#isolated heavy rain

[townpostin]

Heavy Rainfall Alerts Issued for Jharkhand as Monsoon Intensifies

Meteorological Centre Ranchi Warns of Widespread Precipitation Across Multiple Districts Jharkhand braces for significant rainfall as the Meteorological Centre in Ranchi issues alerts for heavy downpours across the state, signaling a potential turnaround in the monsoon deficit. RANCHI – The Meteorological Centre, Ranchi has issued a series of heavy rain warnings for Jharkhand, indicating an…

[snickerdoodlles]

things i would change in lita if i were in charge:

put Rain in a dorm room instead of living at home

a large part of why Phayu/Rain doesn't work for me is because we don't get to see Rain develop on his own...ever, really. he's in college, but he's living at home, living off his parents' money, still updating his mom on his where abouts like he's in high school. he goes from being closely entwined with/dependent on them to being highly dependent on Phayu. Phayu/Rain didn't come off as "Rain's making stupid and risky decisions but that's part of growing up," which i would've enjoyed, it comes off as ".....no, seriously Rain, can you make this decision?"

moving Rain into a dorm would've given him some much needed independence. even if though he would've still been reliant on his parents financially, there's still the growth that comes from being away from your parents' daily influence, managing your own space, managing your own personal well-being, etc. that would've been Rain's starting point for independent growth. vs canon, where Rain's start in independent growth was an intensely sexual relationship with a highly independent guy (nooot really anything i'm comfortable with myself). Rain can enjoy being coddled/spoiled/etc (which i like! good for him!), but the writers never gave him a chance to figure out who he was on his own, so the relationship as is doesn't land for me :/

more Phayu interacting with the garage family

i really like the glimpses of Phayu's character that we get. he has a lot of contradictions that look like so much fun to explore, but his characterization often gets shuffled to the side in favor of kink. the most interesting Phayu scenes are always the ones where it's not just him and Rain which......really sucks. the Prapai/Sky sex scenes reveal a lot about them as individual characters as well as how they interact with each other. Phayu/Rain sex scenes kinda touch on how they act together, but the main thing they do is tell me more than i want to know about the writers' personal kinks. hell, most of what Rain learns about Phayu as a person is discovered through other people--which is really annoying! i want to be learning more about this guy through his interactions with Rain, not primarily the gossip other people tell Rain. that doesn't happen until like, ep6-7, which is the literal end of their personal arc and mostly spent away from each other. sighs.

more Saifah

quality character, highly underutilized. i love his eyerolls, but the writers never really did much with him to bring him past that point :( i can extrapolate a lot, but canon developed Sig in the second half of the show more than they did Saifah for all of it. Saifah is Phayu's literal twin brother and business partner, and some random architect student got more of a character than him. this is not a complaint on Sig, i fucking adore that guy, but it's a bizarre writing choice.

more kidnapping aftermath

seriously. what the fuck. TWO kidnapping scenarios, the entire reason why i watched this show, and you guys couldn't cut out any of the 1905t59488993e repeated scenes to give me more than 2 minutes of kidnapping aftermath? who the fuck even cares about trucks driving on roads

things i would not change in lita if i were in charge:

Chai showing up to rescue Phayu and Rain wearing a zebra print shirt. sensational. 10/10, no notes

[gallusrostromegalus]

Might I inquire as to what, precisely, a Mustain't is? (Aside from a string of letters I hesitate to Google in that order.)

In October 2014 I went on a road-trip to the Dryest Place In America.

I was having a rough year, very depressed from having dropped out of college for the third time. I decided a road trip was in order to re-set my brain and get a little distance. Being that it was October, and therefore all the campgrounds in the American Southwest were filled with people who have the good sense to camp in reasonable temperatures, I elected to take my parent's minivan so I could car-camp anywhere suitably isolated, and looked up some of the southwest's geographic extremes- the highest place I could drive to (Pikes Peak), the lowest place (Badwater Basin), and for fun, the Dryest Place in the continental US, which turned out to be the Pinacate Volcanic field just west of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It gets rain maybe twice a century and has no standing water, despite being less than 100 miles from the gulf of California.

It's a startlingly beautiful and alien place. The ground is a deep chocolate brown to black volcanic sand, and in mid October, the rabbit brush is turning bright yellow as it shifts to autumn, the organ pipe cacti are a dark green and stand, partially concealed in the brush at exactly human height. The air is alive with birds and insects and bats at night. The stargazing is like looking into the eyes of God.

You get there by driving down a little dirt road called "El Camino Del Diablo", or "The Devil's Road".

I drove out about three hours from Glendale, AZ to get there, arriving at sunset, and felt a profound sense of peace. I stargazed, listening to the bats hunt and sing, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.

I stayed out there for three days, sketching and painting the landscape, taking strolls through this almost alien landscape, and enjoying the light and sound and total absence of human intrusion besides myself.

On the fourth night, it was a new moon, and I awoke in the middle of the night. Something was amiss, and it took me a while to realize it was because I could NOT hear the bats. I was sleeping inside the van with the rear windows rolled halfway down rather than trying to set up the tent, so I when I sat up, I looked out of the van's reflective windows to discover what at first appeared to be A Horse.

It was something between pale gray and bright white in the starlight, standing maybe a dozen feet from the van, sniffing curiously. It made sense- I was in the middle of mustang country and there was quite a bit of foliage in the area for it and it did look like a truly wild horse- lumpy where the bones were jutting out, dusty about the hooves and face.

I was instantly seized by the sort of paralytic fear Sleep paralysis is made of. I couldn't move. It wasn't quite looking at me because it couldn't quite see through the windshield into the shadowy into the shadowy interior, but I had the distinct impression that if I looked away, it would know, and get me.

I already had problems with horses. My beloved Aunt Helen's Prize mare tried to kill me on two separate occasions, and the year before I had to carry my sister-in-law backwards out of a slot canyon whilst reciting the Saint Crispin's Day Speech as loudly as possible to keep a mustang from trampling us to death.

This is approximately what it should have looked like:

Instead, it was... off. like trying to draw a horse from memory.

The waist tapered in.

The legs were slightly too long or the torso slightly too short, probably both.

The ears were Triangular.

The head wasn't quite right- Too narrow and the jaw wasn't heavy enough.

The tail was too long and arced unnaturally away from the body.

The neck arched.

The nostrils were too high and close

The mouth too long.

Whatever this is, a Mustang it Ain't.

I watched it from the back seat as it sniffed around the front of the van, curious with about the side mirrors. It moved around the van, nibbling experimentally on the front door handle. It came up to the side windows, sniffing like a dog, and it's breath didn't fog up the glass.

Finally, it came up to the rear window, which was rolled halfway down to let the fall night air in. Not even half a pane of glass and two feet of air between us, and I could clearly see it's bright blue eyes.

Horses have Elongated pupils to give them a wide field of vision, and eyes that rotate sideways in their sockets so the pupil remains parallel to the ground. Rather creepy to watch, especially the ones with blue eyes.

A real horse that was curious about the interior of the van would have come up to the window more or less sideways, and looked at me with something like this:

Instead, the damn thing walked up and faced the back window head on, staring back at me with this:

I'm not sure how long we watched each other like that, eyes locked. My eyes burned. I couldn't blink. My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. My throat began to ache. I couldn't make a sound. My skin began to twitch, like I was severely dehydrated. I couldn't move. My lungs burned. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move.

Something was touching the side of my hand on the seat next to me. It's my water bottle.

The realization must have broken the terrible paralysis in the lower parts of my brain first, because by the time I consciously realized I could move again, I was already flinging my water bottle out the window at it.

The top was open, and splashed out the window at the Mustain't.

I've never heard such a scream out of an animal. Something halfway between the sound of unquenchable rage vibrating in someone's chest and the way rabbits cry out to God when the dogs catch them.

It jumped back, pivoting away from the van, snarling at the water bottle. I don't think you're supposed to be able to see All of a horse's teeth at once, no matter how angry it is.

I watched it run into the night for some distance, it's pale body visible against the black sand and the dark gray shadow of the ancient volcanic cone it was headed for.

When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I could hear the bats again.

I debated leaving right then, but I didn't want to get out of the van with that thing in the area, nor litter by leaving the water bottle out there. I also had the awful idea that if I left now, it might somehow be able to follow me home. I ended up staying up three hours to watch the sunrise, shaking and trying to figure out if I'd woken up from a vivid dream, if my meds had stopped working, or if that had really happened. I didn't dare move until I actually felt the temperature rise, before stepping out of the van to grab the bottle. I had my camera ready- I was still using a DSLR back then- to take pictures of the hoofprints, to show how close it had gotten to the van.

No hoofprints.

Beetle tracks in the soft sand around the van, and the clear foot-and-wing prints of a bird that had hopped around then taken off. But no hoofprints.

I went over the entire campsite with the tent broom, to make sure I removed every scrap of evidence I had ever been there, including my footprints, grabbed my water bottle, and drove the three hours back back to Glendale, then decided to do seven more hours of driving to Moab, Utah just to put more than 500 miles, the state line and at least nine things that could be considered "running water" between me and the Mustain't.

-

I still have that water bottle. It has a dent in the bottom from hitting something, but that could have happened at any time. Strange thing though. I can't drink that bottle dry. I'll have it on me, drink whatever I've put in there- water, juice, iced coffee- and eventually feel like I've drunk the whole think and that it's empty. But I open it up and it's still at least a quarter full. I drink that. I get thirsty. I open it up again. ...and there's always a mouthful left.

Not sure what the side effects of drinking from a bottle cursed by a Mustain't to always have some left are, but it lives in the Emergency Breakdown Kit in my car now, just in case I meet another one.

---

(I'm a disabled artist and make my living telling stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or Pre-order the Family Lore book on Patreon)

[haichengtual]

super cloudy and windy out this is what life is!!

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Gladiator! Ghost

Warnings: 18+, Dub-Con, Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Dominant! Ghost, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Master/Servant Dynamics, Voyeurism, Public Humiliation, Sexual Coercion, Scene Inspired by ‘Spartacus’, Based on Spartacus’ In-Universe History, Profanity, Implied Fem! Reader, Images Used aren't Mine.

Gladiator! Ghost abuses his power over you every chance he gets. No exceptions.

And all because you had to go and show him voluntary kindness, tending to his post-battle wounds and praising him for his efforts, all while touching him as delicately and as gently as you could. More so than anyone ever has.

It’s not long after this interaction that you find yourself stationed as Gladiator! Ghost's personal handmaiden; the perfect servant to see that his every desire is satiated.

And, unfortunately for you, that often includes him coercing you into compromising positions.

Even when he’s been training all day, his muscles bulging, skin glistening with sweat, eyes ablaze with bloodlust, he finds time to seek you out and take you someplace isolated and quiet – where nobody else can see or save you – and pumps his fury into you.

He’s never gentle with it, either. He isn’t trained to be.

He’s panting, chest heaving and broad at your back as he presses you into the stone wall of the cellar, your legs forcefully parted by a thick, toned thigh – the skin of which is covered in your dripping essence – as he pounds into you with all his might.

He calls you his maid – only his. Tells you that no-one else can have you, that they’d have to kill him if they wanted to possess you as he does.

And you take it because that’s all you can do. All you’re allowed to do.

You let him make your body feel like this is right, that the cracks of euphoria splintering between your legs justifies the way he grabs your hair and pulls you back to face him, only to force his eager tongue into your mouth.

You clench around him – unwillingly so. Encourage him.

You hear him groan, feel his voice heavy on your tongue before he pulls away, slipping a hand beneath the fabric of your tunic and squeezing your clit between his fingers. You cry out, pressing back into him, taking him deeper.

“You’re mine,” he tells you. He punctuates his point with a quick, harsh slap to your clit – one that leaves you whining. “I’ll give you my babe – give you the privilege of bringing my son into this world.”

Amidst the reluctant pleasure electrifying your every sense, you know he’s close. His tip – pressing into the deepest part of you, a place you didn’t even know existed before he found it – bulbous and aching, pulses in time with his heartbeat. You close your eyes and brace for it – the warmth, the wet. The inevitable.

And, sure as rain after thunder, Ghost growls, pressing as deep into you as your body will allow and then some, as he cums, hot and heavy. You can physically feel his semen pumping through his shaft as he empties every ounce of his seed into your wanting womb – filled beyond full – leaving you whining and trying your best to pull away from his cock.

He holds you still and glowers, a vein across his bicep twitching – almost winking at you – as he slams his hand beside your head, caging you . As if to remind you that he’s the one in charge here.

So you still, panting, sweating and almost crying, as his seed nestles inside you, knowing there’s nothing you can do until he’s ready to let you go – until he’s sure his efforts have taken. And all you can focus on is how heavy he feels inside you, the feeling of his chest almost crushing you against the wall as he breathes deeply. The gradual softening of his tip at your cervix as he grows flaccid.

The hand between your thighs – coated translucent and white – comes to rest upon your stomach. You can feel him looking down at the phantom bump from over your shoulder. His voice is obsidian.

“If I haven’t imparted him upon you already.”

In Ghost’s head, he’s justified in his actions. Even though he can feel you trying to peel away from him, your heart racing to the rhythm of fear and not of lust. Even though he knows you will likely retreat to your shared chambers and weep into your pillow. He knows, deep down, that you want as he does. A family.

It’s all he can think about aside from the bloodshed and the fight for survival. You are all he can think about. The only thing that can placate his rage.

It’s his reason. His only reason to continue.

In his own way, this is his manufacturing of a family. Turning you from a servant into the mother of his children, and transforming him – a beast – into a father.

Not that you’d know this, but he has more influence within the Master’s residence than most – especially as his most prized gladiator. 

Whenever the Master throws parties, he convinces him to put the maids – you – on display, to show the other houses that his gladiators are not just fighters, but incessant lovers, too.

More often than not, you’ve had to strip bare and bear the weight of the stares of party-goers as Ghost, assigned to be the night’s show pony, makes sure everyone knows who you belong to.

It’s an exercise of power. Of ownership.

He makes no effort to hide his endurance, his speed, often finishing at a rate that leaves you terrified knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it, to hide away and prevent your seemingly inevitable pregnancy at the hands of the man you call Master.

Truth be told, you’d be ashamed of enjoying the weight of him inside you – the familiar feeling of his tip hitting a note within you that leaves you whining a wanton tune – if it weren’t for the fact that your situation could be worse – that it could be another of the Master’s loyal fighters pounding you, holding you and bruising your waist. Degrading you from a maid to a whore for all to see.

Ghost can see, during times like these, the women who wish to be you and the men who crave to be him. And he hides his smile beneath learned stoicism, even as he’s overcome with the euphoria of emptying himself inside you, lifting you by the hips so nothing of his making is wasted.

And you can do nothing to fight against it.

And, when he’s asked by some curious voyeur, he’ll do it all again. And again. And again.

This is the only way he can guarantee his seed takes – the only way he can make sure you won’t go off running trying to cleanse yourself of his semen rolling down your thighs, of his efforts taking form and bearing fruit inside you.

He knows it’s just a matter of time until he can afford both your and his freedom, until he can take you away from this place and raise your family together – someplace far from this spectacle of murder.

Until then, he’ll convince his Master to fund these social affairs, to allow you to remain as his maid.

His.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist Gladiator Ghost AI

AO3 Wattpad X

[whatudowhennooneseesyou]

𝗞𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰: 𝗛𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱

Word Count: 4.3 K (I told you, It's been in my head for a long time)

Warnings: Jeong Yunho x sub!fem reader, Haunting Adeline AU, DUB-CON, partial somnophilia, unprotected sex, olfactophilia (scent play), sexual persuasion, stalker!yunho, oral (fem receiving), possessiveness, nipple play, jealousy, fear play, manipulation, kissing, biting, marking, praise (princess, good girl etc) and body worship.

Warning: 18+ only of course. This is a DARK FIC and it contains taboo and dark depictions of abuse that could be triggering. If you choose to read further, then you have heeded this warning and I hold no responsibility for your emotional well-being.

No sound was more loud and teeth-chattering than the wind howling

The night used to be your friend, a safe space, a creative outlet for your inner world and thoughts.

But now it felt like it was taunting you, teasing you as you held the coffee mug in your frozen hands, forcing yourself to stay awake as the minutes felt slow and agonising.

You prayed for the comfort of being alone now knowing you weren't...ever.

For He was always there.

Another rose was found on the coffee table this morning, all fresh and pruned with the thorns removed and a piece of paper wrapped around the stem.

The delicate handwriting revealed the next mission of this uninvited presence and it caused you to feel a sense of uneasiness you've never felt before.

My patience is running thin. I'll be with you tonight, my princess. Yunho

You silently walked over to the window that was uncovered by the drapes, watching the raindrops fall on the glass as you peered outside to gaze at the shrubbery and looming pine trees.

You hid in the shadows, trying not to reveal your face as you peered out the front of your domain, no sign of civilian life around you at all.

There was fear inside of you, fear of your safety and for your life sure but there was anticipation and curiosity.

Probably a lot less fear than you should have for the stalker who's found you, isolated you and admittedly-cared for you.

Your eyes lock onto the shadow formation in the bushes, your heart racing as you found your dark knight.

His tall, lithe build standing there in the heavy rain, covered in black and the hood of his parka covering his face except for a small sliver that revealed the plumpness of his lips and defined cupid's bow.

The one that has been sending you roses month after months, all pruned with pieces of paper tied around the stem.

The one that has been leaving nicely-packaged gifts on the empty side of your bed, all wrapped in crimson paper with a pretty rose on top.

All containing gifts of the highest quality such as perfume, a silver necklace with the 'Y' initial, makeup, sanitary products (how did he even know when your cycle was?), panties.

The latest one was an oversized plain, black t-shirt that smelt of musk and cologne, it smelt like he had worn it, slept in it...some perverted part of you wondered if he had worn it whilst jerking off with you in his mind- what was he even thinking about doing to you?

All the messages he gifted to you all revealed the same desires but with sickly, sweet words.

How he yearns for you. How he loves you, how he just wants to protect you, care for you, be your safety net from the cruelty of the world.

His desire to take you, claim you, ravage you, to bend and mould you to his will.

It felt like you were being courted and hunted for at the same time, were you to be his Queen or a gilded bird locked in a cage?

The reality of the situation quickened when the shadow form moved, your eyes locked on how his lips turned into a twisted smirk and he lifted his right hand to offer you a slow, taunting wave.

You quickly dashed away from the window without bothering to close it, running to the middle living and dropping yourself in front of the glowing hearth- wrapping the blanket around your shoulders further tightly around your body.

Ring the police, scream, run...why aren't you doing this? You hadn't even locked the doors...why? What's wrong with you?

The truth was this man brought out a perverted joy in you, the joy of being wanted, of being pursued, a temptation stirred in your belly at what could happen tonight.

He wouldn't kill you (at least you hoped) and you were tired, burnt out, lonely...maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to let him in?

The thoughts were too much for your sleep-deprived brain to cope with and in front of the hearth with a pillow on the floor and your blanket wrapped around you.

You fell asleep.

You lost the game.

The room was steeped in darkness, the only light a faint sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. The air was thick with the kind of stillness that made everything feel suspended in time.

Yunho stood silently near your feet, watching you scrunch your nose up cutely whilst you were asleep on the floor with the hearth flame slowly turning into ash.

He had been watching you for what felt like hours, the corners of his lips curled in a faint, almost tender smile. There was something intoxicating about your vulnerability, the way you were completely unaware of his presence. You were so peaceful, so trusting in your sleep, and it stirred something dark and possessive within him.

Yunho moved closer, the floorboards creaking ever so slightly under his weight. His breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers hovering just above your skin. He could feel the warmth radiating from you could almost hear the blood pulsing just beneath the surface. The urge to touch you, to claim you as his own, was overwhelming. Yet, he held back, savoring the moment, relishing in the power he had over you.

But he resisted, choosing instead to let his fingers trace a delicate line down the side of your face, his touch as light as a feather.

Your skin was soft, impossibly soft, and he could feel you shiver under his touch, your body reacting even in sleep. It was intoxicating, this power he held over you, this control. He could do anything—anything—and you would be helpless to stop him. The thought sent a thrill down his spine, dark and thrilling, as he leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just above your ear.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word barely audible, but it sent a shiver through you, your body instinctively curling in on itself, as if trying to escape an unseen threat. Yunho’s smile widened, satisfaction and something far darker curling in his chest. You were his, in every sense of the word, and tonight he would make sure you knew it.

As if sensing the shift in the air, your eyes flutter open, groggy and unfocused at first. You blink, your vision clearing, only to find Yunho’s face inches from your own, his eyes dark and intense, filled with an emotion that sends a chill down your spine. Panic surges through you as you try to push yourself up, but Yunho’s hand is already on your wrist, holding you in place with a grip that is firm yet strangely gentle.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, but there’s a sinister edge to it, a promise of something far more dangerous lurking beneath the surface. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic rhythm that matches the fear rising within you. But there’s something else too, something that makes your pulse quicken for an entirely different reason. His gaze is intense, burning with a possessive hunger that makes you feel both terrified and inexplicably drawn to him.

“What do you want?” you breathe, your voice trembling as you search his eyes for any hint of mercy, but all you find is that same dark intensity, a need that matches your own but twisted into something far more dangerous.

Yunho’s smile is slow, almost predatory, as he leans in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You. I want you, all of you. And I’m not letting you go.”

The words send a shiver through you, a mix of fear and something far more dangerous, something that makes your pulse race with a heady mix of terror and desire. You know you should fight, should scream, should do anything to escape his hold, but all you can do is stare into his eyes, trapped in the dark, magnetic pull of his gaze.

And then, with a gentleness that belies the darkness in his eyes, Yunho releases your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin as he pulls back slightly, giving you just enough space to breathe, to think, but not enough to escape. The room feels colder without his touch, and you realize with a start that a part of you misses the warmth, the connection, no matter how twisted it is.

“What are you going to do to me?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fear mixing with a curiosity you can’t quite suppress.

Yunho’s smile is slow, almost lazy, as if he has all the time in the world. “That depends on you,” he replies, his voice soft but filled with a dangerous promise. “But one thing is certain—you won’t ever want to leave me. Not after tonight.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and full of meaning, as Yunho’s gaze holds yours, daring you to resist, to fight, even as he knows you won’t. Not really. The darkness in him calls to something deep within you, something you hadn’t known existed until this moment, something that responds to his possessiveness, his unyielding desire to claim you as his own.

And as the tension thickens between you, you realize with a start that you’re not entirely sure you want to resist. Not when the alternative is losing yourself completely to the dark, twisted allure of Yunho’s obsession.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, but there’s an edge to it, a raw, unfiltered need that makes your breath catch in your throat. “I’ll take care of you my princess, I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted… if you let me.”

His hand moves to your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse, feeling the frantic beat of your heart beneath his touch. You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” Yunho whispers, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. “For you. You have no idea how much I want you.”

His dark hair frames his lashes and enhances the intensity of his gaze, the parka gone from his shoulders and now replaced by a black, long-sleeved henley shirt and his cheeks flushed red with desire.

His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he’s afraid you might disappear if he’s too rough. But you’re not going anywhere—you can’t, even if you wanted to.

There’s a moment of hesitation, a brief second where you could pull away, where you could resist the pull of his gaze, the magnetic attraction that binds you to him.

'How I needed you'

His lips brush against yours, soft and tentative at first, and whatever resistance you might have had crumbles beneath the intensity of the moment.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, filled with a hunger that Yunho has kept restrained for far too long. His hand moves from your neck to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss, and you find yourself responding, your body leaning into him, craving the warmth and the connection despite the fear that lingers in the back of your mind.

Yunho groans against your lips, the sound vibrating through your entire body, sending a rush of heat pooling in your lower abdomen. His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you even closer until there’s no space left between you. The kiss becomes more urgent, more demanding, and you can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you try to process what just happened. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes half-lidded, dark with desire as he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, the words a possessive growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “Say it.”

There’s no hesitation in your response, the words tumbling from your lips before you can even think to stop them. “I’m yours.”

Yunho’s eyes flare with satisfaction, and then he’s kissing you again, harder this time, his hands roaming your body with a need that borders on desperation.

He drapes his body over yours and cements you to the floor, his body providing all the heat you needed as he kisses down your neck, his teeth clamping down on the skin and leaving a mark.

A dark chuckle leaves his breath as you moan at the sting, the sensation changing as he licks over it to soothe the pain before averting his attention to the base of your throat.

You could feel how hard he was as he grinded on your thigh, it aroused and terrified you about how big he felt, your imagination betraying you as the thought of how you would take him made your mouth water.

Fuck, you hoped he was nice enough to prep you or would he be mean and expect you to take that thick cock of his without any prep at all?

His hands tug at the fabric of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one fluid motion. You shiver as the cool air hits your skin, but the chill is quickly replaced by the heat of Yunho’s touch as his hands explore every inch of you, memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice husky with desire. “So perfect.”

The praise sends a flush of heat through you, your body arching into his touch, craving more.

Your thoughts were undone when his hands cupped the curve of your breasts, squeezing them gently and kneading the flesh as a moan echoed from his throat.

'So soft, so full, just like how I imagined them princess' His voice was deep, raspy and filled with need as he leaned down and wrapped his lips around the bud, his tongue swirling and suckling as he kneaded the other one with his fingers.

Yunho could be buried in your tits all day and it would feel like heaven to him, his teeth scraping the edge as he pulled away with a thick, sucking noise before moving on to the other.

His lashes fluttered and his moans were beginning to sound like music to your ears, your hands gripping the surface beneath you as you stifled your moans, though you weren't not sure why- no one could hear you.

He pulled his mouth away from your swollen bud before reaching up to gently tilt your chin down so you could see him, his pupils blown-out and dilated- who was fucked more, you or him?

'Don't silence yourself- I need to hear you princess. You can try and fight this but I see the way you respond to me. You crave this as much as I do, even if you won't admit it'.

Your body shivered at those words as Yunho placed kisses down your naval, biting the skin every so often so your body was a myriad of his kisses and claims.

A squeal left your body as Yunho roughly pulled your hips to him, grabbing the fabric of your thin leggings and tearing the material near the crotch region.

You were fascinated at how he could tear the fabric with his bare hands, watching the veins in his hands, neck and forearms dance as he pulled the material roughly down your legs.

'I never want you this clothed when you're with me princess, I'm going to steal all the pants you own. Want you easy and pliable for when I come to your room and fuck you senseless every night'.

Yunho's eyes turned predatory and wild as he buried his nose in your panties, his hands holding down your hips and fingers kneading into the flesh.

The tip of his nose rubbed your clit through the material and your cheeks reddened at the sound of him inhaling your scent, a deep guttural groan resounded through the room.

"Mmm, you smell so sweet, baby. I could stay between your legs forever," Yunho growled, his voice rough with desire. His hands tightened around your hips as he pressed his nose harder against your clothed core, the warmth of his breath sending shivers through your body.

Your back arched involuntarily, a gasp slipping past your lips as he dragged his nose down, teasing the edge of your panties with his tongue. "You're trembling already, princess," he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk. "I haven't even started."

Yunho’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was dark, hungry, and it made your heart race in your chest. "Gonna ruin you, you know that, right?" His voice was low, full of promise, and it sent heat pooling between your thighs.

With your panties tossed aside, he wasted no time, his mouth finding its place against your bare skin. His tongue flicked out, teasing your clit, while his grip on your hips kept you pinned firmly in place. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve alight with pleasure as he worked you over with expert precision.

"Yunho..." you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as your body began to quake beneath him. He hummed against you, the vibrations only adding to the intensity of your pleasure.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he groaned between licks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I could make you come like this, princess, but I want you to beg for it first."

Your body bucked against him, desperate for more, but his grip tightened, keeping you in place. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Say it," he commanded, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me how bad you need me."

Your breath hitched, every part of you aching with want. "I need you, Yunho. Please... don't stop."

His eyes darkened even more, satisfaction washing over his features. "Good girl." Then, without warning, he dove back in, his tongue and fingers relentless as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, the room filled with the sound of your breathless moans and his low growls.

You were lost in the haze of pleasure, your body trembling uncontrollably as he devoured you, your release building until it was impossible to hold back. With a final cry, you shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as Yunho held you through it, his mouth never letting up until you were completely spent beneath him.

Panting, you stared up at the ceiling, still dazed from the intensity of it all. Yunho wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking as he crawled up your body, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

"That's just the start, princess," he whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. "You better be ready for more."

Yunho pulled back from the kiss, his lips still hovering over yours, but his eyes were blazing with something darker. His fingers trailed over your flushed skin, gripping your throat just tight enough to send a pulse of fear through you, but it only heightened the intensity of the moment.

"You think this is enough?" he growled, his voice dripping with an edge of dangerous obsession. "No, baby, I’m not even close to being done with you. You’re mine, all of you. I don’t care who’s looked at you, touched you before. From now on, I’m the only one who gets to claim you."

His hands roamed possessively over your body, fingers digging into your skin like he wanted to leave marks—like he wanted to brand you as his. "I’m going to make sure you feel me everywhere," he whispered, leaning in to nip at your ear. "You’ll wake up every morning aching for me, and no one else will ever satisfy you the way I do."

He leaned down, his tongue darting out to lick the sweat from your neck before sucking hard on the sensitive spot beneath your jaw. The bite of pain mixed with pleasure sent a shockwave through you, your body reacting instantly, but Yunho only grinned, like he could feel your helplessness.

"You think you can get away from me?" His voice was a low growl as he pressed his body flush against yours, trapping you beneath him. "You think you have any choice but to need me? No, baby, you belong to me. I’ll make sure of it."

His eyes flashed with something feral as he dragged his fingers down your body, his nails scraping just enough to leave faint red lines on your skin. "I’ll steal every last piece of you until there's nothing left for anyone else. You won’t be able to think about anyone but me."

He ripped his shirt off with one swift motion, revealing the sculpted muscle underneath, and his hands went to the button of his jeans, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he said, his voice gravelly and raw. "You're going to beg me, over and over, for more, and I’ll make sure you're dripping with nothing but me."

He leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "You're not going anywhere, princess. You're mine. And I’m going to remind you of that every night, every time you try to breathe without me."

His grip on you tightened, and his lips curved into a wild smirk. "I’m going to make sure you never forget who owns you."

He had you locked underneath him, using his frame and height like the gilded cage he wanted to contain you in. He needed you to understand the size of him, his height, his strength and how he could overpower you in every single way.

Your eyes opened to see his shoes thrown on the floor and Yunho pulling down the zipper of his jeans, both of you naked and the hearth silhouetting Yunho's frame.

He looked like Hades who had crawled out of the shadows, an unworldly beauty only enhanced by the onyx of his eyes which were filled with an insatiable need, a need to brand you with his soul or whatever you were willing to fucking take of his.

His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he pumped himself, your eyes widening when you saw how big he was- long, thick and girthy and your mouth became dry from the thought of it inside you.

"I’m going to make sure you feel me everywhere," he whispered, removing his hand to move your legs around his hips, "You’ll wake up every morning aching for me, and no one else will ever satisfy you the way I do."

You flinched at the feeling of the tip of his cock near your entrance, his other hand planted against the side of your face, his breath ghosted over your face he murmured against your lips.

"Tell me you're mine again, princess. Say it'.

Your pulse raced, the intensity of his words wrapping around you like a vice. "I'm yours, Yunho," you gasped, your voice trembling with both fear and need.

He thrust into you without warning, the possessiveness in every movement making your mind spin. Each thrust was a declaration, a reminder that Yunho wasn’t just taking you—he was claiming every part of you, stamping his presence on your body, heart, and soul. The world outside faded until there was nothing but him, his heat, his grip, his hunger.

'Ahh, you feel like heaven' He moaned out in ecstasy before kissing you feverishly, the swipes of his tongue matching the pace of his hips 'you're my heaven'.

A changed position has you beginning to drool for him as he drops this knees down, grabs your thighs and pushes them towards your chest, angling his hips higher and grinding over your clit.

'You're my life, I'd live for you, I'd- ahhh! I'd kill for you, I'd murder everyone in the whole world if it keeps you safe and with me'.

The overwhelming intensity of his movements drove you to the edge, and soon you were unraveling beneath him, your body quaking as he pulled you deeper into the ecstasy.

As you cried out his name, your voice hoarse from the pleasure, Yunho groaned, his own release following not long after. He held you tight, as if letting you go now would be impossible.

Yunho’s grip remained firm as he buried his face against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. The way his body pressed into yours felt overwhelming, suffocating even, as though he was trying to imprint himself on every inch of your skin.

When he finally pulled back, his breath heavy and eyes dark, Yunho stared down at you with something that made your blood run cold. His thumb traced your lips, slow and possessive, his gaze never wavering. "You can try to get away," he murmured, his voice low and almost too calm. "But no one knows you like I do. No one will ever have you like this."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in your chest like a vice. His lips ghosted over your ear, the air between you thick with tension. "I’ve been watching you for so long... you can’t escape me now, princess."

The possessive tone in his voice was chilling, his eyes wild with a dark obsession. There was no softness here, no tenderness—only the certainty that he wasn’t letting go.

"I’ll always be watching. Always." His grip tightened slightly as if to remind you that he was never far away.

Happy surprise party gift to you from me! This is a sneak peek into next month's Kinktober and the fics won't be as long as this but thank you to everyone who supported me with posting this- I'm about to go to sleep because I'm so nervous.

I'm going to include my taglist and ppl who commented on my post regarding this fic- only read if you're interested.

Taglist: @mykryptonitelight @cursedeastern @sugarnspice630 @ja3hwa @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @umbralhelwolf @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @gyuhanniescarat @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @hologramhoneymoon @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @laylasbunbunny @anyamaris @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @i-love-ateez @michel-angelhoe @northerngalxy @justaaveragereader @silentreaderthings @daddysspecialdollyworld @abby-grace @wisejudgedragonhairdo @smilefordongil @writhingwrecked @hongthoven @almightyddeonghwa @planet-dawn

[mistercrowbar]

I highly recommend playing Death Stranding if you got a system to play it on

it’s set in this post apocalyptic world where everyone turns into a nuclear explosion ghost after death and the rain makes you and everything else old and for 30-40 years no one’s been able to do anything to combat it except bunker down underground and incinerate the dead. People are isolated because, wouldn’t you be if your neighbour dying meant your city turned into a crater?

but in spite of this all there’s hope that we can connect people again. The NPCs are relentlessly optimistic that we can manage the explosion ghosts if we work together. So much of it is just, building up small contributions and having them pile up and before you know it, you got something big going on. You’re the big damn hero (a guy with insane core strength who doesn’t die) tackling the (literally) heavy stuff but the NPCs are all eager to contribute whatever they can. Here’s some custom boots. A protoype engine. A non-lethal ranged weapon. A place to stay. A bridge to cross a river. A parcel of materials to build with. A generator just as your truck battery is dying. A good luck charm. A remote operated surgical table. A sign that says Keep On Keeping On.

I think it’s important to remember that the small stuff matters. It helped me a lot during the pandemic. The world is heavy and not everyone can lift 100kg, but we can all do something even if it’s just some words to remind people we’re in it together.

Also, Trump canonically died in a ghost explosion and was utterly annihilated down to the atoms.

[librababe99]

Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

[ahqkas]

BELLA ITALIA ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! in the moment of darkness, he was your light (or when theodore nott noticed a pretty girl struggling to communicate in english and decided to step up) (based off this req.!!)

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, reader is from italy, italian theodore, translation of foreign language

WORD COUNT! 1.7k

NOTES! i’m trying to learn italian on my own and when i hear this man speaking italian i am WHIPPED 😿😿

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

MOVING FROM ONE COUNTRY TO ANOTHER CAN BE AN INCREDIBLY CHALLENGING EXPERIENCE.

The first problem is often the language barrier. Suddenly finding yourself in a place where you don't speak the native language can be isolating and overwhelming. Simple tasks like ordering food or asking for directions become daunting challenges, and the fear of being misunderstood or ridiculed can make even basic interactions fraught with anxiety.

The weather can also play a big role in the adjustment process. Going from a sunny, warm climate to a cold, rainy one (or vice versa) can have a profound impact on one's mood and well-being. It's not just a matter of dressing appropriately — it's about learning to cope with the changes in daylight, temperature, and overall atmosphere. You left the sunny shores filled with ocean breeze and moved to rainy afternoons that seemed rather sad than anything else.

And then, of course, there's the school. Being the new kid in class is never easy, but when you're in a completely foreign environment, it can feel like you're on an entirely different world. Everything from the way classes were conducted to the social dynamics among students was be vastly different from what you were used to, leaving you feeling like a fish out of water. 

But perhaps the most challenging aspect of moving to a new country was the sense of displacement, of not quite belonging anywhere. You longed for the familiarity of home while simultaneously yearning to embrace your new surroundings. You missed the way the sun kissed your skin and the way the sea felt against your movements as you swam in the water with your friends.

And you wanted someone to understand you.

Navigating the labyrinthine halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you clutch your time table tightly, eyes darting from one corridor to another in search of the potion dungeons. The castle's vastness is overwhelming, its endless staircases and hidden passages a far cry from the sunny, open streets of your hometown in Italy. You knew your first day here would be hell.

The weather outside matched your mood: overcast and drizzly, the persistent rain casting a melancholic atmosphere over the stone walls. You miss the warmth of the Italian sun, the vibrant colors of your old school. Here, everything feels cold and foreign, a constant reminder of how far you are from home. Everything was gray and dark, the opposite of the vibrant colors you were used to.

You spot a group of students huddled together, chatting animatedly as they stood by a stone wall. Gathering your courage, you approached them, hoping they can point you in the right direction. "Scusa," you begin, your Italian accent heavy, each word carefully pronounced. "Where . . . potion class . . . dungeons?" (Excuse me.)

The students exchange puzzled glances, clearly struggling to understand your accented English because despite your try, it still came out quite wobbly. One of them, a tall boy with a shock of red hair, furrowed his brow and shakes his head slowly. "What?" he says, not unkindly, but with a hint of frustration at this situation.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You try again, your voice wavering slightly. "Potion dungeons," you repeat, gesturing with your hands as if that might bridge the gap between your language and theirs. "Next class . . . I need find."

The red-haired boy shrugs, casting a sideways glance of help at his two friends who stood next to him. They all look at you with the same guilty expression, as if they would really like to help but there was no way. The girl with bushy hair smiled at you with an expression of 'Sorry', and you felt a knot of anxiety tighten in your chest. They don't understand, and you're too flustered to find the right words.

"Sorry," the ginger boy said finally, shaking his head again. "I don't know what you're saying."

Disheartened, you nodded and mumbled a quick "grazie" before retreating. You wandered through the corridors, frustration mounting with each wrong turn. The stone walls seemed to close in around you, the ancient tapestries and suits of armor blurring together in your anxious haze. You felt lost, not just in the physical sense but emotionally, adrift in this unfamiliar place where even asking for directions was like a challenge for you.

Your mind was still reeling from the embarrassing encounter as you hurried down the corridor, your thoughts tangled in a web of frustration and self-doubt. How could something as simple as asking for directions feel so impossible? The sting of the students' puzzled looks and guilty smiles lingers, making your cheeks burn with residual embarrassment. Lost in your thoughts, you rounded a corner too quickly and collided with a solid figure. Your bag slipped from your shoulder, and your books spilled across the floor. You gasped at the sight, your heart leaping into your throat. Could you embarrass yourself any more today?

"Scusa, scusa!" you blurted out in Italian, crouching down to gather your scattered belongings. The words tumbled from your lips in a rapid, nervous stream. You didn't even think the person wouldn't understand your sentences. "Non stavo guardando dove andavo. Mi dispiace tanto!" (Excuse me, excuse me! I wasn't watching where I was going. I'm so sorry!)

As you frantically picked up your books, you glanced up to see who you've bumped into. Your eyes widened in surprise and relief when you recognized Theodore Nott, the quiet Slytherin who always seemed to glide through the halls with an air of calm detachment and mysterious aura. You braced yourself for confusion, expecting him to look as puzzled as the others had.

But instead, Theodore's lips curved into a slight smile and a warm glint appeared in his usually cool eyes. "Non ti preoccupare," he replied in perfect Italian, his voice soothing and accent deafening. "È tutto a posto. Lascia che ti aiuti." (Don't worry. It's all right. Let me help you.)

The shock of hearing your native language from his lips momentarily left you speechless. You watched in amazement as he got down on his knees, helping you gather your books with nothing but ease. The knot of anxiety in your chest began to loosen, replaced by a flutter of gratitude and something else — an unexpected connection.

"Grazie," you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly. "Non sapevo che parlassi italiano." (Thank you. I didn't know you spoke Italian.)

Theodore's smile widened just a fraction, a hint of amusement danced in his eyes. "Mia madre è italiana," he explained, handing you the last of your textbooks from the floor. "L'ho imparato da lei." (My mother is Italian. I learned it from her.)

You stand up, clutching your books to your chest, and for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. Here is someone who understands — not just your words, but the feeling of being caught between two worlds.

"Grazie mille," you repeated, your smile genuine this time. "Mi sentivo così persa." (Thank you very much. I felt so lost.)

Theodore nodded, his expression softening. "Capisco. Hogwarts può essere un posto molto grande e confuso. Vieni, ti mostro io dov'è la classe di pozioni." (I understand. Hogwarts can be a very big and confusing place. Come, I'll show you where the potions class is.)

As you walked beside Theodore through the corridors of Hogwarts, the oppressive weight of the castle's vastness seemed to lift slightly. His calm demeanor and fluent Italian became a comforting anchor in this world full of unfamiliarity.

"Da quanto tempo sei qui?" you asked the boy next to you, trying to make conversation. (How long have you been here?)

"Questa è la mia sesta anno," he replied. "Conosco il castello come le mie tasche ormai." (This is my sixth year. I know the castle like the back of my hand by now.)

"Sei fortunato," you sighed, your hold on your bag tightening. "Mi sento come se fossi in un labirinto." (You're lucky. I feel like I'm in a maze.)

Theo chuckled and the sound was low and warm. He was nice. "Capisco. Anch'io mi sentivo così i primi giorni. Ma vedrai, presto ti abituerai." (I understand. I felt the same way in my first days. But you'll see, you'll get used to it soon.)

As you continued to walk, the conversation flowed more naturally, easing your nerves. "Cosa ti piace di più di Hogwarts?" you asked him, genuinely curious. (What do you like most about Hogwarts?)

"Direi la biblioteca," Theo said after a moment of thought. "È enorme, con così tanti libri rari. E i corridoi segreti. Sono divertenti da esplorare." (I would say the library. It's enormous, with so many rare books. And the secret corridors. They're fun to explore.)

"Sembra affascinante. Mi piacerebbe esplorare di più, ma ho paura di perdermi." (It sounds fascinating. I'd love to explore more, but I'm afraid of getting lost.)

He gave you a reassuring look. "Se vuoi, posso mostrarti alcuni dei posti migliori. Così non ti perderai." (If you want, I can show you some of the best places. That way you won't get lost.)

Theo was the kindest person you've met here in the entire time since the beginning of the school term and your heart warmed at his kindness. "Mi piacerebbe molto, grazie." (I'd love that, thank you.)

Finally, you reached the entrance to the dungeons. "Eccoci," Theo exclaimed, stopping before the heavy wooden door. "La classe di Pozioni è proprio qui dentro." (Here we are. The Potions class is right inside here.)

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. "Grazie, Theo. Sei stato davvero gentile." (Thank you, Theo. You've been really kind.)

He offered you a nod, his smile reassuring. "Prego. Se hai bisogno di altro aiuto, basta chiedere. Buona fortuna con la tua lezione." (You're welcome. If you need any more help, just ask. Good luck with your class.)

With one last grateful look, you pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit classroom. As you took your seat, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Perhaps, with friends like Theo, Hogwarts might start to feel a little more like home.

[lipglossanon]

Day 9

Kink: Anal

Pairing: Priest!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slight religious themes, sex in a cemetery, rimming, dirty talk, ass eating, pussy play, anal sex, unprotected sex, anal creampie

not proofread

It’s late evening when Leon offers to take you for a stroll around the small cemetery behind his chapel. October being your favorite month of the year, it always elicits the need for spooky pastimes—and a graveyard stroll falls perfectly in that category. 

No one is ever at the chapel, especially on the days you visit. Father Kennedy prefers the isolation and quiet; you being one of his few exceptions. The clouds overhead loom heavy and gray, hints at a cold rain later tonight. The rows of tombstones stretch out a good ways with a small gravel path winding through the cemetery. 

Leon’s like a silent shadow next to you; a warm, steady presence at your back as you slowly make your way through the headstones. For some reason, it has your heart pumping, arousal slowly pooling in your stomach. It’s not a foreign feeling by any means, but you can’t say you’ve ever wanted to have sex in a graveyard before. But with Leon here with you now, dressed down in a simple long sleeve button up and dark slacks, the thought won’t leave your brain. 

Dusk has settled beyond the trees, bathing everything in purples and blues. Biting your lip, you turn, chest brushing against Father Kennedy’s and it makes you inhale a little more breathily. 

“Hi,” you smile up at him, running your fingers up along his buttons before smoothing out across his shoulders. 

He doesn’t crack a smile but he angles his head toward you, “Hi.”

Running a tongue along your bottom lip, you watch as his eyes track the movement.  

“You’re totally free to say no—“

“Yes.”

His reply startles a laugh from you. 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I doubt I’ll be unhappy with agreeing with you.”

His deadpan delivery makes your chest flutter. 

“Do you wanna fuck me? Right here?” You gesture to a patch of dead grass underneath a tree, right off the side of the little path you’re both standing on. 

“Yes,” he rasps, hands greedily grasping your hips. 

Grinning, you begin to walk backwards, letting him steer you in the right direction, “Not worried about scaring the locals?”

He shakes his head, “No one visits this time of day.”

Once you’ve made it to the designated spot, you pull away and slip off your jacket. Kneeling, you bend over to spread it across the ground—knowing it’s not much, but still better than nothing. Before you can sit back up, Leon’s boxing your body in, grinding his bulge against your ass, lips kissing and nipping at your neck. 

His hands make quick work of your jeans, yanking them and your panties down to our thighs. A low groan comes from behind you before his hot hands grope your ass, kneading the soft skin. 

“Let me fuck you.. here,” his thumb brushes against your asshole, making you clench around nothing. 

“B-but we don’t have any lube,” you gasp, dizzy from the sudden rush of blood at his offer. 

“We’ll go slow,” his low smoky tenor has your clit pulsing with your heartbeat. “I’ll lick you open, get you nice and loose.”

His fingers swipe from your swollen clit, across your soaked hole to tap his wet fingers against your asshole. A gust of air is your only warning before Leon’s tongue laps at the same spot, groaning at the taste of your slick coated rim. 

Using his hands, Father Kennedy spreads your cheeks and gropes each one in his palms. He pulls back and spits on your hole, dipping back down to flick his tongue around the opening. Your pussy leaks slick down your thighs and you bite down on your forearm, but it doesn’t do much to dampen your moans. 

It grows dark in the cemetery as Leon licks you open, tongue slipping into your ass while he teases your clit at the same time. You’re so turned on, you feel dizzy with it—face feeling hot in the cool autumn air. Leon’s own groans and sighs against your rim makes your cunt flutter around nothing. He eats your ass eagerly, like he’s afraid you’ll tell him to stop. It’s making your toes curl in your shoes. 

Another rough swipe of his fingers across your clit makes you keen loudly. 

“‘M gonna cum soon,” you pant, nails digging into the grass. 

He pulls away from your spit soaked asshole, the fingers on your clit stilling their movement. 

“Let’s see if you can come on my cock then, little sinner.”

His words burn hot in your pelvis, clit pulsing against his digits. You feel as he notches the head of his dick against your pussy. 

“Need to get my dick wet first,” he murmurs, right before he presses inside your clenching heat, sinking all the way until he bottoms out in your cunt. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chant, eyes nearly rolling back. “God, this feels so good.”

A sharp slap to your ass makes you cry out. 

“It’s rude to take the lords name in vain. How many times must I tell you?”

Your walls pulse and clench down on his cock. 

“S-sorry, Father,” your whimpering turns to moaning when he pulls his dick completely out of your snug pussy. 

“As much as I love filling this sweet hole,” he slaps your pussy lips. “Think it’s time I stuff this one.”

He grinds the tip of his dick against your rim before using his thumb to keep the head from slipping out, pushing in until he sinks in the first inch. 

“Oh my—ohhh,” you whine, body tensing at the dull sting of his cock stretching your ass. 

“Shhh, just be quiet and take it. Be a good girl,” he soothes. 

Both holes clench and flutter, pussy feeling left out as your ass squeezes down on Father Kennedy’s cock. He steadily rocks his hips forward until he buries his entire dick into your tight ass. You’ve been unable to stop the sounds escaping your mouth, drool seeping past your lips as you bury your face in your arms. 

“Perfect slut,” he rumbles, hands petting down your back to grope your hips before sweeping across your ass to hold your cheeks open, watching as he pulls out. 

Your body’s on fire, arousal pooling in your stomach from the sheer stretch of Leon’s cock. He fucks back in slowly, fingers reaching down to gather your slick to smear against your rim and his dick to keep it smooth. A burning ache settles in your body, but it’s not unpleasant. You like that it hurts a little—that Leon is giving you this experience. 

The push and pull of his cock is slow and steady, fingers circling your clit help keep that sweet band of arousal winding tighter and tighter. The thickness of his dick hollows out your body in a way that’s extremely satisfying, awakening a new hunger in you that is only satisfied with having Father Kennedy stuff your ass. 

“Fuck, Father—Leon, I’m gonna cum,” you hiccup a moan. “I’m g’nna cum.”

“Good girl,” he praises, voice soft. “Squeeze that tight little hole around my cock. Show me where you want me to fill you up.”

Shuddering, your heart pounds in your chest, breaths gusting from your mouth so hard dirt swirls up from the ground. His fingers strum your slippery clit and your orgasm rips through your body like a supernova. You think you shout out his name, maybe it’s just gibberish, but your body tries to curl in on itself. Thighs jumping and shaking, you push your ass back, hole clamping down on his cock like a vice. 

You hear him curse under his breath before groaning, followed by heat as he cums in you. Aftershocks ravage your body, everything feels sensitive as he slowly pulls out, jizz dribbling from your rim to drip onto the grass. 

His thumb brushes against your hole and you hiss.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He tugs your clothes back into place and shuffles to his feet, then helps you to stand on unsteady legs. His unzipped slacks are the only hint to any impropriety aside from your own disheveled state. 

You grin up at him. 

“Sure thing, Father.”

[zyonsay]

Begrijp je me? JOOST KLEIN

Summary: You get home to discover an upset Joost.

Reader: Genderneutral

Warnings: Mention of struggling with mental health, sadness BUT theres comfort!

Now playing: 'Antwoord" by Joost Klein

AN: Hi guys! I had this idea a few days ago, never got around to writing it tho. Assignments are kicking my ass and im knee deep in a psychiosis. This one is relatively short (1k words) but more self indulgent! Love yall, take care <3

#Justice for Joost

A dark, heavy blanket was already draped over the city. Your job often required you to work late evenings, which was unfortunate but in your current situation not avoidable. Together with the support of a good friend, you had already sent out a few job applications some time ago, but nothing has come out of that yet.

Ik moest wachten, wachten, wachten op een antwoord

Your shoes quietly clacked on the wet sidewalk. The stars shone brightly but were also accompanied by heavy rain. Sighing tiredly, you pulled your hood further over your head, as if it would do anything against the water drops being catapulted right into your visage. Maybe it was time to take out your bike from the garage again.

Keek in de spiegel, zag de vraag en het antwoord

The water crawled up your jeans slowly but surely, having reached your calves already. The wet fabric slapping against your leg was a sensory nightmare, you were cursing every single inch you’d have to walk till arriving at your apartment building.

Ik moest wachten, wachten, wachten op een antwoord

With hurried steps you raced up the staircase. Number 2.06, Number 2.06. A content and slightly exhausted huff escaped you as the three black numbers finally graced your field of view.

Dans met de duivel, die heeft mij allang door

Your keys rattled as you locked the door. Usually there’d be a salt lamp lit on the coffee table in the living room, but this evening everything was dark and quiet. Not that it was usually loud, but it felt almost like the life was drained out of the apartment.

Maar we blijven grinden tot het einde

That was until you heard a quiet sniffling sound. You discarded your soaking wet shoes along with your equally wet socks at the front door. Like a bloodhound you tracked down where the source of the noises came from. But you barely had to walk out from the hallway to find a huddled up Joost on the sofa.

Ik woonde in Katwijk, dat was lijden

You quickly rushed to his side, slinging your arms around the heap of blankets, under which there was a man hidden. Somewhere. With gentle hands you stripped down the blankets, revealing your teary-eyed boyfriend. His eyes were reddened and glossed over with tears. As much as he tried hiding it, you picked up on the light quiver of his lips and the sniffling from his nose.

Ze willen niet kijken naar de feiten, spijtig

“Come here.” His arms slid around your torso, holding you close. You nestled your face into the mess of blonde hair atop his head. “I’m here.”, you pressed a sweet peck against his forehead, while holding him in your arms.

Maar ik blijf mezelf te allen tijde, begrijp je me?

Joost had been struggling with his mental health for a while now. From time to time, he’d get really bad. In moments like this he needed you the most. Your embrace for sure didn’t fix his problems, but they sure made it feel more conquerable. You knew how helpless one can feel, how you want to be isolated while craving love, how you hate everything but don’t want to.

Begrijp je me?

Joost pressed closer to you, tears now flowing again. You squeezed him, letting him hold onto you for as long as he needs to. “How about I make us some tea?”, you rubbed his back in smooth, slow motions. His hum was muffled by your own figure. Joost loosened his hold on you, his blue eyes searching yours. Your hands cupped his face while you left sweet kisses along his forehead, cheeks and finally the tip of his nose. “I’ll need to get those pants off first though.” He looked down at the soaked jeans and grimaced in a disgusted manner. A sigh of relief left you as you slipped the fabric off, leaving you in your underpants. Joost tangled his fingers in yours and you pull him towards the kitchen.

Begrijp je me?

The kettle whistled a distant song, while you once again wrapped Joost in an embrace against the counter. Two cups stood on the surface, both with a tea bag inside. One of them had one sugar cube, the other had two and a half.

Begrijp je me of begrijp je me niet ?

The blonds heart seemed to beat with yours, he inhaled your scent. Besides your usual cologne you smelled like… you. He huffed contently. The light on the kettle died down and you broke the hug to pour the steaming water into the cups. While your front was turned towards the cups, Joost had found the opportunity to cling to your back. Your warmth, your scent, everything about you was calming to him. Some people need etheric oils to feel at ease, but you were like his own substance. He was addicted to you, your emotions and your words.

Begrijp je me?

You turned around in his arms, smiling at him. God, how he loved that smile. “Wanna talk about it?” He shook his head, “I’m too exhausted. Maybe tomorrow.” He lazily smiled at you, inching closer to your face and then pressing a sweet, short peck to your lips.

Begrijp je me?

“Alright.”, you offered him another loving kiss. “Let’s just enjoy this tea and then head to bed, sounds like a plan?” He still had his signature smile all over his face, his dimples showing and his eyes lighting up again. He loves how you get him, how you understand him in every way.

Begrijp je me of begrijp je me niet?

[townpostin]

Jharkhand Braces for Heavy Rainfall as Low-Pressure System Looms

IMD Issues 72-Hour Weather Alert for Isolated Areas Across the State Monsoon trough and cyclonic circulation over Bangladesh to trigger intense precipitation in Jharkhand, meteorologists predict. RANCHI – The Ranchi center of the Indian Meteorological Department has issued a warning regarding the potential for torrential rainfall in isolated regions of Jharkhand within the next three days. In the…

[theonottsbxtch]

HEAR ME OUT 🙂 charles x pianist!reader where he’s like writing/composing a new ep and his producer is like “omg you should totally do a duet with (reader) 🥰” and uh yeah just anything related to that

i can already envision a scene where charles spends most of his time in the dark alone in the studio with his piano but reader is ofc there…

go for any trope you want 🙈

MY MUSE | CL16

an: im sorry this is so long istart writing and then i can't stop. btw i want everyone to know that i was listening to that's not me by skepta and jme while writing this. completely different vibes. SEND MORE REQUESTS IM BORED HOUSESITTING FOR THREE WEEKS

wc: 7.8k

dedicated to @iamred-iamyellow & @iimplicitt

The studio was thick with the scent of aged leather and dust, the faint glow of a single, dimmed lamp casting long shadows across the hardwood floors. Charles sat hunched over the grand piano, its black lacquer surface reflecting the soft light in fractured shards. His fingers hovered above the ivory keys, trembling with a kind of frustrated anticipation, but no sound came. The room seemed to echo with a deafening silence, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall—an incessant reminder of time slipping away.

He had been here for days, isolated from the outside world during the off season. The once-comforting walls, lined with shelves of dog-eared books and musical scores, now felt like the confines of a cage. His last piece had been a masterpiece—a soaring composition that had flowed from him like water, effortless and pure. It was the kind of music that haunted you long after it ended, the kind that etched itself into the soul of anyone who heard it. But now, the notes eluded him.

Charles ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair and let out a low sigh. There was a pressure building in his chest, like a wound slowly tightening, pulling him apart. For the past week, he had been locked in this room, trying to capture the essence of something even greater than the last, but all he had managed to conjure was noise—fragments of half-formed melodies that crumbled before they could take shape.

He  stood abruptly, the sudden movement causing the papers on top of his piano to rustle, brittle with neglect. The room was stifling; the air was thick with the remnants of burnt-out candles and sleepless nights. He paced to the window, pulling the curtains aside to reveal the darkened Maranello streets below, slick with the remnants of a recent rain. The city outside moved on, indifferent to his struggle, its distant hum a reminder that time had no patience for his creative paralysis.

He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, his breath fogging it up in shallow bursts. What was missing? What had he lost in the months since his last piece? It felt like chasing shadows, reaching for something just out of grasp. Every melody he tried to shape slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, and the harder he tried to hold onto it, the faster it dissolved.

The clock struck three in the morning, the chime echoing through the stillness of the room. Another night wasted. Another night consumed by the weight of his own expectations. He turned back to the piano, his eyes heavy with fatigue but burning with a quiet, desperate need. He couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not without something to show for the hours he’d lost.

With a sigh that felt like surrender, Charles sat back down at the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys once more. He could feel the cold beneath his skin, the way the silence seemed to press in around him. His hands shook, not with nervousness, but with exhaustion.

And then, in the quiet, a single note broke the silence.

It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t the haunting, ethereal sound he had been searching for. But it was something.

His gaze fell to the pile of sheet music he had scribbled on throughout the night. Inked lines of failed ideas, crossed out again and again. With a final resigned sigh, he stood up, the bench scraping the floor, the sound too loud in the empty space. He began to gather his things, shoving crumpled papers into his bag alongside notebooks, headphones, and his laptop. The familiar weight of them didn’t bring comfort; instead, they felt like reminders of the failure he was starting to carry with him. This was meant to be a hobby but it was haunting his every move.

As he turned to leave, keys jangling in his hand, a soft sound reached his ears—a distant, faint melody. He paused, his hand hovering over the light switch, ears straining to catch it. It was coming from down the hallway, barely perceptible at first, but unmistakable—a piano, its notes drifting through the quiet night like a whisper.

Charles hesitated for a moment, then slipped into the hallway, drawn toward the sound. He moved slowly, the dark corridor seeming endless, the music growing clearer with every step. It was beautiful—achingly so. Each note was delicate yet certain, as though whoever was playing knew exactly what they wanted to say. The melody swirled and climbed, creating something ethereal, something that made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t felt in weeks.

He stopped outside one of the smaller practice rooms, the door slightly ajar, a soft glow of light spilling from within. The music filled the narrow hallway, surrounding him, pulling him in. He stood there for a long moment, his heart beating a little faster, a strange mix of awe and envy twisting inside him. This was what he had been trying to create—the same kind of raw emotion, the beauty that lingered long after the sound faded.

But it wasn’t his.

Charles leaned against the wall, just out of sight, listening as the music flowed through the cracks in the door. The player inside didn’t falter, didn’t stop to wrestle with the notes. It was effortless, pure. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare interrupt, afraid the spell would be broken if the other person realised they had an audience.

The melody soared, and for a brief moment, Charles closed his eyes, letting himself be swept up in it. It reminded him of why he had started this in the first place—of the nights when music had been his refuge, when it had felt like an escape, not a burden. He could feel the heaviness in his chest easing, just slightly, as the music wound its way through the silence.

But as beautiful as it was, it also stung. Whoever was playing had found what he had been searching for all this time—something he had lost.

The music came to a soft, gentle end, the final notes lingering in the air like a breath held too long. Charles stood there for a moment longer, still leaning against the doorframe, waiting for something—he didn’t know what.

When the quiet finally settled again, he stepped away from the door, not daring to break the fragile stillness with the creak of the floorboards. He glanced back one last time, his fingers curling tight around the strap of his bag. For a moment, he considered knocking, stepping inside to see the person who had played with such grace. But something held him back.

Instead, he turned and walked down the hallway, the echo of that haunting melody still playing in his head long after the door to the studio clicked shut behind him.

His following morning came in fragments—a bleary haze of sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds, the distant hum of traffic muffled by the walls of his apartment. Charles stirred, his body sluggish and heavy with the weight of too little sleep. He lay there for a long moment, eyes closed, trying to hold onto the remnants of the dream he couldn’t quite remember. But it wasn’t a dream that lingered in his mind.

It was the melody.

That same haunting, angelic piano from last night, curling through his thoughts like a whisper. He could still hear it—those delicate notes weaving together, the way the melody had seemed so effortless, so perfect. It had been circling his mind from the moment he left the studio. Now, it played softly in the background of his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

Charles groaned, rolling out of bed and dragging himself into the shower. The hot water did little to shake the fatigue that clung to him, nor did it drown out the persistent tune echoing in his head. His mind kept returning to the small, dimly lit room where the mystery pianist had been, to the way her fingers had danced across the keys as though they had always belonged there.

He towel-dried his hair, staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, a face hollowed by days of restless nights and creative frustration. He had some sort of media training today—something important. A meeting he couldn’t afford to drift through half-awake. But even as he dressed, pulling on his usual team shirt and straightening the collar, his thoughts were elsewhere.

The city outside was awake, the streets buzzing with life as he made his way through the crisp morning air to the Ferrari HQ. His coffee sat untouched in his hand, the steam rising in lazy spirals, but he barely noticed. The melody from last night played on an endless loop in his head, the memory of it clinging to him like a ghost he couldn’t shake.

The office was a blur of familiar faces, bright smiles, and too much energy for this early in the day. Charles moved through it all, barely fully acknowledging Carlos, the world around him dull and muffled. The media manager was already waiting when he arrived, tapping impatiently on the table as Charles sat down for their first meeting.

But even as they discussed plans, upcoming shoots, and expectations for both his and Carlos’ media presence, Charles wasn’t fully there. He nodded in the right places, offered half-hearted responses, but his mind kept wandering back to that melody. The notes haunted him, pulling his focus away from everything else, as though they held the answer to something he was desperate to grasp.

“Charles, are you listening?” Carlos’ voice snapped him back to the present.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, though his eyes betrayed him. He scribbled something on the notepad in front of him, though the lines didn’t form words—just scattered shapes, like the music notes he couldn’t get out of his head.

The meetings dragged on. Through every discussion, every pitch and presentation, Charles felt the same distraction pulling him away. He couldn’t let it go. The melody. It had stirred something in him—a frustration, yes, but also a strange kind of inspiration. There was something there, something unfinished, and it gnawed at him.

By the time the last meeting ended, Charles felt hollowed out. He hadn’t contributed anything meaningful to the discussions, not really. His mind had been elsewhere the entire day, replaying those fleeting notes over and over again. It was maddening.

He needed to know. Needed to find out who had played it, and why that music—the music he hadn’t written—felt so much like it belonged to him.

Without thinking, Charles pulled out his phone and dialled his producer’s number, pacing back and forth in the hallway outside the conference room as it rang. It was late afternoon now, the sky outside tinged with fading light. He knew he should be focusing on his own work, or on getting back to the studio, but the compulsion to solve this mystery was stronger than his exhaustion.

The line clicked, and his producer’s voice crackled on the other end. “Charles, hey. What’s up?”

Charles leaned against the window, his forehead pressed to the cool glass. “I need to ask you something,” he said, his voice low, edged with impatience. “Last night, around 3 a.m., there was someone in one of the smaller studios, playing piano. Do you know who it was?”

There was a pause on the other end, the faint sound of papers shuffling. “3 a.m.? You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Charles replied, closing his eyes. The melody drifted back into his mind, as clear as if he were still sitting outside the door, listening. “It was… incredible. I couldn’t stop listening. I need to know who it was.”

Another pause, then a small chuckle from his producer. “Ah, that must’ve been the student. Yeah, she’s been coming in late at night to practise. Studies music at the university downtown. Doesn’t perform much, though—mostly keeps to herself.”

Charles’s heart skipped a beat. The name felt unfamiliar, but it already held a weight to it, like it was connected to something he hadn’t yet fully understood.

“She doesn’t perform?” he asked, brow furrowing. It seemed impossible—someone with that much talent, hiding in the shadows.

“Nah,” his producer continued, “she’s a bit under the radar. Not really into publishing or performing her work, but, man, she’s got something special. I didn’t realise you’d heard her.”

Charles was silent for a moment, processing the information. The melody. He could see it now—something just out of reach, like the missing piece of a puzzle he hadn’t realised he was trying to solve.

“You know,” his producer said, his tone shifting slightly, “you’ve been stuck for a while, Charles. Maybe you should try working with her. See what happens. It might help you find what you’re looking for.”

Charles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The thought of it—composing with someone else, with her—made something stir inside him. Could it be the answer to breaking through this creative silence he’d been drowning in?

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered, though the decision was already forming in his mind.

As he hung up the phone, the melody returned, softer this time, but still persistent. And now, it wasn’t just haunting him—it was pulling him forward.

_________________

The studio felt different tonight, as though it had shifted in his absence. The air was cooler, the lights dimmer, casting long, quiet shadows over the floorboards. Charles stood in the hallway again, just as he had the night before, but this time his heart beat with something more than exhaustion or frustration. There was an anticipation simmering in his chest, a tension just beneath the surface.

He hadn’t come to compose tonight. Not really. He had come for the music. Her music.

The name felt strange on his lips, unfamiliar, yet full of significance. He didn’t know her, had never spoken to her, but her music had already gotten under his skin. It haunted him still, drifting through his mind in fragments even after the long day of meetings, pulling him back here.

He moved quietly down the hallway, the same path he had taken last night, his shoes barely making a sound against the worn floor. As he neared the smaller practice room, the faint sound of the piano floated toward him, delicate and clear, weaving through the quiet.

There it was again—the same effortless, angelic melody that had captivated him before. But now, listening to it a second time, Charles felt something deeper stirring. The way she played was different tonight, more intimate somehow, as if the music had softened, becoming something even more personal. He stopped outside the door, just as he had before, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

For a long moment, he simply listened. The notes seemed to dance in the air, spinning and intertwining, building toward something both beautiful and fragile. It was mesmerising.

But then, the music stopped. Abruptly.

Charles’s eyes snapped open, his pulse quickening in the sudden silence. Before he could move, a voice broke through the quiet, soft but teasing.

“Mama always said it’s not nice to lurk.”

His breath caught in his throat. For a second, he didn’t move, caught off guard. The door was still ajar, the light spilling into the hallway, and from inside, he could make out the silhouette of someone sitting at the piano, her back turned to him. She hadn’t looked up, but she knew. She had known he was there the whole time.

Heat crept up his neck, but before he could stammer out an apology, she spoke again.

“You coming in, or are you planning to stay out there all night?”

Her tone was light, amused even, but it was an invitation all the same. Charles hesitated for a heartbeat longer, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward, pushing the door open a little wider.

The room was small and softly lit, just as he remembered, the grand piano dominating the space. She sat at it, her posture relaxed, fingers still resting lightly on the keys. She turned her head slightly as he entered, giving him the faintest glimpse of a smile.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, feeling a bit ridiculous for standing outside like that. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.” She shifted on the bench, making space beside her. “Come on, sit.”

Charles’s throat tightened, but he nodded and moved toward the piano, his steps feeling oddly tentative. He hesitated for a second when he reached her, unsure if he should really be sitting so close. The bench was narrow, and he could already feel the warmth of her presence.

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “I don’t bite.”

With a small chuckle, he slid onto the stool beside her, the space between them barely a few inches. It was strange, this closeness—to sit here with someone he didn’t know, yet felt connected to through the music that had haunted him for days. Their shoulders brushed lightly as he settled in, and for a moment, the silence between them felt heavy, loaded with expectation.

She glanced at him, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, without a word, she placed her hands back on the piano, her fingers moving over the keys with an effortless grace. The melody returned, soft and slow, and Charles felt his breath catch in his chest again. It was different this time—gentler, more deliberate, as though she was playing just for him.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with the quiet intimacy of the music. He watched her hands move, the way her fingers danced across the keys with the kind of fluidity that only came from years of dedication. The melody wound its way through the air, filling the small space between them, and Charles found himself leaning in, just slightly, drawn to the sound and to her.

“You play like it’s the easiest thing in the world,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She smiled, a soft, almost secretive smile. “It’s never easy,” she said, her voice low, her eyes still on the piano. “It just looks that way.”

She played a few more notes, then paused, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “What about you? You’ve been in the studio night after night. What’s haunting you?”

Charles let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. “I’ve been stuck,” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended. “It feels like everything I try to create falls apart. Nothing compares to what I’ve done before.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she played another soft chord, the sound hanging in the air between them.

“Music’s strange like that,” she said after a moment, her tone thoughtful. “It comes and goes. Sometimes it’s easy, other times… it slips through your fingers.”

Charles nodded, feeling the weight of her words. He had been trying so hard to force the music out, to create something that could match his last piece, but all it had done was elude him.

The girl beside him shifted slightly, her shoulder brushing his. “Here,” she said, moving her hands off the keys. “Play something.”

“What?”

“Anything,” she replied, her eyes meeting his for the first time fully. There was a challenge in them, but also an understanding. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Charles swallowed, feeling a sudden surge of nerves. But her gaze was steady, encouraging, and without thinking too much about it, he let his hands find their way to the keys. The notes that came out weren’t perfect—they were hesitant, half-formed. But they were honest. He played softly, the melody faltering at times, but it was real.

She listened, her head slightly tilted as she watched his fingers move. Then, without warning, she joined him, her hands moving gracefully beside his, adding harmonies to the melody he had started. The sound shifted, growing fuller, more complete. The music filled the room, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Charles didn’t feel the weight of his failure pressing down on him.

Together, they played, their hands moving across the keys in tandem, creating something new. Something neither of them could have done alone.

When the last note finally faded into the quiet, Charles sat back, his heart pounding. She turned to him, her eyes soft and knowing.

“See?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s easier when you’re not alone.”

For a moment, they sat in the quiet, the echo of their shared melody lingering in the air like the last breath of a long-forgotten song. Charles stared at the keys, feeling the warmth of the music still buzzing in his fingertips. He hadn’t felt like this in weeks—maybe longer. There was something about the way she played, the way her music had melded so effortlessly with his, that made the creative block he’d been wrestling with seem almost insignificant.

He turned to look at her, realising for the first time how close they were, their shoulders still brushing lightly. Her eyes were fixed on the piano, her fingers resting gently on the keys, as though she was waiting for the next melody to arrive. Her presence, though quiet and composed, carried an intensity that matched the music she played—an unspoken understanding of the way music could consume you, take you apart, and put you back together.

“That was…” Charles began, but the words caught in his throat.

“Different?” she offered, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah.” He let out another breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “It felt… easier. Like it wasn’t something I had to force.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze thoughtful. “Music isn’t something you’re supposed to wrestle with. It’s like water—it flows when you stop trying to hold onto it so tightly.” She shifted her hands off the keys and folded them in her lap, her eyes now fully on him. “You’ve been pushing too hard. I could hear it.”

Her words were soft, but they carried something that made Charles pause. He had been pushing—straining against the silence, desperate to capture a piece of the magic he’d once had. Every night in the studio had been a battle, and he hadn’t realised until now that the real fight was with himself.

“You’re right,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying so hard to top what I did last time that I forgot why I was doing it in the first place.”

She leaned back slightly, still watching him, her expression unreadable. “What was your last piece?” she asked, her voice curious but not probing.

Charles hesitated. The memory of his last composition—an orchestral piece that had been his most successful work to date—felt distant now, like it belonged to someone else. It had been raw, emotional, inspired by something deeply personal, but the success that followed had overshadowed the joy he’d felt when he created it. Ever since then, he’d been chasing that same feeling, trying to recreate the magic, only to fall short.

“It was…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “Something personal. It came easily back then. But now it feels like I’m trying to catch lightning in a bottle, and I’m just… stuck.”

She nodded, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the piano’s surface. “I get that. Sometimes the more you want something, the harder it is to find. That’s why I don’t perform much.” She smiled faintly, almost to herself. “There’s less pressure when no one’s watching.”

Charles studied her for a moment, sensing the layers beneath her calm demeanour. She spoke with such ease about the creative process, but there was an edge of vulnerability there too, a reluctance to expose too much of herself to the world.

“Why don’t you perform?” he asked, curious now. “I mean, with the way you play, you could easily—”

“Because I don’t need to,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “The music is for me. It’s not about the audience. It’s about…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s about connecting with something deeper, something that doesn’t care about applause or recognition.”

Her words hung in the air between them, and Charles found himself nodding slowly, understanding exactly what she meant. In a way, she had found a kind of freedom he had lost along the way.

“That’s why you play at night,” he said, more a statement than a question. “When no one’s around. It’s like…” He trailed off, trying to find the right analogy, “…the world doesn’t exist.”

She smiled at that, a real one this time, her eyes brightening just a little. “Exactly. It’s easier to lose yourself when there’s no one expecting anything from you.”

Charles sat back, processing her words. For so long, he had been weighed down by expectations—his own, his producer’s, the fans—and it had drained him. Maybe that was the problem. He had been writing for others, forgetting that the music had always been something he did for himself first. Something he loved.

She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, breaking his thoughts. “You know,” she said, a playful lilt in her voice, “you could try playing like no one’s watching. Even if they are.”

He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, leaning in just a bit, “you’re too worried about what people think of your music. But here”—she motioned to the piano in front of them—“there’s no audience. Just us. So why not stop thinking so much and just… play?”

Charles blinked, the simplicity of her suggestion hitting him harder than it should have. She made it sound so easy, but maybe that was the point. Maybe it was supposed to be easy.

Before he could respond, she slid her fingers back onto the keys, playing a few soft chords that hummed through the air like the beginning of something new. Then she glanced sideways at him, a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Come on. Share the bench again. Let’s make something together.”

A spark of excitement flared in his chest. Without another word, Charles moved closer, their knees brushing as they both settled into position, fingers poised over the keys. This time, he wasn’t overthinking it. He wasn’t wrestling with the music. He was just… there.

She started first, her melody soft and fluid, and Charles followed, instinctively matching her rhythm, letting their sounds merge and flow together. The music wasn’t perfect—it stuttered at times, shifted unexpectedly—but it was alive. It had a pulse. It breathed with them.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Charles wasn’t haunted by the silence. He wasn’t weighed down by the pressure of creating something great. He was just… playing. Creating. Feeling the music as it moved through him, through them both.

As their hands danced over the keys, weaving together something raw and beautiful, he realised something that felt both terrifying and thrilling: maybe this was what he had been missing. Not perfection. Not even recognition. Just the simple, undeniable joy of creating with someone who understood. Someone who could make the music feel real again.

When the last note faded into the quiet, Charles turned to her, his heart still racing.

“I think,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “I need to stop chasing what I’ve already done and start finding something new.”

She nodded, her eyes bright and knowing. “And maybe,” she said, her voice equally quiet, “we can find it together.”

The last note lingered in the air between them, and Charles felt something warm and alive settle in his chest. The music they had made together had been unlike anything he’d played in so long—imperfect, yes, but honest. Real. The creative block that had suffocated him for weeks was finally gone, or at least, it felt that way in this fleeting moment of clarity.

She glanced at him, her smile soft but distant. She seemed different now, as though the music had taken something from her as well. Before Charles could say anything, she pushed herself up from the piano bench, her fingers lingering on the edge of the keys for just a second longer than necessary.

"I've got to go."

Her words were quiet, almost an afterthought, and they hit him with an unexpected force. She didn’t give him time to respond, to ask anything, to even say goodbye. She simply gathered her bag and moved toward the door, her steps quick and purposeful.

“Wait—” Charles started, rising halfway from the bench, but it was too late.

She turned to him for a brief moment, a smile that was part mystery, part something he couldn’t quite read crossing her lips. “Don’t stop playing, tesoro (treasure)” she said softly. “You’re closer than you think.”

And then, before he could find his voice, she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her with an eerie finality.

Charles stood frozen for a few long moments, staring at the door. His mind raced. He didn’t have her number. He didn’t know where she lived, where she studied, or how to reach her. She had slipped away like a melody in the night, as effortlessly as she’d come into his life.

With a sigh, he sank back onto the piano bench, running his hands through his hair. The room felt strangely empty without her, the space they had shared now echoing with the silence she left behind. But something inside him had shifted. The music they’d created still hummed in his veins, and the weight of doubt that had plagued him for so long felt lighter. Almost like it was dissolving, piece by piece.

He placed his hands on the keys, the cool touch of ivory grounding him, and began to play.

At first, the melody was slow, almost tentative. It mirrored the notes they’d played together, but now it began to morph into something new, something entirely his own. As his fingers moved, the music unfolded naturally, effortlessly. It was as though every piece of frustration, every sleepless night, every failed attempt to capture the right sound was now fueling something greater. Something real.

The notes swelled and cascaded, filling the room with a rich, haunting melody that seemed to flow directly from his soul. It was raw, brimming with emotion—a reflection of everything he had felt, everything he had fought against. But now, there was no more fighting. The music came freely, weaving together in ways that felt effortless and inevitable.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Charles wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t chasing perfection or wrestling with expectations. He was simply… playing. The music poured out of him like a long-held breath, each note sharper, more vivid than the last. The emotions he had buried—frustration, longing, even joy—flooded into the sound, and it consumed him.

His hands moved faster now, the melody becoming more urgent, more intense. He didn’t know where it was going, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t about the destination. It was about this—this pure, unfiltered moment of creation.

And then, without warning, a tear slipped down his cheek.

Charles barely noticed it at first, too wrapped up in the music, but soon another tear followed. And another. He wasn’t sobbing—there was no sadness in it. Instead, it was an overwhelming sense of release, of joy, of finally breaking through. The music swelled, the room vibrating with sound, and Charles felt it wash over him. A catharsis he hadn’t known he needed.

When he hit the final chord, it echoed through the room, ringing out long after his fingers had stilled. The silence that followed was profound, heavy with the weight of everything he had just poured into the keys.

Charles sat there, hands trembling slightly, staring at the piano in disbelief. A shaky laugh escaped his throat, followed by a deep, breathless exhale. He had done it. He had finally played something worth keeping.

No—it was more than that. He had played one of the best pieces of his life.

For a long while, he just sat there, his hands resting in his lap, feeling the weight of what he had just created. Tears still clung to his lashes, but his chest felt light—lighter than it had in months. Maybe years.

He wasn’t just crying because of the music. He was crying because, for the first time in a long time, he was truly happy. 

Charles leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool wood of the piano, letting the last remnants of tension drain from him. His breath was steady now, calm. The room was bathed in a kind of quiet peace he hadn’t known in so long. He had no idea where the girl had gone, or if he’d ever see her again. But somehow, it didn’t matter.

The music was enough.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t have known—was that she hadn’t really left. Not entirely.

Outside the door, hidden in the shadows of the hallway, she stood, her back pressed against the wall. She had stopped as soon as she’d heard the first notes drift through the air, her hand hovering over the door handle but never turning it.

She had listened. Every note, every chord, every emotion Charles had poured into the piano, she had felt it too. Her heart had raced with his, her breath had caught in her throat when she’d heard the moment he broke through the wall he had been fighting against.

She smiled softly to herself, her hand finally dropping to her side as the last note of Charles’s masterpiece echoed through the studio. She had heard something in his playing tonight that she hadn’t expected. Something raw and powerful.

She turned to leave, her steps soft on the floor, leaving the sound of his triumph behind. Maybe she would come back one day, maybe not. But she knew this much—he didn’t need her anymore.

He had found his music again. And that, in itself, was enough.

As she disappeared into the night, Charles remained at the piano, still catching his breath, unaware of the quiet presence that had stayed with him until the very end.

The following days felt surreal, like a dream Charles was reluctant to wake from. After that night in the studio with the girl, his life had been interrupted by a trip to Silverstone to try out the tyres for the new season. The track buzzed with its usual energy, but no matter where he wandered, Charles’s thoughts always drifted back to her and the music they’d played together.

He had left the studio that night haunted by the memory of her delicate touch on the keys, the way their melodies had intertwined as though they’d been waiting for each other all along. He carried it with him over to England, through busy track meets and silent hotel rooms. Late at night, when sleep wouldn’t come, he would close his eyes and hear her music, as if it had lodged itself permanently in his mind.

It wasn’t just the music, though. It was her—the quiet way she had smiled at him, the lightness in her voice when she teased him, the sense of understanding that had passed between them without needing to be spoken.

Now, as Charles stepped back into the familiar silence of the studio late at night right off the plane, he felt a quiet anticipation coiled tightly in his chest. The lights were dim, the air cool and still, and for a moment, it felt like time had paused. The room was empty, and there was no trace of her—no soft melody floating through the air, no sound of delicate fingers dancing across the keys.

Disappointment stirred, settling somewhere deep. He’d been hoping, perhaps foolishly, that she’d be here. That they could pick up where they’d left off. He made his way to the piano, where the polished surface glinted in the low light, as inviting as ever.

And then he saw it—a small note left on the piano bench. His pulse quickened as he unfolded it, her handwriting instantly recognizable, though scrawled in that same casual, hurried way:

"Play with your heart, tesoro."

A soft smile tugged at his lips. The simplicity of the message was so very her. It was a whisper, a reminder of what mattered. A push, gentle but certain.

Charles set the note aside and sat down on the bench, the studio eerily quiet around him. For a moment, he just sat there, the weight of the piano keys beneath his fingers, the faint memory of their music hovering in the air. Then, without thinking too much, he began to play.

The melody started slow, almost hesitant, each note like a thought he hadn’t quite formed yet. But as he played, the music unfolded into something deeper, something more intimate. It wasn’t complicated or grand—it didn’t need to be. It was soft, heartfelt, like a quiet conversation spoken in a language only they understood.

He let go of the pressure, the constant need to craft something perfect, and instead just let the music be what it was—a reflection of what he felt, of what had been buried deep inside him since he’d met her. The music filled the room, curling into the corners like a secret. And for the first time in what felt like months, he felt at peace.

As the last notes lingered in the air, a soft sound broke the quiet. Applause—light, slow, and warm.

Charles turned, startled, and there she was, standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. She was watching him, her hands clasped softly in front of her, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her eyes sparkled with something tender, something familiar. She’d been listening, perhaps the whole time.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Charles murmured, his voice softer than the room itself.

She took a few quiet steps toward him, her gaze never leaving his. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” she said gently, her smile deepening. “It was beautiful.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt suspended in a kind of stillness, the last remnants of his melody hanging between them, but no words were needed to fill the quiet. She came closer, and Charles shifted slightly on the bench, instinctively making space for her. She sat beside him, their shoulders brushing softly in the small space, the warmth of her presence settling something inside him.

“Play it again,” she whispered, her voice low, like a secret shared just between them.

He hesitated for a second, but then his fingers found their way back to the keys, this time slower, more deliberate. The music that spilled out was softer now, more intimate, as if shaped by the quiet weight of her sitting beside him. She watched as his hands moved, her gaze gentle, and as he played, the world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of them and the music between them.

After a few moments, her fingers joined his, their hands moving together over the keys with a quiet ease. Her touch was so light, so effortless, and the sound they created was simple yet achingly beautiful—a melody that spoke of longing and connection, of words unspoken but deeply felt. There was no rush, no urgency in the way they played, only a slow unfolding of something real and fragile.

Charles stole a glance at her, his heart tightening. There was something unspoken in the air, something that went beyond the music they shared. He could feel it in the way she leaned in ever so slightly, the way her breath seemed to sync with his, the soft, steady rhythm of their playing.

When the last note faded into the stillness, neither of them moved. They sat there, shoulders barely touching, the silence around them thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Slowly, she turned her head toward him, her eyes soft, her smile quiet but full of meaning.

“You played with your heart,” she whispered, her words echoing the note she had left for him.

Charles’s throat tightened, the room suddenly feeling too small, too full of everything he hadn’t yet said. He turned toward her, his voice catching in his chest as he whispered back, “You make it easier.”

Her smile deepened, and for a moment, there was only the soft rise and fall of their breathing, the music they had created still lingering in the air around them. It felt like something had shifted between them, like a door had been opened that couldn’t easily be closed again.

And as they sat there, side by side on the piano bench, Charles realised that the silence no longer felt heavy. It felt full—of possibility, of something quiet and beautiful, waiting patiently to be discovered.

Together.

Charles’s heart raced, the air between them thick with anticipation. They sat in a charged stillness, so close their breaths seemed to mingle. The soft light of the studio flickered gently against her face, casting shadows that made her seem almost otherworldly. Her lips parted, just slightly, as if waiting for something—an unspoken invitation.

Before he could think too much about it, before doubt could creep in, Charles leaned in.

At first, it was tentative—a brush of lips so light it felt like it might disappear if he wasn’t careful. He kissed her softly, testing the moment, unsure if he was crossing some unseen line. But then she responded, her lips pressing back against his with the same quiet hunger he hadn’t realised was burning between them all along.

The kiss deepened, their soft breaths mingling in the quiet. A slow, intoxicating warmth spread through Charles’s chest, pulling him further in. He cupped her face gently with his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek as their lips moved together, tentative but growing bolder with each passing second. Her hand found his, her fingers slipping between his, and she pulled him closer, as though the space between them had become unbearable.

Suddenly, the kiss wasn’t soft anymore—it became something more urgent, more passionate, the weight of everything they hadn’t said spilling over into the kiss. Charles felt his pulse quicken, his mind lost in the warmth and closeness of her. He slid his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her in deeper, their lips moving together in a rhythm that felt as natural as the music they had created moments ago.

She shifted slightly on the bench, her body pressing closer to his, and the heat between them grew. The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of them in the dim, quiet studio, the echoes of their kiss the only sound. The softness of her touch, the taste of her lips—it was all intoxicating, a crescendo building within him.

Charles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he didn’t want it to stop. He could have stayed in that moment forever, lost in the intensity of her kiss, in the way her hands tangled in his hair, in the way she fit so perfectly against him.

But then, as though sensing they were both on the edge of something overwhelming, Charles pulled back just slightly, his lips still lingering close to hers, their breaths mingling in the stillness. They were both breathing harder, and for a moment, neither spoke.

Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking with his, wide and full of something unspoken. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and Charles had to fight the urge to pull her back into another kiss.

“Tesoro” she whispered, her voice soft and a little breathless, as though she couldn’t quite find the words.

He smiled gently, his thumb brushing over her lips before he let his hand fall away, resting on the piano between them. His heart still raced, but there was something peaceful now, something right. He hadn’t felt this in so long—this connection, this ease.

“I need to thank you, angioletto ” Charles murmured, his voice low and full of emotion.

“For what?” she asked, her eyes searching his, a quiet vulnerability in her gaze.

“For inspiring this,” he said, his words soft but heavy with meaning. “For inspiring me.” He gestured toward the piano, where the notes of their shared music still seemed to hover in the air between them. “That song we played together… I never would have found it without you.”

Her lips parted, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but her eyes shimmered with something deeper, something that mirrored what Charles was feeling.

“You’ve helped me more than you know,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before you, I was stuck. I couldn’t write, couldn’t feel the music anymore. But playing with you—it’s like something clicked. You brought it back.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her smile growing, but there was a quiet tenderness in her expression, as if she understood all the things he wasn’t saying. Slowly, she leaned in, resting her forehead gently against his, and they stayed like that, breathing each other in, the world softening around them.

“I’m glad I could help,” she whispered, her voice a soft caress against his skin.

Charles closed his eyes, letting the moment settle between them, the weight of her words sinking in. He had been searching for something—chasing it endlessly, driving himself to exhaustion in its pursuit. But sitting here, with her, with the music they had created still vibrating in the air, he realised he had already found it.

It wasn’t just the music. It was her. She had become his muse in more ways than one.

He pulled back slightly to meet her gaze once more, his eyes searching hers for a long moment. And then, without another word, he kissed her again—slowly, tenderly this time. It was a kiss filled not with urgency, but with gratitude and something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable.

And in that kiss, Charles knew he wasn’t just thanking her for the music. He was thanking her for being the spark that had reignited something inside him, for being the light in a place that had felt dark for so long.

When their lips finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers once more, the two of them still breathing each other in, their hearts in sync. The studio was quiet now, but it wasn’t empty. The music they had shared—the connection they had formed—lingered in the air like a promise.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Charles felt whole.

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[yanderestarangel]

౨ৎ ADLER RUSSELL X MALE READER || "RETURN"

♡ ┆TW : few spoilers, v!sex, ftm reader, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm denial, angst, make-up sex.

♡⁠┊It had been so long since you last heard of Adler that you thought the man had been a figment of your imagination, and that every touch, kiss, hug, and intimate moment had been a dream too good to be true—you were just a deluded man. But the ring on your finger, shining like a star, said otherwise.

♡⁠┊Since the mission with Bell and Adler's unhealthy obsession with finding Perseus, your husband had left you alone, with only a missing person’s report hanging over you. You tried to live your life normally, even though your mind and heart were trapped in an empty space of loneliness and isolation—after all, he hadn’t been declared dead, just missing. Everything only got worse when they unexpectedly declared your companion an enemy of the state and put a bounty on his whereabouts.

♡⁠┊The CIA looked for you, and as always, you didn’t know where Russell was... Even though you were his husband, he had simply disappeared like tears in the rain—if the former agent was alive, he was well-hidden from everyone and everything, even from you. Your hopes had dwindled, and you were already giving up on the possibility of him seeking you out again—until that night.

♡⁠┊The knocks on the window startled you from your restful state—the sound of the rain had drowned out any previous noise. You cleared your field of vision and saw the unmistakable shadow of Adler standing outside, a practically invisible smile on his lips and scarred face. He was still just as you remembered. A mixture of frustration, joy, anger, and everything else filled your chest as you immediately ran to open the door for him.

♡⁠┊Adler walked in silently, his heavy boots making noise on the floor as he dried the drops of water still clinging to his clothes—he still smelled like cigarettes, gunpowder, and strong, citrusy masculine cologne; it seemed like he had stopped in time.

♡⁠┊"I can explain everything..." Adler began with a soft sigh. But you didn’t let him finish; you pulled him into a kiss, filled with hunger and pain. As much as you were overwhelmed with mixed emotions, you had missed your husband's touch. You needed to feel Russell as much as possible and be sure that he wasn’t just an illusion in your mind.

♡⁠┊The kiss was messy with moans from both of you and desperate touches from both of you to feel each other again - his tongue danced with yours slowly while his agile fingers went against your clothes and took them off without any ceremony - leaving you naked for his gaze.

♡⁠┊You felt that old feeling of desire again when you knew that behind the visor of his glasses, his blue eyes burned with lust when he saw you surrendered to him again. With a firm hand, he grabbed your neck as he always did, his thick fingers digging into your skin while his free hand found its way to your pussy - playing with the moisture that was already accumulating there. "Holy shit-... Do you still want me so much? Did you miss your old husband here, my lad?" He moaned with a slight saccharism in his voice as he stuck two fingers inside your cunt, making you moan and feel him curl his digits inside you – obviously he still remembered how to satisfy you and wanted to put it all into practice again.

♡┊The taller blond saw you a mess with tears of joy, anger and pleasure – he felt guilty for simply leaving, but it was a decision made to protect you only. The two of you kissed as if the world of both of you depended on it. Your fingers touched every part of his still covered body, feeling every muscle and soft part of his flesh. He whispered sweet nothings on your lips again like he used to do before – each word accompanied by faster fingers in your wet hole, dirtying his fingers and his forearm.

♡┊It didn't take long for you to be wet enough to ride his cock again like you always did. You didn't need to talk to understand how much you needed this, you needed each other. Adler pulled his pants down to his knees and his thick, veiny shaft throbbed from its confinement. His large hands rested on the soft flesh of your waist as you lowered yourself unceremoniously onto his throbbing member – it was vulgar, raw and full of need, his eyes widened enough for you to see them shining behind his glasses as he watched your body bounce on his groin as if it was the only thing you knew.

♡┊His scarred lips found their way to your neck and a few hickeys were left there – at the same time you flexed your hips and thighs on the older man and felt every inch of your husband filling you to the point of having a bulge in your belly. You decided to speed up your movements and heard the older man moan hoarsely as he watched your pussy swallow him without complaint, you still fit perfectly into him, as it always did. "Fuck, pretty boy... You're going to kill me like this, holy shit." Adler let out a loud groan as you sat down on his cock harder, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to focus on not cumming, the feeling of your pussy enveloping his cock was heavenly, the way you moved on top of him, the way you were always so wet for him, the way you looked when you were riding him, it was all too much for him to handle.

♡⁠┊"Fuck... You're so tight... So wet..." He panted, his hands gripping your hips tighter and pulling you down onto his cock with more force, his hips bucking up to meet your downward thrusts – he knew you weren't going to let him cum now, and he was happy to obey, after all he knew it was the lightest punishment he would receive after being away from you for so long.

♡⁠┊When he told you he was going to cum, you quickly pulled his cock out of your wetness, making him groan in frustration and curl his toes inside his boots, his eyes widening in surprise, his body tensing up in anticipation of his release only to have it snatched away from him. He could feel his cock throbbing, aching for release, but he held on, you were in control at that moment.

♡⁠┊He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, the blood rushing through his veins. And it all only got worse when you made him fuck you in every corner of the house in different positions – and every time he was going to cum, you made him hold on tighter and tighter, in that situation it was like he was your personal dildo and he felt even harder at the prospect of just making you cum. He had become a slave to your desires, and he would do anything to make you happy, even if it meant breaking the rules, even if it meant breaking himself.

♡⁠┊Adler really wanted to last longer but he couldn't, the way your pussy was wetting his cock and balls, the way you were grinding against his groin, the way your ass moved with each thrust. He couldn't obey your command and filled your womb with his hot cum. As you and he recovered, his hands found your face and kissed you on the forehead. "Let's talk now, okay? I really have a lot to talk about." Russell spoke softly, knowing you would like to know what happened... and he had a lot to say.

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 ©𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 2024. 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆

[autumnal-thunder]

For those interested, most meteorologists use the formula P = C x A to determine the chance of precipitation.

P = Probability of precipitation C = Confidence that it's going to precipitate A = Area that will be impacted.

So if there is a 50% chance of rain in 80% of an area, the overall chance of rain will be listed as 40%.

Something incredibly stupid I learned today from a meteorologist.

You know when the forecast says % chance of rain?

Apparently that isn't the % chance of rain falling, but the % of the area it will fall in.

So let's say they reported 72% chance of rain, that isn't a 72% chance it's gonna rain, it's gonna rain in 72% of the forecasted region.

Like, wtf?

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

hii! could i request an imagine where the reader is a university student and she’s super stressed and focused about finals and so she’s not really taking care of herself and eating well

maybe jude visits her at her apartment and cleans up for her and helps her shower and cooks her a meal and he’s just being a worried sweet boyfriend!

BREAKING POINT

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: mental and physical exhaustation.

summary: You're drowning in college finals, causing you to isolate yourself even from your boyfriend. When he shows up unexpectedly, your worries transform into action: he forces you to rest, eat, and recover. Under his care, you finally find that much-needed peace and sleep that you´ve been yearning in his big arms.

The rain drummed lightly against the window of your tiny apartment as you sat hunched over your laptop, eyes red and burning from hours of staring at the screen. Your muscles were sore and every position felt uncomfortable. The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, reminding you that yet another sleepless night had crept its way into morning. A half-empty coffee mug sat beside you, the cold liquid untouched for hours, but it was the only thing keeping you going. The countdown to university finals was suffocating, and the weight of it all pressed down on your chest with every page of notes you flipped through, every essay you drafted, and every formula you tried to memorize.

You hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days. Let alone something warm and nutritious. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you had. But there was no time to think about food. Every second mattered, every minute wasted felt like a failure, and you had no room for mistakes. Your routine had dissolved into nothing more than stress, caffeine, and an overwhelming need to succeed. You hadn’t even spoken to Jude in days. You could feel his texts vibrating your phone, his missed calls piling up, but you were too consumed by the mounting pressure of university to even respond. God, how much you missed him, but the overwhelming fear of failure kept you away from the phone.

"Just a few more paragraphs," you whispered to yourself, your voice shaky as you scrolled through a PDF of your notes. Your fingers trembled, not from the cold but from exhaustion. You had lost count of how many nights you had stayed up like this, running on nothing but adrenaline and coffee, trying to cram every last bit of information into your brain. Sometimes you didn´t even know where to look at: your notes, your laptop, exercises, internet videos... Your handwriting had started to lose its meaning. It looked like hieroglyphics.

As you rubbed your tired eyes, trying to push past the headache forming at your temples, the sound of keys jingling outside your door caught your attention. You frowned, your mind too muddled to figure out who it could be. You weren’t expecting anyone. Maybe it was the house next door, though you doubted it due to the late hours.

The door creaked open, and you blinked, your vision blurring slightly from lack of sleep. Standing in the doorway, looking both concerned and frustrated, was Jude. He held a key to your apartment in one hand, his other clutching a bag. His eyes immediately softened when they met yours, though there was an unmistakable furrow in his brow.

"Hey," he said softly, closing the door behind him. His gaze swept across the room, taking in the mess—textbooks scattered everywhere, papers strewn across the floor, empty coffee cups, and a sink full of unwashed dishes. Then, his eyes landed on you, seated on your desk chair, wearing one of his oversized hoodies, your knees pulled up to your chest. Your face was buried in your notes, your hair pulled back in a messy bun, dark circles heavy under your eyes. A mug sat dangerously close to your elbow, almost forgotten. He sighed, walking over to where you sat, crouching down so that he was eye level with you. “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

You swallowed, guilt settling in your chest as you looked away. “I’ve just been…very busy,” you murmured, your voice hoarse from disuse. “Finals are coming up, and I—I can’t focus on anything other than this,” you continued, gesturing over your whole desk.

Jude frowned, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed against the dark circles under your eyes, his touch warm and soothing. "You haven't been eating, have you?" he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. His eyes flickered to the untouched coffee mug on your desk. "When was the last time that you slept?"

You glanced at the clock on the wall, but the frown on your face told him you didn’t even remember. You took his hands away from your face and bit your lip, suddenly feeling small under his gaze. "Nerves have made me lose my appetite. And I don’t have time to sleep, Jude. I need to study. I—"

Jude sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. It wasn’t just that you were skipping meals and staying up all night—it was that you genuinely thought you had no other choice. He knew how much you grades meant to you, but this was too much.

"No." He interrupted, his voice firm but laced with concern. "No, no, enough." He stood up, pulling you gently from your chair. "You’re running yourself into the ground. This isn’t healthy."

You wanted to protest, to tell him that you were okay, that you should keep going. But as soon as you stood up, the world tilted on its axis and you swayed a little, your vision blurring around the edges. Jude caught you easily, his arms and warmth enveloping you, steadying you as you swayed. You worried him and he did his best to hold back the anger that would make him scold you.

“That’s it," he muttered under his breath, half mad and half terrified. "You’re done for today."

"I can't—"

"Yes, you can. And you will," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "You're not going to help yourself by burning out like this." He led you over to the couch, gently guiding you to sit down as he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

"Come on," he said softly. "You know what would help? A warm shower."

"Jude, you don’t have to do this," you mumbled, the words feeling thick in your mouth as fatigue began to weigh you down. Even blinking hurt your dry eyes.

"I do," he said without looking at you, his voice calm but insistent. "Because clearly, you’re not taking care of yourself, and someone has to, love." He offered his hand to carry you to the shower.

You hesitated, embarrassed at how weak you felt, but Jude’s gentle smile reassured you. With his help, you got up, and he led you to the bathroom. He started the shower, making sure the water wasn´t very hot before turning back to you.

"Can you handle it?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. When you nodded, he stepped back to give you space, but not before kissing your forehead gently.

"Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re done."

The hot water was like a balm for your aching muscles, and as you stood under the stream, you felt the exhaustion begin to seep from your bones. By the time you stepped out of the shower, your head felt clearer, and though you were still tired, the fog of stress had lifted, if only a little.

As you disappeared into the steamy bathroom, Jude took a deep breath, surveying the mess around him. It was clear that the stress had overtaken you completely. With quick but deliberate movements, he began tidying up—stacking your books neatly, throwing out the empty coffee cups, and picking up the scattered clothes. He even opened the windows a bit to let in some fresh air, hoping it would clear away the stale atmosphere that had settled in the apartment.

When you emerged from the shower twenty minutes later, you already looked better—your face was no longer pale, and your hair, still damp, cascaded down your back. You were wrapped in a towel, looking almost embarrassed.

“Feel a bit better?” Jude asked, stepping toward you.

You gave a small smile and nodded. "Definitely," you answered, feeling more human than you had in days.

As you went to get change, Jude busied himself in the kitchen. He knew you needed something tasty and nutritious, so he started making a simple pasta dish that would be easy on your stomach but filling enough to give you some energy. He kept an eye on you as you came back into the living room, your steps slower, but your body more relaxed.

“Food’s almost ready,” he called over his shoulder, plating the pasta and setting it down on the table. “Come eat.”

Your heart swelled at his caring attitude and you thanked him as you sat down across from him. The smell of food made your stomach growl, reminding you how long it had been since you had eaten a real meal. Jude sat beside you, watching you as you took your first bite, his concern slowly fading as he saw you relax a little more with each bite.

After you ate, Jude pulled you to the couch, draping a blanket over you both as he wrapped his arms around you. You leaned into him, your head resting on his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat calming you in a way you hadn’t felt in days. He pressed soft kisses to the top of your head, his fingers lazily running through your hair.

"You scared me," he murmured into your hair. "I’ve never seen you like that before. I want you to take care of yourself."

You sighed, guilt tugging at you again. "I’m sorry, Jude. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just…finals are so overwhelming, and I felt like if I didn’t study enough, I’d fail."

"You won’t fail," he said firmly, his arms tightening around you. "You’re brilliant, and I know you’ll do amazing. But none of that matters if you’re not okay."

You nodded against his chest, his heartbeat steady and comforting beneath your ear. The warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing, and the gentle strokes of his hand through your hair lulled you into a state of calm you hadn’t felt in weeks.

"Stay with me tonight," you whispered, your eyes already fluttering shut. "I don’t want to be alone."

Jude kissed the top of your head, his arms cradling you even closer. "I’m not going anywhere," he promised, his voice soft as he continued to stroke your hair. "Get some sleep, love."

And for the first time in days, you did. In the safety of Jude’s arms, with his soothing touch and soft words, you drifted off into the most peaceful sleep you had had in weeks. You knew that tomorrow would bring more studying, more stress, but for now, in this moment, you felt cared for, protected, and loved.