden away"

He punctuated his words by delivering a sharp smack to one cheek, the sound of the impact echoing through the room. The sting quickly gave way to a warm, tingling pleasure that spread through your nerves, making you clench and tighten around nothing.

With that, he gripped the base of his thick, hard cock and rubbed the leaking tip teasingly along your slit. He coated himself in your juices, mixing them with the bead of precum that oozed from his slit. Then, with one hard, ruthless thrust, he buried himself inside your tight, clutching heat.

"Fuck, so fucking tight," he grunted, his hips flush against your ass as he savored the feel of your walls gripping him like a vice. "Such a perfect fucking fit for my cock. Like you were made just for me..."

Rafayel began to move, his hips pulling back until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before slamming forward and burying himself to the hilt once more. He set a hard, fast pace, the desk creaking and shaking beneath you with each powerful thrust of his hips.

Your face was pressed into the smooth wood, drool already beginning to pool and drip from the corner of your slack mouth. The sensation of being so thoroughly taken, so completely at the mercy of Rafayel's lust and desire, was overwhelming. It was almost too much, too intense.

Rafayel grabbed your arms, pulling them up and bending them at the elbows to either side of your head. He placed your palms flat against the desk, giving you something to hold onto as he continued his relentless, pounding assault on your pussy.

"Hold on tight, cutie", he growled, his voice strained with exertion and lust. "You're going to need to brace yourself for what comes next. I'm not going to hold back, not anymore."

Rafayel kept up his relentless pace, pounding into you with a single-minded determination. But despite the intensity of his thrusts and the building pleasure, he somehow avoided hitting that one special spot inside you that always sent you hurtling over the edge. It was as if he could read your mind, could sense your impending release, and was deliberately denying you that final push.

"Punishing you," he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble in your ear. "Teasing you, making you beg so sweetly for something I can give you...but won't. Not yet."

"Don't you dare come until I say you can," he ordered, his voice a harsh, dominating bark. "You don't get to come until I've had my fill...until I've pumped this greedy cunt full of my seed and marked you as mine"

You found yourself begging, unable to hold back the desperate pleas that spilled from your lips. Your voice was high and thin, strained with the effort of holding back your rapidly approaching climax, of keeping your body from seizing control.

"Please, Rafayel, please!" you cried out, your fingers scrabbling against the smooth wood of the desk as you tried to find purchase, to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensation. "Please, I need...I need to come. I can't...please, Rafayel!"

Tears of frustration and desperation pricked at the corners of your eyes, your body shaking and trembling beneath Rafayel's ruthless onslaught. You were completely at his mercy, completely under his control. And in that moment, you knew you would do anything, say anything, to earn the release you so desperately craved.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips finding your ear. When he spoke, his voice was a low, dark rasp, each word deliberately enunciated.

"Don't. Ever. Doubt. Me."

He punctuated each word with a sharp, precise thrust of his hips, driving his cock deep inside you, grinding against that maddeningly elusive spot just out of reach. Your body shook and trembled, tears leaking from your clenched eyes as you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to stifle your increasingly desperate moans.

"Im. Yours."

Thrust.

"Completely. And. Totally."

Thrust.

"Yours"

Thrust

"So you'll wait. You'll wait until I give you permission. Until I grant you the release you so desperately crave. Until then...you'll take what I give you. Understand?"

He emphasized his demand with a particularly brutal thrust, his pelvis slamming against your ass, his cock buried to the hilt inside your clutching heat. He remained still for a long moment, his breath hot and heavy against your neck, his heart pounding against your back.

"Tell me you understand y/n"

As soon as the words "I do" left your lips, Rafayel let out a low growl of satisfaction. He angled your hips just so, tilting them up and back to align your body perfectly with his. And then, with a ferocity that stole your breath, he began to pound into that sweet spot deep inside you.

"Yes, just like that", he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release.

"That's it, baby", he encouraged, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "I can feel you getting close. I can feel your pussy clenching around me, trying to suck me in deeper. You're so fucking close, aren't you? Ready to explode like a fucking firework?"

He angled your hips again, changing the angle slightly, and suddenly you could feel the tension in your body pulling tighter, the coil wound to its breaking point. Your breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, your fingers scrabbling against the desk as you tried to find purchase, to anchor yourself against the tidal wave of sensation threatening to sweep you away.

"Come for me, pretty girl", Rafayel demanded, his voice a low, dark command. "Come screaming my name, so everyone knows who makes you feel this fucking good. Now, fucking do it!"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finally allowed his own release to overtake him. Thick, scalding ropes of his seed painted your insides, marking you, claiming you as his own as he filled you with his essence.

The sensation of his hot cum flooding your core pushed you over the edge, your body seizing and convulsing beneath his as you came harder than you ever had before. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the thin walls, no doubt alerting everyone in the vicinity to your shared climax.

As the intense waves of your shared climax began to ebb, Rafayel collapsed against your back, his weight pressing you down into the desk. You both panted and gasped for air, bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing in tandem as you struggled to regain your composure.

After a long moment, Rafayel rolled off of you, his softening cock slipping from your dripping cunt. He gathered you into his arms, holding you close as he pulled you up to sit on the edge of the desk. Your legs were shaky, and you leaned against him for support, not trusting your own balance just yet.

"Look at the mess we made," he murmurs, his voice still rough and strained. He gestures to the desk, streaked with your combined fluids, and the floor, splattered with the evidence of your passionate coupling.

"But it was worth it. Fuck, was it ever worth it. I love you, y/n," he whispers against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. "And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget it."

As you both stepped out of the office, still flushed and disheveled from your passionate encounter, you find Celine waiting. The young woman's eyes were round as saucers, her face a deep shade of red as she no doubt processed the sounds she had just witnessed emanating from the closed door.

Rafayel barely spared her a glance as he strode past, his arm around your waist to keep you steady. He paused just before exiting the building and turned to face Celine, a wicked smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Keep the paintings, Celine", he instructed, his voice still rough and low from their recent activities. "Our agreement is null and void, effective immediately. Consider this a parting gift, for your trouble."

Celine's mouth opened and closed a few times, as if trying to formulate a response, but no words came out. She looked stunned, her gaze flickering between you and Rafayel.

"And say hi to the family for me, dear cousin", Rafayel added with a mocking, almost cruel edge to his voice. 

With that parting shot, he ushered you out into the brilliant sunlight, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool interior of the gallery.

[flwrkid14]

Love Like a Gothic Novel

Tim doesn’t think of himself as particularly romantic.

Sure, he loves Danny—loves him with the kind of devotion that could make or break empires, loves him with a ferocity that could shake the stars from the sky. But romance? That’s always been something more suited to poetry, to grand gestures in old films, to couples who carve their initials into tree trunks and murmur sonnets beneath the moon.

Romance isn’t for people like him. It's for people like Danny.

Danny, who looks at Tim like he’s the first and only wonder of the universe. Danny, who says beloved with a reverence that makes Tim feel like something sacred, like a prayer answered in full. Danny, who looks at him like he hung the stars in the sky and named each one after the sound of his heartbeat.

Tim never stood a chance.

(Neither did anyone else who has to witness it.)

The first time it happens, they’re fighting a group of goons in an alley, and Tim hears the telltale sound of a gun being cocked behind him. Before he can turn, Danny appears—cloak billowing, eyes glowing like the ghosts in old fairytales.

“How dare you,” Danny says, voice rich and dripping with venom. “You would dare raise a weapon against my heart? Against my soul? Against the very breath that fills my lungs?!”

The gun is on the ground before the goon even realizes he’s dropped it.

Tim barely has time to blink before Danny grabs his wrist, pulling him close like they’re about to waltz. The fight is still going on around them, but Danny lifts Tim’s gloved hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles like they’re in the middle of a ballroom instead of a crime scene.

“You are safe, my love,” Danny murmurs. “Always.”

Tim is mortified.

The rest of the family is delighted.

After that, things spiral.

Danny starts leaving handwritten notes in his cape like love letters sent from the battlefield—ink-stained scraps of paper folded carefully and tucked between his gauntlets, slipped into his utility belt. Sometimes, they’re poetry, verses that read like something stolen from the pages of a forgotten novel. Other times, they’re dramatic declarations of vengeance.

(“My dearest Polaris, I have heard troubling news that someone—someone—has made you sad. Rest assured, I will handle this. I will destroy them. I will salt the earth in your name.”)

Tim never figures out how Danny gets the notes in his suit.

And it’s not like Tim doesn’t return the feelings. His love isn’t something grand or sweeping—it’s in the way he fixes Danny’s gloves when they start to fray, in the way he absentmindedly tangles their fingers together while he’s working. It’s in the late-night coffee runs when Danny’s had a bad day, in the way he memorizes Danny’s favorite food spots just to surprise him later. It's in the way he looks at him like he’s something divine.

Danny notices.

Danny always notices.

And if the family wasn’t already insufferable about it before, they’re unbearable now.

Dick sighs dramatically whenever Danny dips Tim during fights just to kiss him. Cass watches with open delight whenever Danny calls Tim darling in that rich, old-fashioned tone. Jason still won’t stop muttering about how is this our reality? Where does Timbo even find these people?

The only one truly suffering is Damian, who looks like he’s considering self-exile whenever Danny sighs, “Mon amour,” and Tim just… accepts it like it’s normal.

(It is normal. Danny has been like this from day one. Tim is just used to it.)

And when Tim presses a kiss to Danny’s temple after a long night, when he rests a hand over Danny’s heart like he’s grounding himself there, Danny’s expression softens into something unbearably fond.

“My heart,” Danny murmurs. “My shadow, my light, my love—”

“Go to sleep, Danny.”

“…Yes, Polaris.”

(They are ridiculous. It is perfect)

[jtownraindancer]

Full text below the cut, just in case:

Is Somebody Doing Something?!

Yes. Let me break it down for you.

Jay Kuo Feb 03, 2025

This weekend’s head-spinning headlines were enough to spike blood pressure nationwide. Mass purges of prosecutors and agents at the FBI. A shutdown of an entire agency at USAID. Even a tech bro putsch at Treasury and the Office of Personnel Management, giving an unelected billionaire access and possible control over our entire federal workforce HR and some $6 trillion paid annually by our federal payment system.

The most common question I saw across social media and in the comments was understandable: Is somebody doing something about this?

The short and important answer is yes. And we need to understand a few things to help bring things into focus.

First, the timing of all of this was intentional. It all went down on a Friday night, when there would be less ability among affected employees to communicate and resist; decreased national press attention; and closed congressional offices, courthouses and law offices. They wanted us to panic for several days and make us feel like we were rudderless and without clear options.

But today is the first business day after last Friday’s bombshells, and I can report confidently that the anti-Trump/Musk response is well underway.

It’s helpful to think of the response as falling into four distinct yet sometimes overlapping categories, each with increasing urgency. These responses include the personal, the political, the legal and the popular.

Once we place a response into one of these categories, it’s far easier to assess whether it is serving its intended purpose. This level of disciplined reasoning will also help us all prevent the common error of expecting, for example, personal responses to create legal results, or political responses to generate popular ones. These are all very different beasts, each important in its own right, but usually led by very different actors.

The personal responses

The front line defenders of our democracy at this moment are the civil servants whose roles and responsibilities are being upended or whose jobs are on the chopping block under the new administration. How they respond matters a great deal for a number of reasons, both moral and practical.

From a moral standpoint, standing up to authoritarianism, while risking persecution or even violence from the MAGA mob, takes courage. One person’s courage is sometimes all it takes for many to find their own.

From a practical standpoint, stopping an illegal move initially buys valuable time for the press to be alerted, for union leaders and politicians to organize and respond, and for lawyers to be called in. Personal resistance is the first fistful of sand thrown into the gears of a takeover machine. In the past three days alone, we have witnessed some heroic personal responses.

James Dennehy at the FBI

Nine high-ranking career FBI officials had already been forced out, spreading fear and uncertainty in the ranks of the Bureau. Then on Friday the Justice Department, through its acting AG Emil Bove, who was once also Trump’s personal attorney, ordered the FBI to collect names of anyone who even so much as helped investigate the January 6 attack on the Capitol, a sign of a purge that would include some 6,000 rank-and-file agents.

A top ranking FBI official, James Dennehy, who heads up the largest FBI office in the country based in New York, refused to remain silent. He vowed in a defiant email to his staff to “dig in” while praising the interim leadership of the Bureau. Dennehy wrote, “Today, we find ourselves in the middle of a battle of our own, as good people are being walked out of the F.B.I. and others are being targeted because they did their jobs in accordance with the law and F.B.I. policy.” Dennehy compared the current situation to when he had to dig a small foxhole five feet deep as a Marine in the 1990s and hunker down for safety.

“It sucked,” he wrote. “But it worked.”

David Lebryk at Treasury

The first person to refuse Elon Musk’s team’s outrageous and illegal requests at Treasury was David Lebryk. He was the acting Treasury Secretary until Trump’s selection, Scott Bessent, was recently appointed and confirmed.

As a career civil servant, Lebryk oversaw the Fiscal Service, a little-known but mission critical office that handles more than one billion payments from the federal government every year, disbursing over $5.4 trillion. After Lebryk’s refusal to grant Musk’s team access, he was placed on administrative leave. Only then did Lebryk announce his retirement after 35 years of service.

Lebryk did not comply, meaning those 35 years’ of knowledge about how to read, sort and control payments was not immediately available to Musk’s team. More sand in the gears.

“The fiscal service performs some of the most vital functions in government,” Lebryk wrote to his colleagues in his farewell email. “Our work may be unknown to most of the public, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t exceptionally important.”

Director and Dep. Director for Security, John Vorhees and Brian McGill at USAID

When Elon Musk’s so-called “Department of Government Efficiency” (DOGE) demanded access to classified materials in restricted areas from the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), two officials said, “Not on my watch.”

Director of Security John Vorhees and Deputy Director for Security Brian McGill at USAID understood that granting such access could expose classified information to individuals lacking the security clearances to view them. In refusing DOGE access, both officials acted to protect our nation’s secrets. For that they were both placed on leave Saturday night, joining a growing list of suspensions and layoffs at that agency.

The Trump White House’s official response to press inquiries came from DOGE spokesperson Katie Miller (the wife of Stephen Miller…) who reposted an AP article on Twitter with the comment, “No classified material was accessed without proper security clearances.” For starters, that of course misses the point. Merely granting access to classified materials would have been a serious breach of security. Further, we shouldn’t take this administration’s word on anything, especially given Trump’s own mishandling and theft of classified documents.

The political responses

Before I get into some of the responses of Democratic politicians to the many nightmares that unfolded over the weekend, I’d like to reset some common incorrect assumptions and expectations.

A party that is out of power in a democracy typically doesn’t have the power to do very much. In the Senate, for example, Democrats alone can’t prevent a quorum and can’t stop most legislation from passing. They can’t block nominees without help from less extreme GOP senators. And the number of procedural blocks they can put up are limited. At best these can stall, but ultimately not stop, things like cabinet confirmations.

The job of politicians from the party that is out of power is to make the political argument for why their party should be returned to power. That means highlighting the misdeeds, mistakes and malfeasance of the other party. It means providing clear statements about the rules, norms and processes that were violated so that the press can report on them from experts whose job it is to understand legislation and limits on power.

Note also that politicians normally do not themselves file lawsuits unless they were personally injured in some way. And even then there are many reasons why lawsuits are best left to other litigants, such as unions, state attorneys general or nonprofits, who have the resources and time to bring complex suits with seasoned lawyers.

Some political responses may help lead to other types of responses, but that is not their primary end. The primary goal of a political response is to make the political case. And that’s it.

So it will help us and our cause to stop rolling our eyes when, say, a politician writes a stern letter to a Trump official demanding that the administration cease its illegal activity. That is actually what our senators and representatives are supposed to do. That is how they set the record and inform the press and through them the larger public. As discussed above, politicians don’t bring lawsuits. They usually don’t lead street protests. And the more experienced among them don’t waste political capital on performative stunts that don’t actually fix anything.

That said, those letters and statements, which help establish the public record, are a vital resource. They are cited in lawsuits, often as evidence that the administration was on notice of its illegal actions. They point investigative journalists toward more reporting. And they are an important expenditure of political capital, signaling the priorities of our representatives.

With that in mind, let’s look at some examples out of the many political responses we have already seen. And as a bonus, I’ll include some ratcheted up action by two U.S. senators addressing the travesty of the USAID office.

Sen. Wyden on the Treasury takeover

Shortly after news broke that private teams of software engineers had forcefully commandeered access to the federal payment system at the Treasury Department, Sen. Ron Wyden (D-OR) wrote to newly confirmed Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent. In that letter, Wyden blasted the move as “politically motivated meddling” that “risks severe damage to our country and the economy."

Wyden was alarmed that “officials associated with Musk may have intended to access these payment systems to illegally withhold payments to any number of programs.” Wyden also raised the alarm over the current financial strain on the federal government, which is now relying on some accounting maneuvers to meet its obligations after reaching the debt limit.

He also noted Musk’s business dealings in China, which has a history of cyberattacks on U.S. government systems. Wyden warned that Musk’s Chinese business ties could create conflicts of interest and present a national security risk, particularly if Musk were granted access to these sensitive systems.

When a staffer or a lawyer reads such a demand letter, a few things jump out. Bessent is now on notice that the system could be severely injured by Musk’s access; that it would be illegal to withhold any payments; that the debt limit and the need for the GOP to raise it is on Wyden’s mind; and that there’s a huge security risk because of China. Those are things the public should understand, too. And they should know these things were communicated directly to the Trump White House, especially if they wind up coming true.

Sens. Coons and Murphy on USAID

Over the weekend, Musk and the White House went to war with USAID, the agency that provides billions in aid to stricken parts of the world. It’s the only thing keeping hundreds of thousands from starving in places like Somalia. And it’s keeping the promise of democracy alive in nations like Hungary—which is probably why Musk hates it so much.

Sen. Chris Coons (D-DE) used his position to give interviews and to raise the alarm over what the administration was up to. “All the signals of how the senior staff have been put on administrative leave, many of the field staff and headquarters staff have been put on a gag order,” said Coons on Saturday. Coons is a member of both the foreign relations and appropriations Senate committees. “It seems more like the early stages of shutting down than it does of reviewing it or merely retitling it,” Coons added.

Also going to bat for USAID was Sen. Chris Murphy (D-CT), who warned over social media,

Trump isn’t satisfied just to close programs and fire staff. He is now planning to ELIMINATE THE ENTIRE AGENCY. Maybe this weekend. That would be illegal. He cannot unilaterally close a federal agency. Another assault on the Constitution.

Trump may indeed have been planning to issue an Executive Order as early as today purporting to disband USAID. Indeed, Musk claimed in a Twitter Spaces talk late Sunday night that Trump had agreed that USAID should be shut down and that the two had gone over in great detail how that would be accomplished.

But as Sen. Murphy indicated, such a unilateral move would be illegal. As of this morning, employees at USAID headquarters have been told not to report to work. But that doesn’t mean USAID is dissolved. In fact, as a legal analysis in Just Security out on Saturday noted, Congress established USAID as its own agency, and therefore under current law only Congress can abolish it.

The enabling Act for USAID in fact is unequivocal:

Unless abolished pursuant to the reorganization plan submitted under section 6601 of this title, and except as provided in section 6562 of this title, there is within the Executive branch of Government the United States Agency for International Development as an entity described in section 104 of title 5. (emphasis added)

As Trump/Musk move to dissolve the agency, expect legal challenges from the nonprofits and organizations directly affected by the loss in funding and operational support.

Sen. Blumenthal and the FBI purges

Senior Democratic leaders have not remained silent as a purge of top FBI officials has unfolded. Sen. Richard Blumenthal (D-CT), who sits on the Judiciary Committee and directly questioned FBI Director Kash Patel, released an official statement about the firings:

“This reported mass purging of professional law enforcement is surreal and sickening. Less than twenty-four hours after President Trump’s nominee to run the Federal Bureau of Investigation testified to me that there would be no political retribution against agents, apparently dozens – maybe even hundreds – of federal law enforcement officials may be fired. I am appalled by this vile retaliation against agents who sought to hold accountable people who stabbed cops with flagpoles and crushed officers until they broke bones. The silence from my Republican colleagues is disgusting and deafening.”

Again, using a lawyer’s ear on this, the words “mass purging,” “professional,” “political retribution,” “retaliation” and “hold accountable” jump out. That is not only the political case that Blumenthal intends to make to the electorate (and wants others to echo and amplify), but also a signal that the firings as he understands them violate rules protecting civil servants from this kind of politicized firing.

He also took to social media with a stark warning about firing any agents who even happened to work on January 6 cases:

FBI agents working on the Trump criminal cases were almost all ASSIGNED—they weren’t volunteers. This political retribution is deeply destructive, telling agents they can be punished for following proper directives. It’s fatal to discipline, morale, & recruiting.

Sens. Kim and Schatz

As I was editing this, I saw two interesting developments with other U.S. Senators. Andy Kim (D-NJ) went to USAID office—his very first government job—and stood outside its doors, drawing press attention while indicating that employees had been blocked from entering the building. “This is a blatant, illegal action by the Trump administration that is trying to overturn something that is codified in federal law,” Sen. Kim said.

And Brian Schatz (D-HI) has announced he is putting a blanket hold on all of Trump’s State Department nominees until USAID is back up and running. At a press conference, Schatz blasted the administration, saying, “If you want to change an agency, introduce a bill and pass a law. You cannot wave away an agency that you don't like or that you disagree with by executive order, or by literally storming into the building and taking over the servers. That is not how the American system of government works.”

As former GOP strategist Rick Wilson of the Lincoln Project remarked, “This is the way.”

UPDATE: Over the course of the week, many members of Congress attended rallies held in front of government buildings including the Treasury Department and USAID demanding that DOGE members have their access to sensitive and private information be terminated.

Here come the lawsuits

We already have seen several legal actions against DOGE, with four cases alleging that the entity has violated transparency, conflict of interest and other relevant federal laws. These suits are seeking to kneecap DOGE from even being allowed to operate.

We have also seen lawsuits brought by blue state attorneys general (led by Leticia James of New York) and by nonprofits seeking an injunction against the federal government-wide pause on financing and grants. That entire effort by the Trump White House to freeze funds met with such pushback that the original memo implementing the freeze was rescinded, and a federal judge, who reviewed Press Secretary Karoline’s Leavitt’s misleading post on social media claiming that the freeze was still in effect, expanded the injunction beyond the memo to include the entire administration.

That is important, because Musk is currently threatening to halt payments that Congress has already authorized through his control of the federal payment system, deciding on his own that something is “fraud” or “waste.” But Musk doesn’t have that power, and he certainly doesn’t have it in light of the judge’s injunction. If he defies it, as he has shown a willingness to do in the past, he could be held in contempt of court.

On Sunday, the New York Times reported that the FBI agents affected by the purge and the inquiries into whether they even participated in any investigations of January 6 defendants have retained legal counsel to protect their rights as government employees. Their lawyers sent a letter to Acting Director Bove, warning, “If you proceed with terminations and/or public exposure of terminated employees’ identities, we stand ready to vindicate their rights through all available legal means.”

Musk’s team’s takeover of the OPM, USAID and Treasury has also triggered numerous apparent violations of law including the illegal exposure of personal private information and illegal access to classified documents by persons unauthorized to view them. Employees whose privacy rights were violated would have standing to sue, and it seems highly likely that such cases are coming quite soon. One lawsuit, filed by whistleblowers against Musk’s team for failure to conduct a privacy impact assessment before a new server mass emailed federal workers, already landed in the federal courts last week.

I’ll have more to say on the actual suits once they are filed. Again, because the attacks on our system and the violations of law occurred late on a Friday, we wouldn’t expect lawsuits to be ready to move forward until, at the earliest, the following business day—which is today.

UPDATES: Lawsuits filed this week by labor unions and other parties against the Treasury and its Secretary, the Office of Personnel Management, and the Department of Labor have all seen some form of judicial intervention. In the case of the Treasury, a federal court that had indicated it was leaning toward granting a temporary restraining order issued an order, agreed to by the parties, limiting access of DOGE members who were now working as Treasury employees to “read only” access and preventing the unauthorized distribution of sensitive material outside of the Department. This is an ongoing matter.

The popular response

Grassroots organizing groups are swinging into action. I want to highlight just a few examples from the groups Indivisible and MoveOn, which held an online collective action call late Sunday night with over 50,000 people registered to attend.

These groups are organizing direct pressure campaigns upon the Senate as well as protests outside of the federal buildings taken over by Musk and his engineers, who as Wired reported include several young men barely out of high school who have worked at Musk’s other companies or for his billionaire pal, Peter Thiel.

Specifically, Indivisible and MoveOn have called for daily protests outside of OPM each morning. They have also organized a protest set for Tuesday evening at Treasury demanding Musk and his team be ejected.

As a side note, the first organized protests against ICE and its policies, involving thousands of people in Los Angeles, Dallas, and many other cities across the country took place over the weekend.

It’s too early to tell whether protests against the Trump administration will continue to grow in strength or what effect they may have on the situation on the ground. There is some concern that Trump will use any sign of civil unrest as an excuse to invoke the Insurrection Act and turn U.S. military forces against peaceful protestors. But the threat of possible overreach by Trump should not and likely will not deter protestors, and if Trump chooses to escalate in this fashion he may lose further public support.

But one thing is already clear: Resistance to Trump and Musk will take many forms, all of which can involve some level of participation from the public. We can amplify stories of the personal heroes who stood up to the illegal orders. We can support our Democratic leaders even as we urge them to take stronger stances. We can donate to the nonprofits who are litigating constitutional rights on our behalf. And we can take direct, peaceful action through organized groups like Indivisible and MoveOn.

As the saying goes, we can all be the someone who is doing something.

Quietly losing my mind over the fact that Elon Musk has straight up orchestrated a coup of our executive branch and like....I don't even know what, if any, system we have in place to fix this. Like... He's just taken control of the money and locked out the actual appointed officials. What the fuck.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Hey I hope you've having an amazing day/evening/night. This is my first time requesting something😅, and I was wondering if you could possibility write something like what you did with my type but the reader having natural auburn curly hair, with freckles thinking that she's not his type or something along those lines.

Gold in Snow

Summary: you and lando are in a relationship but you're reserving hate comments about you being a ginger, with freckles because the fans don't think you're his type

Song: Golden Hour · JVKE

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 5.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Another podium finish for Lando, another shower of champagne soaking his expensive suit. You watched from the relative calm of the garage, a small smile playing on your lips.

He looked genuinely happy, and that, more than anything, made the constant noise and pressure of Formula 1 palatable.

You’d been dating Lando Norris for almost a year now. A year of stolen moments, whispered secrets in hotel rooms, and navigating the chaotic whirlwind that was his life. A year of pure bliss…mostly.

The “mostly” came in the form of comment sections. Forums. Twitter threads dedicated to dissecting every pixel of your existence and comparing it to the accepted prototype of a WAG – Wives and Girlfriends – in the F1 world.

You were… different.

They’d say it with a thinly veiled, almost clinical detachment, but the message was always the same: you didn’t fit. You were too… ginger. Too freckled. Too… you.

The ginger part bothered them the most. Lando was a global superstar, practically sculpted from marble, with a smile that could melt glaciers. He was everything they wanted him to be: conventionally attractive, charming, and effortlessly cool.

And you? You were… well, very, very pale. Your hair was a fiery halo, and your skin was dotted with a constellation of freckles that bloomed fiercer in the summer sun.

“He likes the exotic look,” one comment had sniped. “She’s probably got a killer tan when she’s not hiding in the shade.”

You’d chuckled then, a hollow sound that didn’t quite reach your heart. Exotic? You’d spent your life battling sunburns and jokes about having no soul.

And killer tan? Honey, you burned so fast, lifeguards would start applying sunscreen just by looking at you.

You tried to ignore it. Lando certainly seemed to. He showered you with affection, praised your quick wit and sharp mind, and constantly reminded you how beautiful he found you, flaws and all.

But the insidious comments burrowed under your skin, planting seeds of doubt that you desperately tried to weed out.

You saw him heading towards the garage now, adrenaline still buzzing through him. His eyes found yours, and that signature Lando grin spread across his face. Your heart did that familiar little flip.

“Hey!” he said, pulling you into a hug. He smelled of champagne and victory. “Did you see that last overtake? Unbelievable!”

You laughed, burying your face in his still-damp fire suit. “Yes, I saw it. You were amazing, as always. Just try not to spray me next time, okay?”

He pulled back, his brow furrowed. “You okay? You seem… quiet.”

You forced a smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long weekend.”

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. “Well, we’re flying back tomorrow morning. We can just chill in the hotel tonight. Order some room service, maybe watch a movie?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, meaning it. Just the two of you, away from the cameras and the judgment.

That night, as you lay in his arms in the dimly lit hotel room, the familiar ache in your chest returned. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were somehow… undeserving.

“Lando?” you whispered, the sound barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled into your hair.

“Do you… do you ever read the comments? About us?”

He stiffened slightly. “I try not to. You know how toxic that can be.”

“But you do read them, right? Sometimes?”

He sighed, a heavy sound that vibrated against your chest. “Okay, yeah, sometimes. But I don’t pay any attention to them. They’re just… noise.”

“Noise that says I’m not good enough for you.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours in the dimness. “What? That’s ridiculous. Who says that?”

“Everyone. Online, anyway. They don’t think I’m your type. They think I’m… too ginger. Too freckled. Too… plain.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. “Hey. Look at me. You are absolutely stunning. Inside and out. You are intelligent, funny, kind, and you have the most beautiful smile in the world. And yes,” he added with a mischievous grin, “I also happen to think your hair is gorgeous, and your freckles are like little constellations scattered across your skin. They’re unique, just like you.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes. “But they say…”

“They say a lot of things. People are always going to have opinions. But their opinions don’t matter. Only mine does. And I think you are perfect.”

He leaned in and kissed you, a slow, tender kiss that chased away the doubts, at least for a moment.

But even as you melted into him, a small, insidious voice whispered in the back of your mind: He’s just saying that. He has to say that.

The knot in your stomach tightened with each passing day, each new photo plastered across social media. You and Lando, laughing at a restaurant, holding hands at the airport, just being normal.

What shouldn't have been a cause for concern, was. It should have been a happy bubble of romance, but it was quickly becoming a breeding ground for anxiety, a place where your insecurities festered and grew.

Because under each picture, nestled amongst the supportive comments and heart emojis, they lurked. The whispers, the not-so-subtle digs.

"He could do so much better." "She's not even his type." "Another generic influencer." And the worst of it? "Ginger + Freckles = No."

You knew it was irrational. Lando loved you. He told you every day, showed you in a million little ways, from the way he held your hand to the way he looked at you with genuine adoration.

But the internet had a way of burrowing into your brain, planting seeds of doubt that blossomed into thorny vines. You found yourself scrutinizing your reflection, picking apart every freckle, every strand of your fiery hair.

Was it too much? Was it enough? Were you enough?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Lando's voice startled you, pulling you back from the precipice of your spiral. He was standing in the doorway of your shared flat, his racing helmet tucked under his arm, a familiar mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"Just thinking about this weekend," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Excited for the snow."

"Me too! Max and Steve are already counting down the hours. You're coming to the slopes tomorrow, right?"

You hesitated. "I… I have something I need to do in the morning. I'll meet you guys up there later, okay?"

Lando frowned, his blue eyes searching yours. "Everything alright, love? You seem a bit off."

"I'm fine," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Just… a doctor's appointment. Nothing serious. I'll explain later. Promise."

He didn't look convinced, but he knew better than to push. "Alright. Just text me when you're on your way. Drive safe.”

He kissed your forehead, the warmth of his touch a brief comfort against the chill that had settled within you and left.

The next morning, the drive to the snow mountains felt endless. Each mile was another step closer to the potential storm brewing in your head.

You told yourself you were being ridiculous, that you were letting faceless strangers dictate your feelings. But the seed of doubt had been planted, watered, and was now taking root.

When you finally arrived at the ski resort, the crisp mountain air did little to soothe your nerves. You walked into the reception area, the scent of pine and hot chocolate thick in the air.

"Name?" the receptionist asked, her eyes glued to the computer screen.

"It's… uh… Y/L/N, party of Lando Norris."

The receptionist's fingers clicked across the keyboard, and she looked up, a polite professional smile gracing her lips. "Ah, yes. Mr. Norris's party. You're all set. Here's your lift pass. Your equipment rental is just through those doors. Have a wonderful day."

You collected your ski boots and poles from the rental shop, the familiar weight grounding you slightly. You'd been skiing since you were a kid, practically born on the slopes.

It was one of the few places you felt truly free, truly yourself.

You strapped on your skis and headed towards the main lift, scanning the crowd for a flash of Lando's familiar McLaren Racing beanie or the boisterous laughter of Max and Steve.

The lift carried you higher and higher, the view expanding to reveal a breathtaking panorama of snow-covered peaks and pristine valleys.

For a moment, the internet, the comments, the doubts, all faded away. You breathed in the crisp air, feeling the thrill of anticipation course through you.

As you reached the top, you spotted them. Lando, grinning and waving, Max, already carving down the slope with reckless abandon, and Steve, carefully navigating the beginner trail.

You took a deep breath, pushed off, and let gravity do its work. The wind whipped through your hair, the sun glinted off the snow, and for the first time that day, you felt a genuine smile spread across your face.

You were good. Really good. You weaved and turned, carving graceful arcs in the powder, your ginger hair a vibrant streak against the white landscape. You glided past other skiers, feeling the rush of adrenaline as you navigated the slopes with practiced ease.

You found yourself on a black diamond run, moguls stretching out before you like frozen waves. This was where you belonged, where you felt alive. You took a deep breath and launched yourself into the challenge, navigating the bumps and dips with precision and skill.

Suddenly, you heard a whoop of excitement and a familiar voice. "Wow, check out the ginger ninja!"

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a couple of guys, clearly impressed by your skiing skills.

You grinned, threw them a wink, and continued your descent, the compliment a small spark of warmth against the doubt that still lingered.

The crisp mountain air bit at Lando’s cheeks, painting them a matching shade to the gaudy orange ski suit Max insisted he wear. He shifted his weight from one ski boot to the other, impatience radiating off him in visible waves.

He’d been waiting at the base of the slope for what felt like an eternity. Max was already halfway up the mountain for his third run. Steve was content to nurse a lukewarm hot chocolate and offer unsolicited advice on Lando’s form, despite the fact Lando hadn't even put his skis on yet.

"She's taking her time," Steve commented, taking another careful sip. "Probably intimidated by the black runs."

Lando rolled his eyes, though fondness softened the gesture. He knew you weren't intimidated by anything. This was more than likely your first time on the slopes, so you were probably taking it easy.

You were a natural athlete, thriving on competition, but you’d also confessed, with a sheepish grin, that skiing looked deceptively easy on TV.

He was about to tell Steve as much when Steve suddenly straightened, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, there's your girl!"

Lando spun around, instantly forgetting the cold, the wait, and Steve’s irritating commentary. He searched the throng of skiers snaking down the slope, his heart doing a little skip. And then he saw you.

You moved with a surprising grace, your skis carving effortless arcs in the snow. Sunlight caught in your fiery red hair, turning it into a cascade of glittering copper. Each freckle seemed to dance on your skin, illuminated by the mountain sun.

He knew, objectively, that you were beautiful. He saw it every day. But seeing you now, flushed with exertion and radiant with joy, took his breath away.

He froze, utterly captivated, as you approached. You navigated the final stretch with smooth confidence. “Show off,” he muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You slowed to a stop, kicking up a spray of snow just inches from his boots.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, laughing. You pushed your goggles up onto your forehead, revealing eyes the color of warm honey. "Sorry! How long have you been waiting?"

Your cheeks were rosy, your breath misting in the cold air. Lando stared, speechless.

"Baby? What's wrong?" you asked, your brow furrowing with concern. You reached out, your ungloved hand gently touching his cheek. The cold stung, but he barely noticed.

He swallowed, his voice a low rasp. "You're beautiful."

The words were a whisper, almost lost in the wind. He hadn’t meant to say it so abruptly, so…exposed. But the sight of you, framed by the snow-covered peaks, had rendered him incapable of coherent thought.

Your eyes widened slightly, and a blush bloomed on your cheeks, a delicate counterpoint to the healthy glow of the mountain air. "Lando," you said softly, "you okay? Are you coming down with something?"

He blinked, shaking himself slightly. "No, I'm fine. More than fine, actually. You just…you look incredible."

Steve coughed pointedly beside him. Max, having apparently teleported from the top of the mountain, snickered. Lando shot them both a warning glare. They knew how self-conscious you were, especially around his racing colleagues.

The comments section of his social media had been a cesspool ever since you two became public. Hateful words about your appearance, thinly veiled as concerned opinions that you weren’t “his type,” were a constant, ugly background noise.

He knew it bothered you, even though you tried to brush it off with a laugh and a casual, "Haters gonna hate." But he saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes when you thought no one was looking.

He hated those comments, hated the people who wrote them, and hated that they had the power to make you feel anything less than extraordinary.

He took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Ignore them," he said, his voice firm, his gaze locked on yours.

You looked confused. "Ignore who? Max and Steve?"

"Everyone," he said, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "Anyone who makes you feel like you're anything less than perfect. Because you are. Perfect. Just the way you are."

The blush on your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head slightly, a shy smile playing on your lips. "You're sweet," you mumbled. "But I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea."

"Good," Lando said fiercely. "You're mine. And that's all that matters." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, ignoring Max's exaggerated gagging noises.

He pulled back and met your gaze, his expression serious. "Listen to me. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not beautiful, or that you're not good enough, or that you don't belong. Because they're wrong. They’re absolutely, unequivocally wrong. You’re amazing, inside and out. You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re fiercely intelligent, and yes, you’re unbelievably beautiful. And I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you."

A tear, born of emotion and the biting wind, escaped your eye. "You're going to make me cry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Good," Lando said, wiping the tear away with his thumb. "Let them see you cry. Let them see how real and how beautiful you are. Don't hide anything. Don't let anyone dim your light."

He knew his words were bold, maybe even a little cheesy, but he meant every single one of them. He wanted you to know, deep down, that he saw you, truly saw you, and that nothing anyone said would ever change that.

Max, surprisingly, had stopped snickering. He clapped Lando on the shoulder. "Alright, mate, enough with the declarations of love. Let's hit the slopes. Before I get frostbite."

Steve nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Lando. You can gush later. Right now, let’s see if your girl’s got what it takes.” He winked at you. “No pressure.”

You smiled, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Pressure is my middle name," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's go."

Lando grinned, relieved to see the familiar spark back in your eyes. He squeezed your hand one last time before letting go.

He watched as you adjusted your goggles and clicked your poles into the snow. He felt a surge of pride watching you. He knew the comments would still be there, lurking in the shadows of the internet, waiting to pounce.

But he also knew that you were strong. You were resilient. And you had him.

He grabbed his own skis, a newfound confidence coursing through him. He would protect you, always. But more than that, he would celebrate you, every freckle, every fiery strand of hair, every brilliant facet of your being.

As you pushed off, gracefully navigating the gentle slope, Lando felt a lightness in his heart that had nothing to do with the altitude. He knew, without a doubt, that their love story was just beginning, and he couldn't wait to see where it would take them.

He followed you down the slope, his orange ski suit a beacon against the white snow. He caught up to you easily, skiing alongside you, matching your pace.

"So," he said, grinning mischievously. "Think you can keep up with me, ginger?"

You laughed, a bright, joyful sound that echoed through the mountains. "Try me, Papaya boy."

And with that, you kicked it up a notch, leaving Lando in your snowy wake.

He laughed, his heart soaring.

He pushed off, determined to catch up, knowing that even if he never did, he would be perfectly content just to chase you, forever. . . .

The papaya coloured dress hung on you, a vibrant splash of sunshine in the sterile white bathroom. It was Lando’s favourite colour, or so he claimed. He said it reminded him of McLaren, of speed, of… you.

But all you could see in the mirror was a canvas of imperfections.

Your reflection stared back, a stranger dissected and judged. The fiery red hair, usually a source of pride, now felt like a neon sign screaming "OUT OF PLACE."

The constellation of freckles scattered across your nose and cheeks, tiny sun-kissed stars Lando often traced with his fingertip, seemed like blemishes, flaws magnified under the harsh bathroom light.

The original plan, a simple elegance of no-makeup and loose waves, lay discarded. You'd envisioned a carefree evening, a confident entrance with Lando by your side.

Now, the thought of facing the public, the prying eyes, the inevitable whispers, felt like climbing a mountain of anxiety.

Social media had been a minefield lately. Ever since your relationship with Lando Norris became public, the comment sections had become a breeding ground for toxicity. Most were overwhelmingly supportive, celebrating your love.

But a persistent undercurrent of negativity gnawed at your confidence. The "fans," or rather, the internet trolls masquerading as them, were relentless.

“She’s not his type.”

“He could do so much better.”

“Ginger? Really? He's lowering his standards.”

The worst were the comments picking apart your appearance. The freckles, the hair, the perceived lack of "glamour." They painted you as an anomaly, someone who didn't belong in Lando's world. It was absurd, of course.

Lando loved you for you. He told you every day. But the insidious nature of online hate was that it seeped in, whispering doubts in your ear when you were most vulnerable.

Tonight, facing a McLaren party filled with glamorous personalities and industry insiders, the doubts had reached a crescendo. You grabbed a tissue from the dispenser, dabbing at the corners of your eyes, fighting back the overwhelming urge to cry.

The reflection in the mirror blurred, the colours swam, and the vibrant papaya felt like a mocking reminder of everything you weren't.

That’s when you heard the familiar click of the front door.

“Y/n?” Lando’s voice echoed through the house, a warm, comforting sound that momentarily cut through the anxiety clouding your mind.

Panic seized you. You couldn't let him see you like this, a mess of insecurities and mascara-smeared cheeks. You needed to compose yourself, to build up a façade of confidence before facing him.

Quickly, you turned the small lock on the bathroom door. The click was loud in the sudden silence.

“Y/n?” he called again, his voice closer now. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just… just getting ready,” you managed, trying to inject a lightness into your tone that felt utterly fake. Your voice wavered, betraying your true state. “I’ll be out in a second.”

You heard him pause outside the door. “You sure? You sound… different.”

He knew you too well. He always did. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears away. “Just a bit of a headache. Nothing serious.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken concern. You could almost feel his presence on the other side of the door.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But don’t rush. I’m happy to wait. Do you want me to get you some water?”

His thoughtfulness, his unwavering care, only made the guilt swell inside you. He was so genuine, so supportive, and here you were, hiding from him, consumed by the petty insecurities fueled by strangers on the internet.

“No, I’m fine,” you insisted, a little too quickly. “Just… give me a few more minutes, okay?”

“Alright,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice. You heard him move away from the door. “I’ll be in the living room.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning against the cool porcelain of the sink. This couldn’t go on. You couldn't let these hateful comments dictate your life, dictate your relationship.

Lando deserved better. You deserved better.

Taking a deep breath, you turned on the cold tap, splashing water on your face. You grabbed a towel and gently patted your skin dry, removing the remnants of your almost-attempted makeup.

You looked at yourself again, really looked.

The fiery hair, the freckles, the flaws… they were all part of you. They were what made you unique, what made you you. And Lando loved you for it. He saw beauty where others saw imperfections.

He saw strength where others saw vulnerability. Why were you letting the opinions of anonymous strangers outweigh the love and adoration of the man you adored?

You let out a shaky sigh, a weight lifting from your shoulders. It wasn't a complete cure, the insecurities wouldn't vanish overnight, but it was a start.

With newfound resolve, you took another look at the papaya dress. It shimmered under the light, a vibrant symbol of sunshine and joy. You smoothed the fabric down, a small smile gracing your lips.

You unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out.

Lando was standing in the living room, fiddling with his phone. He looked up as you entered, his face immediately lighting up. He was wearing a simple dark suit, impeccably tailored, but it was the genuine warmth in his eyes that truly caught your attention.

He took a step towards you, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. The smile widened.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice laced with admiration. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You blushed, the compliment genuine and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

He closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, tracing the familiar pattern of your freckles.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft with concern. “You seemed a bit… off earlier.”

You hesitated, the urge to brush it off still lingering. But you knew you couldn't hide from him. He deserved the truth.

“I… I saw some comments online,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “About… about me. About not being ‘your type.’”

His expression darkened, his eyes hardening with anger. “Don’t you dare listen to those people, Y/n,” he said fiercely, his grip on your face tightening slightly.

“They don’t know anything. My ‘type’ is someone who is kind, intelligent, funny, and beautiful, inside and out. Someone who makes me laugh every single day. Someone who challenges me and supports me, even when I’m being an idiot. That’s you, Y/n. That's always been you."

He paused, his gaze searching yours, making sure you understood the sincerity of his words.

"And as for the… the physical stuff," he continued, his voice softening again. "Your hair is the most beautiful shade of red I've ever seen. Your freckles are like little constellations, guiding me through the darkness. And that little dimple you get when you smile? Drives me absolutely crazy."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re not good enough, Y/n. Because to me, you are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief, of gratitude, of love.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I love you, Lando,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his jacket.

He held you tight, his arms a comforting embrace. “I love you too, Y/n. More than you know.”

After a long moment, you pulled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you.

Lando was right. You couldn't let the negativity of others define you. You had his love, his support, and that was all that mattered.

You looked at him, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "Ready to go to this party?"

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Absolutely. And just so you know, I'm planning on spending the entire night showing you off to everyone. They need to see how lucky I am."

He took your hand in his, his fingers interlacing with yours. As you walked out the door together, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.

The haters could say what they wanted. You had Lando, you had your love, and that was more than enough. The papaya dress suddenly felt like armour, not a target.

You were ready to face the world, hand in hand, imperfections and all. . . .

The party was exactly what you expected: loud music, flashing lights, and a sea of familiar faces from the F1 world – drivers, team principals, engineers, and their partners.

The sheer volume of people made your anxiety prickle, but Lando kept a firm grip on your hand, navigating you through the crowd.

He introduced you to what felt like a hundred people, his arm possessively around your waist, his smile beaming. You tried to focus on the conversations, to be witty and engaging, but the whispers seemed to follow you, phantom echoes of the comments haunting your mind.

“Lando’s with her?”

“She’s… different.”

“Not exactly what I expected.”

You squeezed Lando’s hand tighter, trying to ground yourself. He seemed oblivious to the undercurrents, his attention solely focused on you.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the music.

You forced a smile. “Yeah, it’s… great.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching. He knew you better than anyone, and he could see the forced cheerfulness masking your discomfort.

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “If you want to leave, we can. We don’t have to stay here.”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here. With you.”

He smiled, relieved. "Okay, but seriously, if you change your mind, just say the word."

Just then, a tall, lanky figure approached, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Lando! Mate, good to see you.”

“Oscar!” Lando clapped him on the back. “Good to see you too. Oscar, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar offered you his hand, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You shook his hand, trying to gauge his expression. Was there judgment there? Pity? You couldn’t tell. “Likewise, Oscar. Congratulations on your season so far.”

“Thanks,” he said, his smile genuine. "It's been... interesting, to say the least." He paused, then gestured to a woman standing beside him. "And this is my girlfriend, Lily."

Lily stepped forward, her smile warm and inviting. She had kind eyes and a simple elegance that immediately put you at ease. "It's lovely to meet you, Y/N. Lando talks about you all the time."

You blushed, glancing at Lando, who just winked. "All good things, I hope?"

Lily laughed. "Of course! He's completely smitten."

The four of you fell into easy conversation, discussing the season, the pressures of being in the spotlight, and the challenges of maintaining relationships in such a demanding environment.

You found yourself relaxing, the tension slowly draining away. Lily was refreshingly down-to-earth, and Oscar, despite his reserved demeanour, had a dry wit that you found endearing.

As the conversation flowed, you noticed Lily subtly steer the topic towards your interests, asking about your work, your hobbies, and your passions.

She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, not just as Lando’s girlfriend, but as an individual.

“So, Y/N” Lily said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, “Lando tells me you’re a writer? That’s fascinating! What kind of writing do you do?”

“I dabble in a bit of everything,” you replied, feeling your confidence grow. “Short stories, poetry, some freelance journalism. It depends on what sparks my interest, really.”

“That’s amazing,” she gushed. “I’ve always admired people who can write. It’s such a powerful way to express yourself.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “It is. I’m useless at it. Give me a steering wheel any day.”

Laughter bubbled up from your chest, your earlier anxieties fading into the background. You were having a genuine, enjoyable conversation, with people who seemed to genuinely care about you.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise. “Lando, darling! There you are!”

A woman, dripping in diamonds and designer clothes, glided towards you, her eyes scanning you from head to toe with blatant disapproval. You recognized her as the wife of a prominent team principal, a woman known for her sharp tongue and even sharper judgment.

Lando’s smile faltered slightly as he turned to face her. “Genevieve, good to see you.”

She completely ignored Oscar and Lily, her gaze fixed on you. “And who is this, Lando? A new… acquaintance?”

You felt your cheeks flush, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. You knew what was coming.

Lando’s arm tightened around your waist. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “This is your girlfriend? How… interesting.” Her tone dripped with condescension. “Well, congratulations, darling. I’m sure you’re very happy.”

She turned back to Lando, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lando, darling, you really could do so much better. Don't you want to think about your image?”

You felt your heart sink. This was it. The moment of truth. You braced yourself for the inevitable onslaught of negativity.

But then, something unexpected happened. Lando’s eyes flashed with anger, and his grip on your waist tightened protectively.

“I’m perfectly happy, thank you,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “And Y/N is more than enough. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

He turned his back on the woman, effectively dismissing her. He looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, still reeling from the encounter. “Yeah,” you mumbled. "I'm okay

Lily stepped forward, her expression fierce. “Honestly, some people are just ridiculous,” she said, her voice laced with scorn. “Don’t let her get to you, Y/N. She’s just jealous.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “She’s got nothing better to do than spread negativity. Ignore her.”

Lando squeezed your hand. “They’re right. Don’t let her ruin your night.”

You looked at them, at Lando, at Lily, at Oscar. You saw genuine support, genuine kindness, genuine acceptance. And suddenly, the weight on your chest lifted. The comments, the whispers, the judgment – they didn’t matter.

You had people who loved you, who supported you, who valued you for who you were, not for who the internet thought you should be.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “You know what? You’re right. I’m not going to let her ruin my night.”

Lando grinned, relieved. “That’s the spirit. Now, how about we get out of here and go somewhere more… private?” He winked suggestively.

Lily laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Oscar, you’re driving, right? I’ve had one too many cocktails.”

As you walked away, hand in hand with Lando, you glanced back at Lily and Oscar, a warm feeling of gratitude washing over you. You had found unexpected allies, people who saw past the surface and appreciated you for who you were.

You were still an outsider, still a ginger with freckles, still not “his type” according to the internet. But tonight, surrounded by love and support, you didn’t care. You had Lando, you had friends, and you had the courage to be yourself.

And that, you realised, was more than enough. The papaya dress no longer felt like armour, but a symbol of your strength, your resilience, and your unwavering commitment to being true to yourself.

You were you and you were happy. . . .

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername and 867,879 others

landonorris

Happy anniversary to my beautiful girl. Two years. Two years of laughter, adventures, and learning to love you more fiercely every single day. I know the internet can be a dark place, especially for someone as radiant as you. Don't listen to anyone who talks about you bad, especially those whispering nonsense about "types." They see a snapshot; I see the whole damn masterpiece.

Your fiery hair is sunshine on a cloudy day, each freckle a tiny star mapping out the constellation of my heart. They don't see the intelligence that sparkles in your eyes, the quick wit that keeps me on my toes, or the unwavering kindness you show to everyone you meet. They don’t see you. You are everything I could ever want, and more than I ever deserve. So, happy anniversary, my love. Let's keep painting our world with joy, ignoring the noise, and celebrating the beautiful, unique you. I love you more than words can say. ❤️

comment has been restricted

[missdynamighttt]

can you pretty please write something based on the song Would You Fall in Love With Me Again from Epic? I was thinking like, barbarian bakugo but he went to war or somethin’ and finally gets home to his wife?

the village gates loomed in the distance, barely visible through the morning mist. the scent of rain and blood clung to the air, but for the first time in years, katsuki bakugo paid it no mind. his fingers twitched at his side, the leather of his armor worn from war. his sword, heavy as the burdens he carried, hung loosely at his hip.

he had returned. but would she still want him?

his steps slowed as he neared the familiar path leading to their home. it was still there—unchanged, untouched as if time had waited for him. the wooden beams, the carved symbols of protection along the frame, the worn stone path leading to the door. a home he had built with his own hands.

a home he feared he no longer belonged in.

the door creaked open before he could knock.

“katsuki?”

there she stood. his wife. his love. the woman he had fought for across a thousand battlefields.

you.

you looked just as he had remembered and yet… not. there was something in your eyes, something weary, something knowing.

"is it really you?" your voice trembled, your hands gripping the doorframe as if to steady yourself. "or am i dreaming again?"

his throat went dry. he wanted to say something—anything—but all he could do was stare.

he had imagined this moment a hundred times, had whispered your name into the cold night air of distant lands, had prayed to gods he no longer believed in just to see you again.

but now that you were here, he didn’t know if he had the right to reach for you.

"you look... different," you whispered. "your eyes… they look tired."

his lip curled, not in anger, but in some bitter, broken thing that resembled a smile. "that ain't the only thing that's different."

you took a step closer, hesitant, searching. your gaze trailed the hollows of his cheeks, the sharpness of his jaw. your fingers twitched as if aching to touch him, but you held back. 

a sharp breath left him. he knew what you saw. he wasn't the man you had once known. he was something else now. something ruined.

"i'm not the man you fell in love with," he admitted, voice rough like gravel. "not the man you married."

you flinched, but you didn’t look away.

"i'm not your husband anymore," he continued, his voice quiet, pained. "my love... would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all i've done?"

your breath hitched. "what... have you done?"

katsuki shut his eyes. when he opened them, they were dark with memories he wished he could forget.

"left blood on every fuckin' battlefield," he sighed. "traded soldiers like weapons. hurt more lives than i can count." his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "but every goddamn thing i did… was to come back to you."

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "so tell me. would you still love me?"

your eyes shimmered with unshed tears. you studied him again, truly seeing him, the man he was now—the weight he carried, the sins etched into his skin.

then you turned, walking deeper into their home. katsuki's chest ached as you disappeared from view. maybe this was it. maybe you couldn’t—

"could you do me a favor?" your voice drifted from within.

"what is it, my love?" his brow furrowed as he followed, stepping inside for the first time in years. the air smelled of you. of home. 

you were quiet for a long time, the wind whispering between you. then, at last, you stepped forward, eyes steady. 

you turned your gaze to the large wedding bed in their home, carved from the sturdy olive tree that had stood as a silent witness to your love since the beginning.

“that bed,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “could you lift it? carry it far away from here?”

his blood ran cold.

“how could you say that?” his voice cracked, the anger, the exhaustion, the heartbreak all colliding into one. “i built that bed with my own fuckin' hands. carved it from the tree where we first met. the only way to move it is to—”

his breath caught. he looked at you, realization striking him like lightning. his chest ached. his arms, worn from war, longed for your warmth.

“…you knew."

you stepped closer, cradling his face in your hands. his hands came, gripping your waist as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

a small, trembling smile touched your lips. "only my husband would know that. so i guess that makes you... him."

his knees nearly buckled. he surged forward, hands cupping your face, his forehead pressing against yours.

tears slipped down your cheeks, but you smiled, truly smiled, as your hands finally touched him—fingers ghosting over scars and bruises and the remnants of war.

"i will fall in love with you over and over again, katsuki," you whispered. "i don't care how, where, or when. no matter how long it's been. you are mine.”

he crushed you to him, burying his face into your hair, his body shaking. katsuki swallowed hard, his vision blurring. “i told you… i’m not the same.”

"you're always my husband, katsuki," you murmured. "i've been waiting for you. i would have waited forever."

katsuki's arms tightened around you, grounding himself in your warmth, your love, your unwavering belief in him.

"you don't have to anymore," he whispered. "i'm home." 

katsuki held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. the weight of years, of battles, of bloodshed, all crumbled beneath the warmth of your touch.

you swallowed hard. “how long has it been?”

katsuki exhaled, his forehead resting against yours. his voice was barely above a whisper.

“twenty years.”

a breath hitched in your throat. twenty years. twenty years of waiting, of uncertainty, of praying that the man you loved would return to you. “god, katsuki…”

“i thought i’d never make it back to you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “i thought—” he stopped himself, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours. “i don’t deserve this.”

"don’t say that," tears spilled down your cheeks as you cupped his face, your fingers trembling. “i love you.”

his breath shuddered. he had been through war. he had seen death, had taken lives, and had lived in the darkness for what felt like an eternity. and yet, nothing had ever struck him down the way those three words did.

a harsh, broken laugh escaped him, and he pressed his lips against your forehead.

“i love you more. always have. always will.”

you sobbed, burying yourself in his chest as he held you tighter, his body shaking from exhaustion, from relief, from love.

and for the first time in years, katsuki bakugo finally let himself fall. back into the home he had fought so hard to return to. back into you, his wife.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[lazysoulwriter]

My Man, My Rules - Rafe Cameron

There was a fight. Of course, there was a fight.

Because Rafe Cameron couldn’t go one week without being knee-deep in some rich-kid drama.

And as usual, it all started with some guy looking at him the wrong way. Or maybe breathing too close. Or—God forbid—standing within a five-foot radius of her.

So now, here he was, blood dripping from his nose, shirt torn at the collar, grinning like he just won a championship fight, while his friends stood around awkwardly, avoiding her gaze.

She, on the other hand, was livid.

“Oh, great. Just fucking great,” she started, storming up to him. “Again, Rafe? You really have one brain cell, and you let Topper borrow it for the night, huh?”

“Baby—”

“No.” She raised a finger, effectively shutting him up. “I swear to God, Cameron, if you get into one more fight, I will personally beat your ass myself.”

The entire party went silent.

Kelce let out a low whistle. Topper looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. Even the guy Rafe had just fought—some dude from Chapel Hill who probably just wanted a beer—was staring like he had just witnessed something far more terrifying than Rafe Cameron’s right hook.

Rafe, though? He just looked amused.

“You done?” he asked, licking his busted lip.

She stepped closer, grabbing his face with both hands. “Oh, I am not done. In fact, I’m just getting started. Because you know what, Rafe? You’re mine. My man. And that means I get to decide if you’re allowed to get your dumb ass into fights.”

He blinked. “I’m… not allowed?”

“That’s right,” she snapped. “Not. Allowed. What the fuck do you think this is? Some fight club for trust fund babies? No, sir. We are done with this. From now on, I make the rules. You got a problem with someone? You tell me. You feel like punching someone? You tell me. You wanna get your knuckles bloody? I will find you a punching bag, Rafe Cameron, but it will NOT be at a fucking country club party.”

Rafe looked at her for a long second. Then, he smirked. “Kinda hot when you boss me around like that.”

She groaned, letting go of his face only to smack the back of his head. “Are you hearing me? You are banned from fighting. BANNED.”

“Banned?”

“BANNED.”

“…Like, for life?”

“Oh my fucking God—”

She turned to the crowd, gesturing wildly. “Does ANYONE else want to tell this idiot what I’m saying before I lose my mind?”

Kelce coughed. “I think she means you’re not supposed to fight anymore, bro.”

Rafe scoffed. “Yeah, no shit, Kelce—”

She grabbed his chin again, forcing him to look at her. “Do. You. Understand. Me?”

His smirk softened just a little. “Yeah, baby. I understand.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you really?”

“I do.” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. “I promise.”

She squinted, trying to decide if she believed him. Finally, she sighed and wiped some blood off his cheek with her sleeve. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I am cute,” he agreed. “And strong. And—”

“Do not make me take it back, Cameron.”

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

She sighed dramatically but let him pull her away. “Fine. But if I ever catch you fighting again—”

“I know, I know. You’ll beat my ass.”

“Damn right, I will.”

Rafe smirked, tugging her even closer. “My scary little girlfriend.”

She rolled her eyes. “And don’t you forget it.”

[shitpostingsapphic]

"I hate Caitlyn because of the system she represents. I'm so tired of people acting like we can'thate her for that."

Let's have a long, hard talk.

This argument IS made in direct comparison to the oppressive systems we see in real life, so let's first talk about how Caitlyn compares to real world oppressive systems, her faults and the ways she fails the people she serves, and then let's talk about how you're just fucking wrong about her and how you hate the wrong character.

Caitlyn is an enforcer. Stating the obvious. She is a member of a larger system she chose to be a part of, because she wanted to serve the people. She was ignorant of the system's corruption as we see throughout season 1. Her initial intentions with becoming an enforcer are because she wants to fight injustice, defy the stuff politics of Piltover that she was raised under, and have her own identity.

At the end of season 1, several things happen to Caitlyn. She is abducted naked from her home, held hostage for at minimum 24 hours, during which time an array of things could have happened to her but of which we know for certain left her TERRIFIED of the young girl with blue hair she was abducted by. She watches that same girl fire an explosive that kills her mother. Preceding this, she has been witness to the ways Silco has harmed the people of the undercity and how he had the enforcers in his pocket in order to do it. Ekko explicitly tells her this. He tells her how Silco has ruined lives and how the enforcers were the manpower that let it happen.

Caitlyn walks away from season 1 changed in many ways. She is brokenhearted and traumatized, but still holds a strong desire to protect the innocent people of both cities. Because of who she has been up to this point, her belief is that she can rectify the wrongs by using the power of her position to do good instead of aid corruption. Her asking Vi to become an enforcer to do as much is in bad taste, yes. Which she later apologizes for and takes ownership for. That doesn't remove the good intention behind it. And it doesn't negate that Vi can later see the logic behind it. Being able to take control of a bad situation and use that power to do good instead of abusing that power to do bad, is an incredibly shaky but important position to be in. And the whole point of Caitlyn's character is how she navigates that--can she use her position to do good? As per GOOD WRITING, she's not going to get it perfect until she learns and grows.

We can acknowledge the moral ambiguity of using the grey, how it does harm, while also acknowledging the WAY it was used and for what purpose was both smart, economical, and GOOD. Doing bad things for good reasons. That's what the use of the grey was.

I'm not going to get into the memorial much, but all I will say for that, is it's an excellent example of people twisting Caitlyn's words and underselling the pain she's going through. If you can't acknowledge the right Caitlyn has to be upset at the people who just violently disrupted a memorial for mourning the loss of loved ones, I don't think you care to have a conversation about the humane treatment of others. And using Caitlyn's anger and grief as a "see?? She hates Zaunites!!" is so fucking stupid I'm not going to entertain an argument for that.

Caitlyn's setback is her trauma, her ignorance, and her heartbreak. She still isn't a fully realized character throughout most of season 2. She's learning and growing and unfortunately that is at the expense of the people she lords over while enforcing martial law. But if we acknowledge that, we also have to acknowledge the ways she changed the system so that needless suffering and punishment didn't happen. Confronting Ambessa when violence is used unlawfully. Improving the prison food and banning the use of the most inhumane cells in Stillwater. Bare minimum? Yes. But still ways she showed that she saw the Zaunites as humans and not as flesh covered problems the way Salo does. Not as problems to get rid of the way Ambessa does.

If the reason for your ire is because Caitlyn is a figure in a corrupt system, then your hatred is misdirected. The point of Caitlyn is to show the ways the system needs to change, and how the people within it who want to do good can often be misguided, but that doesn't mean they aren't good people or that they can't do good within their position.

If you fundamentally disagree with that, there isn't much of an argument to be had, but I will say that your ire is still misdirected.

I never see you guys discuss Salo or Ambessa.

Salo represents true bigotry in the system. It's a position he maintains all the way up to when his mind is commandeered by Viktor and the hexcore. Salo is the type of person who functions on confirmation bias--he already has a prejudiced view of Zaunites, and will use any opportunity to say "see? Told you so! We should put them down." Compared directly to how Caitlyn talks about them, asks Vi to help fix the system, fights against the system going too far, actively makes adjustments to change the way the system treats Zaunites, the claims that Caitlyn is a bigot don't hold up.

Ambessa IS the system. She IS the oppressive force that indiscriminately will take and take and take and sees violence as a tool and not a consequence to be avoided at all costs the way Caitlyn does. And for some fucking reason, no one who criticizes Caitlyn gives any weight to Ambessa's actions, ever. They don't discuss the way she manufactures the attack on the memorial to manipulate public opinion on Zaunites, as well as manipulate Caitlyn. They don't discuss how she sets Caitlyn up to be pressured to take the position of Commander and uses her grief, promises her justice, in order to warm Caitlyn to her and keep her as an ally, a pawn she can use. They don't discuss how she sent Maddie to be a spy, to be in Caitlyn's bed and to be as intimately close to her as possible, to make sure Caitlyn still was behaving the way she needed in order to see her plan through.

When discussing the manipulative, exploitative, and violent nature of oppressive systems, Caitlyn has become the scapegoat, when it is people like Salo and Ambessa who deserve your blame and your ire.

You wonder why people don't take your complaints about Caitlyn seriously? That's why. Because the show gave you very bold examples of oppressive individuals in control of the systems you hate, and you ignore both of them for the sake of hating on a beloved lesbian character, who is beloved because she is flawed and good natured and whose journey we enjoy because it's all about learning what to do when you're within a system that pulls you at every direction to do evil, and you still find a way to do good.

Do some more think pieces on Salo and Ambessa. Then maybe we can have nuanced discussions on Caitlyn.

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Sugar, Baby

Chapter Three: Unraveling

Bruce Wayne x Sugar Baby! Reader

| Part 1 | | Part 2 |

I pinky promise there will be smut in the next part🤞 I just felt like making this one a bit of a slow burn

Taglist: @shadowqueen1322 @secretsideofbree @lillyrob

It started with nights at the manor.

At first, it was just a casual thing—Bruce would send a car, and you’d spend an evening talking over expensive whiskey, letting the world outside the Wayne estate fade into irrelevance. You still worked at the bar, still went to class, but somehow, Bruce had become a fixture in your life.

And it wasn’t just the money.

Yes, he still tipped you ridiculous amounts when he showed up at the bar. Yes, the black card he’d given you sat in your wallet, burning a hole you had yet to fill. But more than that, he was there.

The texts started coming more frequently.

B: You still alive?

You: Barely. My professor is trying to kill me with this assignment.

B: Send me the prompt. I’ll have my team handle it.

You: Absolutely not.

B: I don’t like seeing you stressed.

You: And I don’t like billionaire academic fraud.

B: Fair point.

He called, too—not often, but enough that you found yourself waiting for the sound of his voice on the other end of the line.

The nights at the manor got longer.

At first, it was just drinks and conversation, but then there were the quiet dinners Alfred started preparing for two instead of one. The slow walks through the grand halls of the estate, the firelit nights spent sprawled on the couch in the library, his arm slung lazily over the backrest behind you.

And then, of course, there were the kisses.

God, the kisses.

They started slow, teasing, an extension of whatever sharp-witted conversation you’d been having before he inevitably leaned in. Bruce kissed with purpose, with intent, with the kind of control that made you dizzy.

But that’s all it was.

Kissing.

He never pushed, never let things go further than you could handle, and part of you wondered if he knew.

If he had already pieced together that you had never done this before.

Not this—not just the kisses, but the way he made you feel.

Because it wasn’t just physical.

Bruce knew you.

He listened when you ranted about your classes, when you muttered about your deadlines, when you offhandedly mentioned your favorite books or movies. He remembered, too—casually dropping facts about your life into conversation, surprising you with small gestures that proved he had been paying attention.

“Tell me something real,” you murmured one night, curled up next to him on the oversized couch in his study.

Bruce glanced down at you, brow raising slightly. “Something real?”

You nodded. “Something not in the tabloids.”

He was silent for a moment, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your knee.

“I never sleep for more than three hours at a time,” he admitted finally. “It’s been that way since I was a kid.”

You frowned, shifting to get a better look at him. “Why?”

His gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his expression. “You know why.”

You did.

Gotham knew the story of Thomas and Martha Wayne—the billionaire philanthropists gunned down in an alley, the grieving son left behind.

“I dream about them,” Bruce continued, voice quieter now. “Not always in the way you’d think. Sometimes it’s just… glimpses. My mother’s perfume. My father’s laugh. I wake up before I can hold onto any of it.”

Your chest tightened.

You reached for his hand without thinking, threading your fingers through his. Bruce blinked, as if surprised, before his grip tightened around yours.

He didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, rubbing a slow, deliberate pattern over your knuckles. “I just—”

“I’m glad you told me,” you interrupted softly.

He exhaled, eyes flickering toward your lips.

That night, the kisses were softer.

Not urgent. Not desperate. Just there.

Something real.

—

It was a few weeks later when you finally asked.

You were sitting in Bruce’s bedroom—an indulgently large space that still somehow felt distinctly him. There was a fireplace crackling in the corner, the low golden light casting shadows across the room.

Bruce was on the bed beside you, leaning against the headboard, sleeves rolled up as he scrolled through something on his phone. You had a book open in your lap, though you weren’t really reading it.

Instead, you were watching him.

“Bruce.”

He glanced up at the sound of your voice. “Mm?”

You hesitated. “Are you… waiting for something?”

He set his phone down, eyes scanning your face. “What do you mean?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the book. “I mean, we’ve been… this for a while now.”

Bruce’s lips twitched. “This?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he admitted.

You exhaled. “So, are you waiting? For me?”

His expression shifted, something fond passing through his features.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Your stomach flipped. “Why?”

Bruce sat up, moving closer. One of his hands found your knee, fingers brushing against the fabric of your leggings.

“Because I know you,” he said, voice low. “I know you wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t real for you.”

You swallowed hard. “And?”

His thumb traced slow circles against your leg.

“And I want to take my time with you.”

You felt yourself flush, warmth spreading through your body at the implication.

Bruce smirked slightly, tilting your chin up with the crook of his finger.

“You deserve more than rushed decisions,” he murmured. “I don’t need more. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You inhaled sharply. “I—”

His lips brushed against yours, soft and coaxing.

“Don’t overthink it,” he whispered against your mouth.

And for once, you didn’t.

—

It didn’t happen that night.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.

But somehow, the waiting didn’t feel like waiting.

Masterlist

[rookanisstuff]

ok i think you do a mercar rook for lucanis, right? i also fw mercar rook but it seems like an unpopular choice. i would love to hear you explain your passions if you're game

oh my god mercar rook for a lucanis romance is just SOOOOOOO perfect like the level of ANGST is amazing!!!!!!!!!

I cannot understand why it's not a more popular route for the Lucanis romance. It's so angsty, star crossed, a "I burned the world for you" type of loveeeeeee. Rook Mercar turns their back on their city, their people, the Shadow Dragons completely ice them out and practically act like they're a stranger, you're faced with the instant consequences when getting chewed out by Neve and Tarquin in which they STATE you abandoned them and THEN you have to witness almost everyone Rook's ever worked with be mericlessly executed. Rook literally cannot catch a break but then there's Lucanis at their side endlessly thanking them because he's just seen what Treviso could've become if not for Rook listening to HIM against all their own biases.

Add onto all that, that my Rook was a Tevinter Mage? The very thing that had tortured Lucanis and the same thing he had been trained his entire life to kill? Only to have one be to the first person ever to show him unwavering loyalty and kindness?? Ohhhhh the fanfics practically write THEMSELVESSS but yet I struggle to find them!!!! Also to have a Rook abandon their background to live in Treviso with Lucanis post game I feel like this one makes the most sense because the shadow dragons still want nothing to do with Rook. Dorian is Archon and I imagine he's not going to be very forgiving to the person that got his underground movement executed even if they saved minrathous in the final fight. And personally, if everyone I knew in a city hated me, I'd bounce to the city that calls me a Hero with my hot rich boyfriend too Rook LMAO. Anyway, yes I very much love Mercar Rook, I've tried the other backgrounds and just keep finding myself falling back into that Mercar playstate because dramaaaaaa.

[star-suh]

Johnny, La Gente Está Muy Loca… WTF

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: protected sex to bareback (remember do NAWT use oil based lube when you're using a condom), some impregnation kink disguised as silly jokes 😭

an: this is the best title i could ever think of ngl, like this is peak star-suh idk.

—

yn was in line waiting for the doors to open so he can finally witness a party with DJ JohnnyBe, he heard that all his parties are fun.

when they opened yn went straight to the bar to order something to drink, while he was waiting for the show to start he made some friends her and there.

“ladies and gentlemen please give it up for our guest DJ JohnnyBe” screams and claps of excitement flooded the room when the dj appeared. “hello everyone, i'm glad to be here and i hope i could make this night unforgettable for all of you” he winked, put on his dark glasses and blasted his first set of songs. the bass sounds make the floor vibrate. the music was intoxicating, DJ JohnnyBe indeed knows how to lit a party. during one of his last sets johnny removed his glasses, his gaze was adjusting to the bright colored flashing lights when he saw yn in the crowd. the guy was happy having the time of his life, something that made johnny smile and caught his attention too.

“excuse me, i’m going to the bathroom” yn whispered to one of his new friends and went there. “it was a magnificent night guys, thank you for coming here but i have to go now” everyone awwed, disappointed, wanting more of him, “but don't worry, tye part continues with the next dj”, everyone screamed in euphoria while johnny left and went to the bathroom.

yn was washing his face when someone entered the bathroom, “hey you're the happy boy that was on the crowd” johnny said with a happy tone. yn was stunned seeing him that close, his mouth was agap, thinking it was a dream caused by all the drinks he had tonight he said “fuck, you're so hot”. johnny was taken aback by this but then smirked, “well thanks” he replies.

yn realized it's not a dream, dj johnny fucking be was right there in front of him. his face became red like a tomato. “i-i'm sorry i think i-i d-drank a lot to-tonight haha” his flustered ass tried to brush it off. johnny places both hands on each side of tn cornering him against a counter. “you look so cute when you're flustered” both males made eye contact, one’s eyes showing how shy he was while the other's were fierce, as if a hunter had just hunted his prey.

“what's wrong party boy. what happened to that “fuck you're so hot” earlier comment, hmm?” at this point yn didn't know what to say he just closed his eyes but opened them again when he felt something poking at his bulge. it was johnny’s bulge. “see how horny i am, right now?, you should take responsibility for it” the low tone of his voice sending yn already to cloud 9, he moaned johnny’s name.

“hmm what was that?” johnny asked, his breath tickling yn’s neck. his lips ghosting his skin. he was desperate to feel johnny, he wanted him to touch him, obliterate him, rearrange his insides. “i’ve never felt this horny before for someone” yn confessed, feeling even more shy. johnny grabbed him by his chin so he can look directly at his eyes, “me neither” he said kissing the flustered boy…

johnny guided yn towards a bathroom stall while still kissing him, his tongue wxploring the other's mouth. “just put it in, i prep myself at home” yn said in between moans. “naughty” johnny heaved. he pulls out a condom from his pocket, unwrapped it and rolled it down his big thick shaft.

“wait” yn stopped johnny from putting in, “use this” he handed johnny a little bottle of lube that one of his new friends, conveniently, gave it to him as a ‘gift’ so he can have lots of fun tonight.

johnny applied and large amount of it on the latex and on yn's hole, he slapped it a few times on the entrance and slowly put it in, inch by inch. the sex was rough, with johnny using his hands to muffle yn's moans, something that was unnecessary due to the excessive loud music outside in the club. there were times were johnny instead made yn suck his fingers as if it was his dick. every time the dj thrusted deep a bulge formed on yn's tummy, “joh-johnny you're very deep”.

yn was pressed against the stall door with his eyes rolled back, johnny was stimulating his prostate continuosly and in return he was gripping hard on johnny's meat, “you're choking my little budy down there” he put his hand on the bottom's head pushing it even more harder against the door. a smile appeared on yn's face, he loved how rough johnny was treating him. “more. more. i need moree~”.

if someone were in the bathroom right now they would think that some rabid dog would be locked in the bathroom, with the loud strange sounds and the banging against the cold metal walls. but in reality johnny was there thrashing yn around the stall, there was not a pose left for them to try or a surface that they haven't touched with their sweaty bodies. missionary, against the wall, riding, with one leg up, johnny fucking him while still grabbing him. yn's hole was already obliterated but eager to receive more.

the smell of sweat, liquor and spit make them both feel dizzy, lost in the pleasure they both craved. hickeys littered all over their collarbones, necks and torso, hell even johnny made some on yn's thigh.

the euphoric feeling made them lost trace of time and their surroundings so much that yn didn't notice that johhny's dick felt warmer and warmer by time, he could feel every vein brushing against his walls. the same happened to johnny, he felt yn's insides warmer and how they hugged his little buddy even more than before. ‘woah, condoms nowadays make you feel like you're not wearing one’ they both said it in their minds. they didn't realize the condom broke and with every thrust it slowly went down johnny’s shaft sitting in the base of it.

johnny hugged yn tightly to impale his meat even more deep and harder, “fuck yeah please like that” yn whimpered, his body squirming in pleasure. “keep doing it like that. just a bit more. yes just right there” yn said to johnny who complied to the bottom’s demands. yn came, his torso being painted in white. his body spasm with every spurt of it. he was happy, he hasn't felt this way in years, this might be the best sex of his life.

“fuck i'm gonna cum” johnny grunted, he wanted to came on yn's face but he didn't wanted to stop feeling the warm insides of the guy so ge decided to just came inside the condom. little did he knew that he was, in fact, covering those insides with his white seed. “how does it feel to have a man's seed deep inside your hole?” johnny asked nibbling on yn's neck. “it feels sticky and so wet” yn slurred, coming back from his high.

the realization hit them both right there, “what do you mean sticky and wet?” johnny looked down seeing how the broken piece of latex was on the base of his shaft while the rest of it was inside of the other, bareback. “oh god i just bred you”, “oh my god you just breed me”, johnny and yn exclaimed in unison…

they both get out of the stall, yn walked awkwardly after all his hole suffered a lot tonight. staring at themselves in the mirror with a dumbfounded expression while fixing their looks and disheveled hair. “why are we acting as if you're gonna get pregnant” johnny joked, trying to lighten the awkward atmosphere.

“johnny, it … it was the first time someone came inside me” yn looked down feeling embarrassed but once again johnny grabbed his chin to make eye contact with him “then i guess i have to take responsibility for that baby on there” he caressed yn’s stomach. they looked at each other and then exploded in laugh, “dumbass” yn blurted out hitting johnny's shoulder lightly.

“you're way cool than it thought” yn confesses “and so wild in sex, my back side hurts a bit”.

“i also think you're cool” johnny replied politely too, “if you want, come to my hotel room. i know a home remedy to ease that pain” he gripped one of his ass cheeks, “the night is still young” he wiggled his eyebrows.

yn caught what he meant and said “oh yes of course, i would like to try it. besides i kinda want other of your babies inside me”. johnny kissed him in the lips and then in the forehead, “let's make a football team then”. they left the bathroom straight to the hotel room to chase that euphoric feeling again.

[rafayelxsylusho]

Giving the LADS men head part 4 🍭🍭🍭

Rafayelxreader

TW: SMUT

Rafayel 🐡

Rafayel panted softly against your neck, his hands roaming your curves possessively as he pinned you beneath him on the bed. The gala had been a blur, his patience wearing thin with each passing moment as he watched you work the room, charming everyone with your beauty and wit. But when your eyes met his from across the crowded ballroom, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He had to have you, to feel your skin against his, your breath mingling with his own.

Now, with the heels you wore earlier still hooked around your ankles, Rafayel trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His tongue flicked out to taste your racing pulse before he bit down, marking you as his. One hand slid up your thigh, calloused fingers dancing along your soft skin until he reached the lacy edge of your panties. He palmed you through the fabric, feeling the heat of your core even as he ground his hardening length against your hip.

Rafayel's teeth sank into the delicate lace covering your most intimate area, biting down hard enough to stretch the fabric before he began dragging it slowly down your legs. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and heated, a wicked glint in their depths. He was taking his time, savoring every inch of skin revealed as he exposed you to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, cutie," he breathed against your thigh, his lips brushing against the sensitive flesh. "You're so fucking gorgeous. I don't think I can wait much longer to be inside you."

He felt your hands move to your ankles to remove your shoes, his hands shot out, gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head before you could so much as touch them. His eyes flashed with intensity, a fierce glint that sent a shiver down your spine.

"No," he growled, voice low and rough with desire. "Leave them on. I want to fuck you in those shoes. I want to feel them digging into my back as I take you," he murmured against your mouth, grinding his hard cock against your sex. "Tonight, I want to ruin you in nothing but these fucking heels."

Rafayel rose from the bed, his chest heaving and eyes blazing with unchecked desire. He didn't break eye contact as he reached for the top button of his dress shirt, popping it open with deft fingers. His shirt fell open, revealing the tantalizing glimpse of his toned chest and the dusting of hair that trailed down his abdomen.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it slip down his arms to pool on the floor. Next, he tackled his belt, undoing it with a swift tug before unzipping his pants. They followed suit, joining the growing pile of clothes at his feet.

Rafayel stood before you, clad in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs that strained against his obvious arousal. The fabric clung to the thick outline of his cock, the shape of him unmistakable. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he drank in the sight of you splayed out on the bed, your panties gone and your heels still hooked around your ankles.

"Fuck, look at you," he breathed, taking a step closer to the bed. "Laying there like a goddamn feast, just waiting for me to devour every inch of you." His voice was a low rasp, dripping with hunger.

Rafayel's lips curled into a wicked smirk as he watched you hang your head off the bed. He loved seeing you like this, all sprawled out and at his mercy. The sight of you pointing a finger at him, beckoning him closer, sent a jolt of desire straight to his aching cock.

"Come here," you purred, your voice low and inviting. "I want to taste you."

Rafayel stepped closer, looming over you as he stood at the edge of the bed. One hand reaching to caress your lower lip with a feather-light touch. His fingers were slightly calloused, the pad of his thumb tracing the soft swell before dipping briefly into your mouth.

He pulled down his boxers and gripped the base of his cock, giving it a slow stroke as he angled his hips forward. The thick head, already glistening with precum, brushed against your lips. Rafayel's eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, watched your face intently for your reaction.

"Open up for me, cutie," he encouraged, his voice a low purr. "Let me feel that pretty little mouth wrapped around my dick." The heat of his skin, the weight of his arousal hovering just at the entrance to your mouth, made your head spin with anticipation.

Rafayel groaned, a deep, guttural sound that rumbled through his chest, as your tongue darted out to lick at the weeping slit of his cock. He shuddered, fingers tightening in your hair as you started to suck him off. The angle was intense, allowing you to take him deep, so deep that he could feel the back of your throat fluttering around his sensitive flesh.

"Ffffuck, just like that," Rafayel hissed through clenched teeth, hips rocking forward slightly as he began to fuck into your mouth. "Your mouth feels so fucking good, baby. So hot and wet and perfect."

He set a steady rhythm, not too rough but with enough force behind it to make you gag slightly. Drool began to leak from the corners of your stretched lips, dripping down your cheeks and onto the floor below. The obscene sound of slurping and sucking filled the room, mixing with Rafayel's harsh pants and grunts of pleasure.

Rafayel's breath caught in his throat as he watched you spread your legs wider, giving him an unobstructed view of your glistening, needy cunt. The sight of your fingers delving between your folds, stroking and circling your clit, made his cock throb against your tongue. He could feel your muffled moans vibrating around his shaft as you touched yourself, getting lost in the pleasure of the moment.

"Nghh, that's so fucking hot," Rafayel groaned, one hand fisting in your hair. "Seeing you touch your pretty pussy while I fuck your face..." He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, holding your head in place as he ground against your throat. "Fuck, baby, you're so goddamn sexy. I can't get enough of you."

He watched, enraptured, as your fingers dipped lower, sinking knuckle-deep into your soaked entrance. The wet, squelching sounds of your fingers plunging into your cunt mixed obscenely with the lewd slurping noises of Rafayel's cock pistoning in and out of your stretched mouth.

"Don't stop, sweetheart," Rafayel encouraged breathlessly, hips rolling in time with the circles you rubbed around your clit. "Get yourself off like a good girl. Wanna see your greedy little cunt clench around your fingers while I paint your tonsils with my cum."

Rafayel reached down, fingertips brushing against your throat. He could feel it stretching and bulging around his thick cock as he thrust in and out of your hot, eager mouth. Your pulse fluttered wildly beneath your skin, the sensation driving him wild with lust.

"Look at you, taking me so deep," he rasped, voice rough with arousal. "Your throat looks so fucking pretty stretched around my dick. I love seeing it bulge with every inch of me disappearing between these gorgeous lips."

He traced the outline of his shaft through the delicate skin of your neck, feeling himself throb in response. Rafayel knew he wouldn't last much longer at this rate, not with the way your tongue swirled around him and your throat constricted so perfectly.

"I'm getting close, baby," he warned, fingers tightening in your hair.

Rafayel felt your throat constricting around his sensitive flesh as he pulled back, your lips sucking the head of his cock . He watched, enraptured, as you gasped for air through your nose, chest heaving and cheeks flushed. The sight of you, desperate and wanting, only spurred him on.

Rafayel groaned deeply as he felt your moans vibrating intensely around his throbbing cock, the sensation pushing him closer to the edge. He could see your fingers flying over your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub as you chased your rapidly approaching climax. The sight of you pinching and rolling your nipple, your back arching off the bed, was almost too much to bear.

You could hear the blood rushing in your ears, the room spinning slightly from the lack of oxygen reaching your brain. The sensation only heightened every touch.

"Get ready, sweetheart," he panted harshly, fingers gripping your hair almost painfully as he slammed forward one last time. "Here it comes..."

With a loud moan, Rafayel buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing and jerking as thick ropes of cum erupted from the tip. He pumped load after load into your waiting throat, filling you with his essence as your own climax crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed and trembled beneath him, fingers digging into your own flesh as you rode out the intense, mind-blowing ecstasy.

Rafayel shuddered and groaned as he felt your throat constrict around his pulsing cock, greedily swallowing every last drop of his release. The sensation of your muscles working to gulp down his load, combined with the knowledge that you were coming undone beneath him made stars explode behind his eyelids.

"Oh fuck, cutie!" he roared, hips jerking erratically as the last spurts of cum pumped into your mouth and slid down your throat. His grip on your hair tightened, holding you in place as he rode out the aftershocks of his intense climax.

As the final waves of pleasure crashed over him, Rafayel slowly withdrew his softening length from your lips. He took a moment to admire the sight of your well-fucked mouth, a strand of his release connecting the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It was a bit sloppy, considering the situation, but filled with a deep, abiding tenderness. Rafayel poured everything he felt for you into that kiss, hoping you could taste the love and devotion on his tongue.

Rafayel grinned wickedly as he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes sparkling with mischief and lingering lust. He glanced down at your feet, still clad in the heels he had insisted you keep on.

"Mmm, I did say I wanted to fuck you in those heels, didn't I?"

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Teacher's Pet Baby

Safe

Cg!Professor!Wanda Maximoff x little!student!reader

Summary: Wanda's voice lulls you to sleep while she's on the phone

Word Count: 592

Warnings: Age regression, fluff and comfort

Authors notes: This was a wala request here

The semester was finally over for you and you found yourself happily living with Wanda during the break. Just cause it was over for you doesn't mean she gets much of a break though. She's been working hard on next semester's classes. You were happy to be taking another class with her; abnormal developmental psychology. You weren't thinking about that though or much of anything at the moment as Wanda had let you crawl into her lap as she sat at her desk.

Wanda’s fingers never stopped moving, typing away as she worked through lesson plans and student evaluations. You had found comfort curled up in her lap, your head resting against her chest while she absentmindedly traced soothing patterns down your back. The rhythmic sound of her keystrokes mixed with the occasional sip of coffee created a lull that left you feeling weightless, barely clinging to wakefulness.

Then, the sudden ring of her phone jolted you, pulling you out of your relaxed haze. Your body tensed instinctively, your breath hitching as you tried to ground yourself.

“Oh, Malyshka, shh, it’s okay, you’re safe,” Wanda murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as she reached for her phone. Her voice was soft, soothing, instantly pulling you back into the warmth of her embrace.

She answered without checking the caller ID, her fingers gently combing through your hair as she spoke. “Hello?”

A familiar voice came through the speaker, deep and matter-of-fact. “Wanda. Glad I caught you.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. Wanda rolled her eyes, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Hello to you too, Stephen,” she replied, her tone playfully dry.

Dr. Strange was well-known on campus—not just for being a renowned neurosurgeon before shifting to academia, but also for his sharp wit and no-nonsense approach to teaching. He and Wanda had developed a rapport over the years, exchanging insights on their respective fields, often challenging each other’s perspectives.

“I wanted to run something by you. I know you're teaching Abnormal Developmental Psych next semester, and I have a few students from my Neurophysiology class who might benefit from a bit of cross-discipline collaboration.”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully, shifting slightly in her seat. You barely registered the movement, already sinking back into the warmth of her arms.

“That could be interesting,” she mused, her fingers still absently rubbing small circles into your back. “What kind of collaboration are we talking about?”

“Guest lectures, joint discussions—maybe even a case study or two.”

You were barely listening now, your body melting further into her as your breathing slowed. The steady rise and fall of her chest, the soft vibrations of her voice against your cheek, the warmth of her touch—it was pulling you under, lulling you back toward sleep.

You barely registered her saying, “I’d have to look at my schedule, but I like the idea.”

Dr. Strange said something else, but it was distant, unimportant. Your eyelids grew heavier, your grip on awareness slipping.

Wanda’s voice softened, as if sensing how close you were to sleep. “I’ll email you later, Stephen. I have something very important in my arms right now.”

There was a brief pause before Strange chuckled. “Say no more. Enjoy your break, Wanda.”

“You too,” she murmured, ending the call.

You felt her shift, her arms tightening slightly as she pressed another kiss to your temple. “Sleep, Malyshka,” she whispered, her voice dripping with affection.

And just like that, you let go, drifting into the warmth and safety of her embrace.