#it cracks me up Every Time he's just like 'REALLY? /REALLY/'

[precure1ove]

crush panic

summary : how they act when they have a crush

characters : all dorms (-grim &ortho)

warnings : some may be ooc, crack?, fluff, not edited, completely self indulgent everything is intended as romantic

a/n : new theme how we feeling!! my favourite is loser as its the most fun to write. im thinking of making a second part on how they confess if this does well

an absolute loser in love

he has absolutely fallen head over heels for you and now has no idea how to act normal around you anymore. the slightest bit of physical contact or praise will send him into shock, and later cause no sleep at night because he over thinks that one moment again and again. “does that mean they like me too? Or are they just being friendly?” 

yeah there's no hope for him. he acts super awkward around you, stuttering, laughing randomly, no he isn't blushing it's just suddenly hot all of the sudden-in the middle of the coldest season-he always agonizes over why he can't just act cool in front of you. during classes, if you're in his you bet he’ll just stare at you from afar, and if you're in his well he discreetly glances at you every now and then not knowing that you can clearly see him looking at you-though you don't seem to mind finding it cute.

and if you tell him that he’ll go bright red and avert his gaze “haha.. uh thanks.. I think?” cue screaming into a pillow later at night.

deuce, idia, azul, riddle, sebek + ur fav

stage five complete and utter denial

he's in complete denial. there's no way that he likes you, he must be getting sick that's why his heart beats fast when you're near with his cheeks burning a bright red. he makes it his entire goal to try and lose feelings for you, so he creates a list of all your good and bad attributions-unsurprisingly all the negative ones turn out not so bad when he puts thought into it it ...what the hell is he thinking? 

it may take a while for him to accept his feelings, so you're gonna have to endure glares when passing or in class and possible snarky comments thrown at you. However, if he hears someone is mean to you, crush be damned he can only do that to you. He tries to act completely uninterested in you, a way to fool himself that he does not like you, but the second he hears any bit of gossip he's suddenly interested. 

he looks at you weirdly, flustered at your question “uh... why am i suddenly interested in who you were with.. no reason.”

leona, ace, vil, ruggie + ur fav

doesn't realise he has a crush

oh spare this oblivious boy, he hasn't ever really liked someone before so he doesn’t know that wanting to spend more time with you, fussing over your well-being, thinking of you and how much better it would be if you were here is not what platonic friends should be thinking-especially if those thoughts lead to how would your lips feel.

someone would have to straight up tell him that he has a crush on you or he would never figure it out for himself and go on with his life never confessing. when someone finally does tell him, he’ll notice how different he really acts, catching himself waiting for your messages and dropping everything once you text back. you also get the added bonus of finally seeing him flustered! since he's in the stage of actually being involved in having a crush, every touch, smile, or praise is enough to make his face and ears turn red.

“wait so you mean wanting to kiss them is not normal?” he pauses and rethinks everything he thought about you.

silver, kalim, malleus, jack + ur fav

quick to show off to impress you

he doesn't believe he can win your heart with his personality so he works extra hard on stuff he knows he can do well-better than the average person-he believes if he impresses you by this he has a chance. surprisingly he acts rather normal with you, excluding the way he's more relaxed with your presence and the constant flush on his face.

he's rather quick to recognise his crush on you and he's even more quick to decide he needs to make himself an available suitor in your eyes. you’ve gotten used to your name being called out across the halls from him, strutting over to you to show you what he made or did last night-he'll become flustered if you praise him shrugging it off with flimsy excuses until he gets back into what he originally wanted to share albeit with a slight red face. what's even better is if he invites you out to come try it with him, enjoying the chance to spend time with you and show off in real time what he can do.

“what do you think of this, isn't it impressive? you really think so.. haha..”

trey, cater, jamil, epel + ur fav

he goes straight to courting you

he's the first to notice his change in feelings for you from platonic to romantic instantly and wastes no time to try and court you. he starts greeting you daily, offering you gifts, takes you out with the excuse of needing help and you find yourself out at a restaurant eating expensive food and wonder how the hell did you end up here when he needed a book? 

you will never catch this boy being flustered instead you'll find yourself stuttering while turning a bright red. if you enact physical contact or compliment him he flashes you a mischievous smile and teases you for ‘finally falling for him’.. no, that was not a joke. despite all the teasing he does genuinely care about you and goes out of his way to buy or make stuff he'll think you'll like, your reaction to his displays of courting amuses him especially when you make such cute faces at him. courting is just a way for him to make his feelings known, after all you were his the moment he caught feelings.

“hm.. how did we end up at a restaurant.. does it matter? now what did you choose for the meal?”

jade, rook, lilia

there's no crush. you're dating

floyd has never experienced the crush stage and he doesn't want to after all that's boring. why wait thinking about coincidental glances, and accidental contact when he knows he likes you and you like him! he's fast to let you know his feelings and won't take no for an answer why would you reject him if you like him. 

now that you think about it, you're not even sure floyd even asked you out. he just sort of grabbed your hand, said 'you're mine' and you both went to get food. so well done you're in a not relationship-relationship with a giant eel! floyd feels like he can never get bored being with you and is always by your side, or on since he's a fan of physical touch and will have some part of him touching you-an arm on your waist, legs over his, head tucked into your neck-the only time he's away from you is if jade or azul need him for the lounge and that's only for a few moments until you're also called by them to keep floyd in the lounge.

“huh, do i like you?” floyd glances at you briefly before grumbling, “we literally made out this morning and you're asking if i like you shrimpy.”

floyd

likes & reblogs appreciated

masterlist⠀ — ⠀ request here

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel and you have broken up towards the end of your pregnancy until Sarah convinces you to come to Tommy’s annual Christmas party.]

A Christmas baby

“I’m not arguing with you like this god dammit, I ain’t trynna upset you”

Fluff jealousy childbirth angst

“Please come tonight, I really want to see you” Sarah spoke on the other end of the phone. You sighed brushing your hand over your nine month belly, the last thing you wanted to do was attend Tommy’s annual Christmas party.

You knew how much Sarah cared for you and how much she wanted you to be there but after having broken up with Joel just two months prior, it felt strange.

“My dad misses you” she spoke softly.

“I don’t know Sarah, there’s a lot-“

“Please just think about it, it’s Christmas. Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

How were you suppose to resist? Besides Tommy inviting most of the neighbors and having nosey eyes on you, it couldn’t be that bad…right?

Since breaking up with Joel, you had seen him twice. You remembered coming out of your OB appointment and Joel sitting at the bottom step outside waiting for you. You hadn’t expected to see him there, especially being that he never made it to any appointments, constantly over booking himself at work. You remembered the arguments the two of you would have, sometimes you felt he overbooked himself on purpose to not deal with anything that had to do with the baby.

Maybe he had cold feet you thought, whatever it was it didn’t go well mixed with your hormones, your sensitivity at an all time high.

When you moved in with your sister Abby, Joel constantly called her to make sure you were ok. Every night you’d hear your sister on the phone repeating the same things over and over.

“She’s ok”

“I swear I’ll call you if anything”

“No shes not lifting anything heavy, Joel”

Sometimes you couldn’t help but crack a smile, Joel was always invested in making sure you had everything you needed but what you wanted more was his time.

Pulling up in front Joel’s house you could see the guests from the front window. A part of you second guessing what you were doing there, almost tempted to turn back. Then there it was again, a slow pain that kept coming and going from your lower back. This must be what Braxton hicks contraction’s were as the doctor had explained a week piror.

“You made it!” You suddenly heard from outside your car. One of the neighbors, Tilly spotted you just as she was about to go inside with her older brother Jim. Jim was a good friend of Tommy’s, Joel never seemed to be a fan of his, you never knew why.

“Guess I can’t escape now” you whispered to yourself before opening your car door.

“Here, let me give you a hand” Jim gave you his arm as you stepped out the car.

“You look amazing” Jim uttered low as you grabbed onto him. Not expecting his compliment you smiled.

“Thanks”

“That red dress looks great on you” Tilly exclaimed.

“Joel’s gonna be so happy to see you” she chuckled.

Anxiously walking to the front door, you stopped at the steps to adjust your dress.

“Don’t worry Jim won’t let you fall” Tilly whispered, excitement in her voice for her favorite day of the year. Just as you began to walk up the steps the front door opened, to your surprise Joel stepped out. Caught off guard he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you, not expecting you to show up, much less holding onto Jim. You watched his eyes immediately turn to him, a stern look he couldn’t hide until Tilly’s high pitched voice distracted him.

“Joel! So good to see you!” He looked to her and gave her a nod, you could still see the disapproval he felt.

“Tommy’s makin’ drinks, ya got here just in time”

“Shit, you don’t have to tell me twice” Jim made his way up the stairs with you before you thanked him and held your hands together awkwardly. Taking a quick glance at Joel you noticed him looking at you but you didn’t say a word, neither did he, until you were alone.

“I’ve been callin’ you” he stood against the door, cheers and laughter could be heard in the background.

“Abby told me” you spoke softly. His tongue sliding against his inner cheek, there was so much more he wanted to say, you could see it.

“How have you been feelin’?

His question making you finally look up directly at him. He wore a red and black flannel shirt, the one he knew you loved.

“Um-it’s getting harder to walk in certain shoes now” you chuckled showing off that you wore flip flops with your dress. Joel smiled, something he hadn’t done much of since you left.

“Oh my gosh you came!” Sarah’s voice made you both turn her way.

“Hey Sarah,” you smiled.

“Oh my- that red dress is so cute on your baby bump” she grinned with excitement.

“Thank you” you smiled brushing your hand over your bump making Joel’s eyes soften as he looked at you.

“Oh uh- I’m sorry for interrupting dad. I just-“

“Don’t worry, honey. I’m glad to see you excited” he assured her.

“Well, if you guys don’t mind I really need to use the restroom. I’m going every ten minutes now” you laughed before quickly and awkwardly excusing yourself to the back.

Coming out of the bathroom you gave Sarah your sweater and purse as you looked around the room to all the guests there, you honestly didn’t know where to put yourself.

“Look at you, I’m glad you showed up!” Tommy approached you with a Santa hat and beer in hand.

“How are you feelin’?” Tommy asked as Joel appeared beside him.

“Well my ankles are killing me, my back feels on fire, she’s constantly kicking me“ you chuckled.

“but other than that I’m fine” you sighed.

“Aw she’s just excited to meet her uncle” Tommy laughed as he leaned towards your belly.

“Ain’t that right lil’ niece?”

“Tommy” Joel uttered giving him a side eye.

“What? Just a few more weeks till we meet, I’m excited” he took a sip from his beer before being pulled away to dance. Joel and you stood beside each other, his arms crossed as he laughed at his brother before looking over at you.

“How about we get you a seat,”

“Um, it’s fine, I’d rather stay here plus all the seats are taken”

“So, I’ll get somebody up” Joel looked back at the full room quickly eyeing who he’d get the seat from.

“No, no it’s fine” as much as your ankles hurt, you’d rather have stayed away from everyone asking you dozens of questions.

“You wanna lay down in our room for a bit?” His question catching you off guard.

Our room.

“Thanks, Joel. I’ll be fine. I’ll just take some water though, I am thirsty”

He nodded, his eyes remained on you longer than he meant to, drifting down to your dress laying perfectly over your baby bump.

“You look beautiful by the way”

Your heart skipping a beat from his words, you looked over at him.

“Thank you” you whispered before he walked into the kitchen.

Soon you noticed Mary and Lisa heading your way, two of the most nosiest neighbors you had dying to ask questions the moment you walked in. Those two women never seemed to know when to stop talking. Quickly turning towards the kitchen you walked off doing your best to avoid them when you heard a woman laughing in the kitchen. Silently stopping at the doorway you saw Maria with Joel, she was known for many things with men around the area, especially married men. Her hand on Joel’s shoulder as he held your glass of water in hand, you felt a jealousy you had never felt before.

“If it wasn’t for you driving me home that night, who knows where I would’ve ended up” she laughed as your heart sunk. It couldn’t be, Joel spent a night with Maria? Although you and Joel weren’t together, it was crushing to hear.

“Maybe you can drive me home tonight again…?” She spoke with a flirtatious voice as her hand creeped to back of his neck when you accidentally knocked something down beside you. Both of them quickly looking up, Joel realized you had heard everything but before he could say a word you quickly walked out rushing to grab your belongings from down the hall. Joel quickly put the glass down and pushed past Maria following you out as your heart raced with disbelief and hurt.

“Sarah where’s my stuff?” Your voice cracked as she looked up at you confused.

“In the room, are you okay?” You couldn’t respond rushing toward the bedroom as Joel quickly followed behind calling your name.

“It ain’t what you think-“ Joel appeared at the doorway slightly out of breath as you grabbed your sweater.

“Hey, hey-listen to me, baby” he rushed towards you trying to get you to understand him, desperation in his eyes, his hand attempted to grab your face.

“Don’t!” You screamed, tears building up in your eyes.

“The neighborhood whore huh?”

“No, dammit, listen to me!”

“No, you would-“ you suddenly stopped speaking as a sharp cramping like sensation took over you. Leaning forward you winced grabbing your belly, Joels expression instantly changing.

“What? What’s wrong?” He whispered, his hand reaching for your belly just as the wave of pain passed.

“Don’t” you shoved his hand away and took a deep breath. Getting yourself together you put your sweater on and grabbed your purse. Trying to walk past him he blocked your way, a look of concern he couldn’t hide if he tried.

“I’m not lettin’ you leave like this”

“Like hell you’re not!” You screamed, the music and the guests so loud nobody could hear you arguing.

“You can go continue your fun-“

“I’m not arguing with you like this god dammit, I ain’t trynna upset you”

“Too late for that” you aggressively put on your sweater.

“I didn’t do nothin’ with her! She was with Tommy, he passed out drunk in the car I was the only sober one so I drove. She got out the car went home and that was it, nothin’ happened between me and her”

“I don’t believe you” you shook your head as a tear fell from your eyes. You attempted to push past him but he wouldn’t budge.

“I ain’t lettin’ you drive like this-“

“What the hell do you care?! Go talk with Maria since obviously you have time for her but not our baby-“

“You know damn well that’s not true” he grabbed your wrists stopping you from pushing him aside.

“Let go of me!” You pulled your arms back just as another wave of pain took over. Quickly turning away you leaned against the wall.

“Ow-“ you cried out. The pain more intense than you had been feeling earlier.

Joel quickly coming behind you making sure you were okay, his hands on your waist.

“Come sit down”

“No, no…it’ll go away like it did earlier” you whispered in between breaths.

“What do you mean earlier?”

You stood silent as you slowly turned to him.

“What do you mean earlier?” He repeated himself sternly.

“It’s Braxton hicks, I had felt them last week and the doctor told me it was normal. I’m not dilated-“

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There was nothing to tell!” You winced again from yet another wave of pain.

“I don’t think these are Braxton hicks, you’re getting them to close together, you’re having contractions“

“No I am not. Just leave me alone” you squeezed your eyes shut unable to speak.

“Stop being so damn stubborn, we’re gettin’ you to a hospital”

“No!” You whispered with a gasp just as Sarah ran in.

“Oh my god-“

“Sarah, tell uncle Tommy we’re goin’ to the hospital” he called out to her.

“Is she-“

“Yes” his voice somehow calm as he had you hold onto him.

“Oh my g- it’s getting worse” you whimpered.

“I know, honey. We’re gonna get in the truck now” he caressed your face.

“Is this actually happening right now” you whispered to yourself.

“I think so, baby”

Tommy ran to the truck with his Santa hat still on, opening the doors for you and Joel as the guests all watched on in shock.

“I don’t have my bag! My bag, Joel!”

“I’ll tell your sister to bring it” he buckled your seatbelt and closed the door rushing to the other side. Everyone watched as Joel sped off, each contraction becoming more intense you screamed in agony as Joel kept beeping the horn. If you weren’t so distracted with the pain you felt you would’ve seen how desperate Joel became with each sound you made.

“We’re here, baby. We’re here” the tires screeched as he made a hard turn into the lot.

Everything happened so fast, next thing you knew you were on the hospital bed being instructed to push. Joel holding your leg up, you cried feeling as if you couldn’t get through this.

“I can’t-“ you shook your head as Joel stood beside you, gently turning your head to face him.

“Look at me, yes you can. I’m right here and I ain’t goin’ no where, count with me” Joel began to instruct you with breathing and counting as the doctor prepped for the arrival of your baby.

After all the pain and chaos that occurred, it was all worth it. After the end of it all, you had fallen asleep and awoke to Joel humming Silent Night. Still feeling weak, you turned to see him looking out the window as it snowed. You smiled just as he turned and caught your eyes on him.

“I think she likes this song” he whispered making you laugh.

“You read the book” you spoke softly as he looked at you confused.

“The book I gave you about dads during birth”

He smiled with a nod.

“How else would I had known how to help you breathe through all that pushin’” turns out he listened much more than you thought he did.

“Mhm” your eyes began to uncontrollably close, you were exhausted.

“Get your rest, baby. I got her” without a word you quickly fell back to sleep as Joel looked down at his daughter with tearful eyes.

“The best Christmas gift I’ve ever been given” he kissed her forehead and continued humming the song..

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[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 the good girl . • ° 　 .　 *　:.　the engagement (2)

synopsis -- when a drunken kiss leads to rejection, Rafe's possessive nature takes a darker turn. Between mounting debts, your engagement to his rival, and a trip to Morocco looming, Rafe manipulates his way into getting what he wants - you, isolated and far from home.

warnings -- 18+- mdni, cursing, mentions of murder, dark!rafe, stalker!rafe, stalking, unwanted touch, angst/hurt, rafe's daddy issues. mention of suicide (not literal)

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | word count: 3.5k

The fluorescent lights of Roots' private bathroom cast harsh shadows across Rafe's tear-streaked face. Your palm cradled his cheek, feeling the slight tremor in his jaw, the expensive cologne mixing with the lingering scent of vodka. This was Rafe Cameron stripped bare – no arrogance, no power plays, just raw vulnerability that made your heart ache, all to your belief.

"You're the only one who sees me," he whispered, his cerulean eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with something more dangerous than just desire. "The only one who really sees me."

Time suspended itself in that sterile bathroom, reality shrinking to a single point: your thumb gentle against his tear-stained cheek, his hand finding your wrist – not to dominate, for once, but to steady his shaking world.

Then Rafe lunged forward, capturing your lips with a hunger that bordered on violent. The deep red lipstick he'd been watching all day smeared between your mouths like fresh blood. He kissed you as if he was starving, as if you held all the oxygen in the room, as if you were simultaneously his salvation and his damnation.

Just as his tongue sought to deepen the kiss, survival instinct kicked in. Your hand flew up, connecting with his cheek in a sharp crack that echoed off the bathroom walls.

"MR. CAMERON, THIS isn't appropriate!" The words tore from your throat, your voice bouncing off cold tile. "I don't know what you thought this is, but no, I'm not that type of girl--I'm your secretary." The last word tasted bitter on your tongue, like a reminder of all the boundaries you'd both just shattered.

His cerulean eyes darkened dangerously as you fled, watching your retreat with the focused intensity of a predator marking its prey. One hand touched the red mark blooming on his cheek – the same shade as your lipstick now smeared across his mouth like evidence of a crime.

Alone in the bathroom, Rafe's embarrassment quickly morphed into something darker. No witnesses meant no proof – just his word against yours if you decided to talk. The thought made him laugh bitterly as he lined up another hit of cocaine on the porcelain sink. He'd learned long ago that money could make most problems disappear, and he was nothing if not generous with his money.

The bartender's eyes widened at the size of the tip Rafe dropped on his way out – because even in crisis, a Cameron never forgot their image. But his practiced smile faltered when he spotted you in the waiting limo, pressed as far into the corner as physically possible, like a trapped animal seeking escape.

Rafe slid into the opposite corner, the leather seat creaking under his weight. The space between you felt electric with unspoken threats and possibilities. This was it, he thought – the final straw. Tomorrow he'd have to have that dreaded conversation with Ward about finding yet another secretary. And worse, by sundown he'd be on the first flight to Morocco – his father's favorite form of punishment disguised as business opportunity. Cameron Boy banished to the desert again, all because he couldn't keep his hands off his secretary.

But as he watched you from the corner of his eye, noticed how your breath hitched every time he shifted, how your fingers nervously played with your skirt hem, Rafe realized something that made his blood run hot: you weren't disgusted by the kiss. You were afraid – not of him, but of how much you'd wanted it too.

Maybe he wouldn't need to call Ward after all. Maybe his good girl just needed a firmer hand to guide her toward what they both wanted.

"I'm engaged." The words burst from your lips like a shield, shattering the charged silence in the limo. You watch as Rafe's expression transforms – his previous predatory calculation morphing into something far more dangerous, far more unhinged.

"Well," you continue, words tumbling out faster as his cerulean eyes darken with each syllable. "I've been engaged for the past year, we're saving up for a ring, but he's already proposed. We're looking at houses too—" You're rambling now, knowing you should stop but unable to halt the nervous flood of words. "I'm getting off topic, but what I mean is—I'm taken. I'm sorry if I gave you any wrong impressions…"

Your voice trails into nothing as Rafe's gaze pins you to the leather seat. The look in his eyes screams danger, screams shut up, screams of violence barely contained beneath his expensive suit. The air in the limo grows thick with unspoken threats.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, though you're not sure why you're apologizing. Maybe for the slap that's still branded red across his tanned cheek. But then again, you wouldn't have had to mark him if he hadn't tried to claim what wasn't his to take.

Rafe's knuckles bleach white against his knee as his jaw works silently, grinding thoughts you're terrified to imagine. Your engagement revelation hangs in the air like smoke – not the shield you'd hoped for, but kindling for something darker stirring behind his cerulean eyes. To him, your engagement isn't a wall; it's a challenge. Another obstacle to destroy.

His fingers drum against his thigh in a rhythm that sounds like a death march. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out soft, gentle even – and that's what terrifies you most. A gentle Rafe Cameron is a deadly Rafe Cameron.

"Well, I sure hope I'm invited to the wedding?" The question slides from his lips alongside a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Then comes the laugh – a sound that erupts from deep in his chest, too loud, too sharp, too wrong. It fills the limo like poisoned honey.

You force yourself to laugh along, the sound brittle and false, counting the seconds until this ride through hell finally ends. But the way Rafe's eyes glitter in the passing streetlights tells you this isn't an ending at all – it's a beginning.

That night, Rafe sat in his home office, the blue light of his laptop screen illuminating his tormented expression as he attempted to craft an apology email. The words poured out, a mixture of manufactured remorse and raw truth: how inappropriate his actions had been, how the alcohol had loosened his careful control, how he couldn't stop replaying that kiss in his mind.

But with each sentence he typed, the apology transformed into something darker, more possessive. Professional phrases dissolved into dangerous confessions – how he'd been watching you for months, memorizing every detail, dreaming of claiming what he saw as his. The kiss had only intensified his obsession, giving him a taste of what he'd been denying himself.

Mid-paragraph, clarity struck like lightning. An email would be evidence – permanent proof of his transgression. One forward from you to HR, to Ward, to the board, and everything would unravel. The Cameron empire had weathered many storms, but a harassment scandal involving the youngest son and his secretary? That would be harder to bury.

Rafe deleted the draft, watching the cursor blink accusingly on the empty screen. No, he wouldn't apologize. Instead, he'd show you exactly why crossing lines with Rafe Cameron was both the best and worst decision of your life.

Instead of empty apologies, Rafe decided to speak in the language he knew best: money.

With practiced ease, he logged into the payroll system using his father's credentials – a trick he'd learned years ago for situations that required discrete handling. An extra $2,000 added to your next paycheck would look innocent enough:

"Performance Bonus - Approved by W. Cameron."

A satisfied smirk played across his lips as he authorized the payment. He could already picture your face when you opened the check this Friday – that delicate mix of surprise and pleasure he'd come to crave. Would you understand the message behind it? That everything had a price, even forgiveness?

But as the night wore on, Rafe's thoughts began their familiar spiral. His fingers drummed against his desk as his mind filled with questions about you. What were you doing right now, at this exact moment? Were you home? Alone? Had you told your "fiancé" about the kiss? Were you touching your lips, remembering the taste of him like he couldn't stop remembering the taste of you?

He pulled up your employee file, eyes tracing over your address for the hundredth time. The logical part of his brain knew driving past your apartment at 2 AM would be crossing yet another line, but then again – hadn't he already crossed the biggest one in that bathroom? His car keys felt heavy in his pocket as his OCD thoughts circled like hungry wolves: check on her, make sure she's safe, make sure she's alone, make sure she's still his.

Rafe navigated the familiar streets with practiced precision, taking the curved bend that led to your apartment complex. He knew this route by heart now – the figure-eight loop that ended where The Cut began, a middle-class neighborhood that he deemed barely acceptable for someone who belonged to him.

He'd planned this carefully, dressed head-to-toe in black like a predator preparing for the hunt. Instead of his usual gleaming Mercedes, he'd chosen his older BMW – a car he despised for its squealing brakes and dated interior, but perfect for remaining anonymous. No one would expect Rafe Cameron, heir to the development empire, to be caught dead in last decade's model, which made it the perfect vehicle for nights like these.

The parking garage across from your complex offered the perfect vantage point. He eased into a space on the third level, ignoring the protesting squeal of those damned brakes. From here, he could see directly into your living room window, where a soft light still burned despite the late hour.

Rafe's fingers drummed against the steering wheel, a rhythm matching his racing pulse. How many nights had he watched your shadows dance across those curtains? The count blurred in his mind, each evening melting into the next. But tonight felt different. That kiss in the bathroom had changed everything – had turned his careful observation into raw hunger. Watching from afar no longer satisfied the growing obsession that consumed his thoughts.

His breath hitched sharply as you emerged from the distant hallway, wrapped only in a white towel that made his vision blur at the edges. The sight of you, casual and unguarded in your private space, sent a dangerous thrill through his body.

Then he saw it – you were talking, gesturing with a toothbrush in your mouth, clearly addressing someone just out of view. In all his previous surveillance – only twice from this particular spot, he reminded himself – he'd never caught a glimpse of this mysterious fiancé you'd mentioned. The thought of finally seeing his rival, the man who dared claim what Rafe considered his, made his blood simmer with anticipation and rage.

His cerulean eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, focused entirely on your apartment window. Tonight might finally reveal the face of the man he needed to remove from your life.

Then the moment Rafe had been waiting for arrived with all the subtlety of a knife to the gut. Rising from behind the low couch, partially obscured by the jungle of decorative plants crowding your window, stood a figure Rafe knew all too well. His worst suspicions crystallized into a reality far more infuriating than he'd imagined.

Pope fucking Hayward.

What was it with these Pogues like Hayward – always trying to claim what they couldn't afford? No ring, no house, just empty promises to girls who deserved better. To his girl. The thought made Rafe's blood boil. A Cameron would have already crowned you in diamonds, marked you with luxury. Not these pathetic Pouges from a man playing at success.

Rafe's hands clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, a string of violent curses hissing through his teeth. Of all the men in Charleston, you were engaged to Pope Hayward – his childhood rival, his professional thorn, and now, apparently, the thief who'd dared to stake a claim on what belonged to Rafe.

The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity: those whispered conversations in meetings, Hayward's constant proximity to you, that smug smile he wore whenever Rafe watched you two interact. For a year, right under his nose, Pope had been marking his territory.

A dark laugh bubbled up from Rafe's chest, edged with something dangerous. This wasn't just about desire anymore – this was about revenge. Pope Hayward had just made the biggest mistake of his life, and Rafe would make sure he learned exactly what it meant to take something from a Cameron.

"I want Hayward gone." Rafe's voice cut through the pretentious lunch crowd at Charleston's finest bistro. You were safely tucked away at the office, working on his Cut property reports – exactly where he needed you while he handled this particular conversation.

The Italian sub in front of him bore the brunt of his aggression as he stabbed it with his knife, imagining a different target entirely. Ward Cameron watched his son's violence toward the innocent sandwich with growing concern.

"Are you kidding me, Rafe?" Ward's laugh held all the warmth of a shark's smile. "Pope Hayward is the smartest asset we've got. The deals he's closed for R&P alone—"

"I don't give a fuck about his deals," Rafe snarled, his cerulean eyes flashing with that familiar Cameron rage – the kind that had built their empire and destroyed countless lives along the way.

Ward set down his wine glass, studying his son with calculated precision. "This tantrum wouldn't have anything to do with your pretty new secretary, would it?" He leaned forward, voice dropping. "The one I caught you staring at during yesterday's meeting. The one who happens to be engaged to Pope."

"You knew?" Rafe said. "I thought work relationships weren't permitted."

"Pope works for R\&P, not for us," Ward replied simply, his tone suggesting Rafe was being deliberately obtuse. "Different company, different rules. Though I'm sure if he did work here, he'd manage to maintain professional boundaries better than some."

Rafe's knuckles whitened around his knife. The restaurant's ambient noise faded away, leaving only the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

"He works for our collaborators, son. I can't touch him without raising questions we don't want asked. Without damaging relationships we can't afford to lose." Ward's tone carried a warning. "Let it go."

Rafe pushed his plate away, appetite destroyed by the taste of his father's refusal. Fine. If Ward wouldn't handle this through official channels, there were other ways to solve the Pope Hayward problem. More permanent ways.

His mind drifted to the Morocco trip – to deep waters and convenient accidents, to bodies that never resurface and questions that never get answered. His lips curved into a smile that made Ward's blood run cold.

"You're right, Dad," Rafe said, his voice eerily calm. "I'll let it go."

But they both knew that was a lie. A Cameron never lets go of what they consider theirs.

Rafe's mind wandered to darker possibilities as Ward droned on about Morocco. How easy it would be to eliminate the Pope Hayward problem permanently. One push down the right stairwell, one "accident" at a construction site – problems had a way of solving themselves when you had Cameron resources.

You'd grieve, of course. But Rafe would be there, watching, waiting. He'd comfort you with gentle touches and understanding smiles, show you what real power felt like, what real wealth could offer. Soon enough, "Pope who?" would become your mantra as you fell deeper into Rafe's world.

But reality crashed through his murderous fantasy like ice water. The mounting debt to Barry and his other creditors was already a noose around his neck – adding a homicide investigation would be suicide. Besides, Pope's disappearance would raise too many questions, bring too much attention. Rafe Cameron might be unhinged, but he wasn't stupid.

As if the universe was mocking his thoughts, Ward cleared his throat and said those dreaded words: "I spoke with Dennis Rutherford the other day." His father stirred his soup with deliberate slowness, steam rising like a warning sign.

"Great." Rafe rolled his eyes, launching his napkin into the air with theatrical disdain. Just what he needed – another reminder of his mounting debts while plotting the removal of his rival.

The napkin floated down like a surrender flag, but surrender wasn't in Rafe's vocabulary.( Not when it came to you, anyway).

"Rafe," Ward's voice dropped to that familiar tone of paternal disappointment, the one that made his son's blood boil. "When will you realize that all of 'your' men were first my men? Every contact, every connection you think you own – I built those relationships decades ago." He paused to take another spoonful of soup, letting the words sink in like poison. "I went to prep school with these people, built this empire alongside them while you were still learning to walk."

Ward's eyes hardened as he set down his spoon with precise control. "Rutherford called me yesterday. Not you – me. Do you know how that feels? To have your son's creditor reach out because he doesn't trust said son to make good on his debts?" His laugh was bitter, cutting. "A quarter million in loans, Rafe. What am I supposed to do with that?"

The restaurant seemed to shrink around them as Ward leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes I lie awake at night, wondering where I went wrong with you. Sarah and Wheezie turned out perfect, but you…" He shook his head. "Maybe I gave you too much. Maybe I didn't give you enough. But watching you spiral like this – the drugs, the debts, this obsession with your secretaries – I have to ask myself: what did I do wrong in raising you?"

The worst part wasn't the words themselves – Rafe had grown numb to his father's disappointment years ago. No, it was the way Ward maintained that perfect Cameron smile throughout his entire diatribe, nodding pleasantly to passing socialites while he gutted his son. Ever the performer, keeping up appearances for the Charleston elite who dined around them, pretending they were just another father and son enjoying an expensive lunch.

The casual cruelty of it all made Rafe's stomach turn. How Ward could slice him to pieces with that benevolent patriarch smile plastered across his face, how he could destroy his son while shaking hands with the banker two tables over. But it was that throwaway line – "Sarah turned out perfect" – that confirmed what Rafe had always known: Ward Cameron didn't just disapprove of his son's choices. He hated the very man Rafe had become.

The comparison to Sarah twisted like a knife. Perfect Sarah. Golden Sarah. The daughter who could do no wrong, even in her absence. While Rafe sat here, drowning in debt and obsession, wearing his father's contempt like a brand.

Ward's smile never faltered as he took another sip of wine, but his eyes held all the warmth of a shark's. The message was clear: Rafe would never be the son Ward wanted – but by God, he'd keep up appearances while reminding him of that fact.

"Listen, Rafe," Ward's voice dripped with false sympathy, that shark smile still firmly in place. "I'll cut you some slack. After all, it must be…" he paused, savoring the cruelty of his next words, "…absolutely exhausting being as incompetent as you are sometimes.

He dabbed his mouth with his napkin, every movement calculated for their audience of lunching socialites. "So I'm going to make you an offer. You handle the Morocco situation – properly, no mistakes, no distractions involving pretty secretaries – and I'll personally clear your $250,000 debt. Hell, I'll even throw in a bonus." His eyes glittered with dark amusement. "Consider it hazard pay for finally doing something right."

The offer hung between them like a noose, and they both knew it. Ward wasn't offering salvation – he was buying compliance, demanding submission. The money came with strings, each one designed to puppet his son exactly where he wanted him: away from Charleston, away from you, and firmly under his control.

But Rafe couldn't stomach the thought of leaving you behind. Not with Pope Hayward circling what belonged to him, planning to put a ring on the finger Rafe had already marked as his territory. Every second away would be another moment for Pope to play house with his property.

A plan crystallized in his mind, dark and perfect.

"You have yourself a deal, father," Rafe purred, his cerulean eyes glinting with something that made Ward's smile falter for the first time. "On one condition – my secretary comes with me. To keep me focused, you understand. To ensure everything goes… according to plan."

Ward studied his son's expression, finally recognizing the dangerous Cameron obsession he himself had passed down. In that moment, he realized his mistake – he hadn't just given Rafe an escape route from his debts. He'd handed his unhinged son the perfect opportunity to isolate his prey.

Morocco suddenly seemed very far away, and very, very dark.

a/n: thanks for making it to the end of this chapter!! as always all likes comments, and reblog keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

Taglist -

@trapistani @alexxavicry @rafestoothbrush @ttrinity @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4rafey @Itristessedureratoujours @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @yoongling @lilithblackkk @yootvi @alyisdead @littlelamy @skel-skell

[rafey-baby]

forbidden fruit 2

Once upon a time there was a princess and a hunter...

snow white!reader x hunter!rafe

c/w: mentions of violence & murder, one bed (my fav cliche ever!), slightly suggestive, also if it’s not obvious this is *loosely* based on the story of snow white, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.4k

is he warming up to her? #it’s hard to tell

part one & moodboard

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“Have you ever considered a less...um, violent job?” she asks, nausea coiling in her guts at the mere thought of harming— let alone killing an innocent animal.  

The inky sky has turned into an even gloomier hue, and if it wasn’t for the luster of the moonlight illuminating their journey, they wouldn’t be able to see a thing. However, it’s still a challenge for them (her) to evade the thick roots hiding underneath the spongy moss and brittle lichen— she thinks her fingers aren’t enough to count the times Rafe has had to prevent her from toppling over onto the soil with a steadying grip on her arm.  

At this point, she can’t comprehend how he even knows where they’re going. She thinks that every rock and tree trunk they pass resembles the last but apparently, he’s using them to track the route to his cabin— something he tried to teach her about two hours ago, but gave up the moment her attention was captured by a tiny squirrel hurriedly scampering off into its hiding spot.   

“If I’m bein’ honest, I think killin’ is the only thing m’good for at this point,” he murmurs while inspecting a fallen spruce in the middle of their path. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she argues, rounding the obstacle while he simply steps over it.   

“Tha’s cause you don’t know me. Listen, m’not…m’not a good person, I’ve done some, uh, real shitty things, alright?” he looks over to her, gemstone eyes sullen.   

She wonders if the real shitty things include other people’s blood on his hands. After all, the queen wouldn’t have asked him to end her life if he’d never done it before. A shiver creeps up her spine when a vivid image of him doing something so remorseless flashes in her mind.  

However, it’s soon replaced by him dropping the knife and sparing her life, even if it meant complicating his own.   

“I think…a bad person wouldn’t be helping me right now,” her words are honest but he doesn’t offer her a reply, merely flits his eyes over her frame with a furrow in his brow.   

They fall into a serene silence, wordlessly treading further and further into the somber forest while she keeps getting distracted by the glittering stars above them; mesmerized by the beauty of something so far away from all the cruelty on this planet.   

However, when she goes on to take her next step, the ground (or what she thought was the ground) suddenly cracks underneath her, the partly frozen lid of the pond shattering with a loud crackle— only a surprised squeal leaving her throat when she loses her footing and tumbles right into the frigid water with a splash.   

Turns out, it’s not just some small little puddle that’s partly covered by fallen leaves and branches, but a rather deep one; saturating her all the way up to her neck as she gasps for breath when the coldness surrounds her helpless limbs.  

“Shit.”   

She hears Rafe hiss before humored laughter bubbles from his chest.  

“Rafe, this is not funny,” she complains with her teeth chattering when the icy liquid soaks through the fabric of her dress in an instant.   

“M’sorry, you jus’ look like a wet kitten right now,” he shakes his head, chuckling as he extends an arm towards her— pulling her up and steadying her with a firm grip on her waist.  

“Ow,” she cries out when she leans her weight on her left foot.   

“What’s wrong?” he seems almost concerned as he scans her for any visible injuries.   

“Think I sprained my ankle, it hurts,” she frowns, reaching for his forearm for balance.   

“Of course you did, told you to be careful,” he clicks his tongue, slightly annoyed at the fact that she really is a helpless case. “Can you walk?”   

“I don’t know…” she mumbles; face crumpling up when she tries to take a step forward.   

“Right, uh, c’mere then,” he huffs out before his hands are on her waist once more and he’s lifting her into his arms like a bag of flour.   

“Oh, you don’t have to—”   

“There’s no way you’re walkin’ right now,” he scoffs as he shifts her into a better position before he’s continuing their trek. “What would you even do without me, hm?”   

“Probably freeze to death like you said,” she pouts, eyes despondent when she leans into his supportive hold.  

“Yeah.”   

“M’sorry,” she sniffles, the ache in her foot combined with him being mad at her causing her eyes to burn.  

“Shouldn’t be that long ’till we’re there, princess. Think you can manage not to cry before we get there?” 

“I don’t know…it hurts and m’cold,” she sulks, feeling miserable, even if she knows she should be grateful she’s not dead or alone in the woods right now.   

“You’re a big girl, know you can take it. You’ll feel better soon, yeah?” he attempts to provide her some sort of comfort with his limited knowledge of handling something so fragile.   

She hums out something incoherent in response, weak arms wrapping around his neck as she takes in a shaky inhale— damp skin prickling under the chilly air that’s making the leafy trees sway back and forth, reminding her of shadowy ghosts.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -   

“Uh, think there should be a dry shirt for you here somewhere…” he trails off as he goes through his closet. “This is probably a little too big but should be fine, yeah?”   

The cabin is small and secluded; the darkened walls blending in with the rest of the forest and concealing them from the outside, making her feel strangely secure. However, his taste in decor makes her rather uneasy as she tries to desperately focus on the crackling fireplace beginning to warm up her trembling limbs and not the assortment of dead animals and their fur or other body parts on display.   

“Oh, it’s perfect, thank you,” she tears her eyes from the elk antlers presented on the wall, offering him a tense smile when she takes the cottony shirt from him; the material surprisingly soft between her fingertips. 

However, before he has the chance to leave the bedroom in order to give her some privacy, she timidly speaks up again, words clumsy and hurried. “Could you— um, could you help me undress? This corset is quite impossible to take off by myself…especially now that it’s wet.”  

“Uh, right, yeah,” he clears his throat, gesturing for her to turn around before he’s pulling her closer by a grip on her hips, the wooden floorboards creaking underneath their feet making up for the sudden silence.  

She doesn’t know why the gesture feels almost intimate or why it makes her hold her breath when he begins to unfasten the strings holding the corset top together, but a strange shade of suspense colors the air around them nonetheless. 

“A tight little thing, huh?” he rasps as his fingers deftly work on the satiny ribbons— a process that feels eternal while she tries not to pay any mind to the way her heart keeps thumping louder and louder by each passing second. 

When she finally feels the silky material loosening around her middle, she has to will her erratic breathing to slow down as he unhooks the rest of the dress— the fabric forming a pearly white puddle on the floor.  

Then, he’s wordlessly slipping his shirt over her head; the sleeves far too long and the hem fitting her more like a short nightgown.  

“Thanks,” she swallows before she’s gingerly turning around, lacking the courage of looking him in the eye for any longer than a glance.       

“Right, uh, we should get some sleep. You can take the bed ’n I’ll sleep on the floor, yeah?”  

And she’s already nodding before the words register in her disconcerted brain. “Wait, no, it’s your bed. I can sleep on the floor,” she argues immediately, momentarily forgetting why she was so shy in the first place when the weight of being an inconvenience builds up on her shoulders.   

“Nah, m’not gonna let a fuckin’ princess sleep on the floor. S’fine, jus’ take the bed, I don’t want it. Need to make sure we weren’t followed anyway,” he grumbles, attempting to leave the room once more.  

“Rafe, you need sleep just as much as I do. It’s the middle of the night, my stepmother doesn’t even know what you did yet. She’s expecting you to return tomorrow, right?” she tries to reason, not willing to give in because letting him sleep comfortably is the least she can do to even begin returning the favor.  

He lets out a weary sigh before shrugging off his jacket, far too worn out to argue. “Yeah, alright, guess you have a point.”   

- - - - - - - - - - - - -   

They end up sharing the bed.    

And once they’ve both settled into the opposite sides, she’s far too intimidated by Rafe’s disgruntled aura to utter out anything other than a whispered goodnight before it’s quiet once more.    

However, as the night stretches on, she begins to grow restless; tossing and turning on the creaky mattress and driving Rafe mad in the process.

She doesn’t mean to, the last thing she wants is to disturb his rest but her thoughts are racing and she can’t seem to close her eyes for more than a few seconds because truthfully, she feels terrible— everything familiar has been turned upside down in the span of a day and the only life she knows has practically ceased to exist. All she wants is to go home but that’s not an option anymore and it’s scary. 

“Hey, uh, you good?” Rafe’s sudden drawl makes her flinch.    

“Sorry, can’t sleep,” she peeps out, expression apologetic when she twists to face him, causing the sheets to rustle around them.    

“Yeah, me neither since you keep movin’ around like a lunatic,” he grumbles, irritation clear in his tone.   

“M’sorry. Just can’t stop thinking about everything and I just…I’ve never understood why she hates me so much,” she breathes out, features contorting into something heavy-hearted as she chews on her bottom lip. 

He blinks tiredly; movements lethargic when he runs a hand through his hair.   

“The queen? Well, in case you haven’t noticed, she’s, uh, not that alright in the head. M’sure you’ve done nothin’ wrong, okay?” he attempts to reassure her, albeit to no avail.   

“I just— just feel like...this is all my fault, you know? And now you’re in danger too because of me,” she rambles, not able to let the thought go.    

“You don’t need to worry ’bout me, princess. There’s enough people that want me dead already, what’s one more?” he lets out a dry chuckle that makes her frown.    

“What do you mean?”    

“Nothin’ just, uh, listen…the worst thing that’s gonna happen is that she’s gonna have me killed when I don’t return, ’n once she finds out you’re still alive, she’s gonna send her soldiers to bring her your—”   

“Rafe, that’s not helping. Why would say that?” she interrupts him and apparently, he finds her scowling face to be the most hilarious thing in the world because next thing she knows he’s laughing, sleepy features scrunching up as he shakes his head. 

It’s safe to say she does not understand his humor, whatsoever.    

“All m’sayin’ is that we’re gonna have to find someplace good to hide.”    

“We have to leave the kingdom?” she asks, worried.    

“Yeah, think so,” he says, sounding far too impassive for her liking.    

“But I can’t just leave, this is my home.”   

“I know, but s’gonna be okay,” he murmurs, mouth stretching around a yawn.   

“But what if— what if something happens?” she sounds panicked, all the worst-case scenarios bouncing around her skull because she’s never even been this far from the palace. How on earth is she meant to survive in the real world? 

“I’ll keep you safe, yeah? Now can you let me sleep?” he lets out a drowsy exhale, seemingly fed up with the conversation already.   

“But what if—”   

“Shh, c’mere,” he hushes her before he’s tucking her flush against his chest— a heavy palm resting on her thigh to keep her from moving because he’s exhausted and more than aware that tomorrow is going to be a long day, especially with this overthinking princess who he wishes would just shut up.   

It’s something he’d tell her outright if he wasn’t certain that she’d start crying all over again in response— the rest of the hike here with her sobs and hiccups thrumming in his ears more than enough for one day.   

And the sudden proximity seems to work because instantly, she stops shifting around; nearly stops breathing altogether when she swallows. “What are you…”   

“Just, uh, need you to calm down, yeah?” he pats at her hip before she’s clumsily humming out another apology.  

And despite the slight trace of the muddy water, her hair still smells of forest berries and wildflowers, making exasperation worm its way into his veins. He doesn’t understand why she’s trusting her life in his hands so thoughtlessly; it’s like she has no sense of self-preservation with the way she’s blindly following him anywhere, when not even a day ago he attempted to murder her.   

He wonders if she’s always been like this; naive and dumb, always seeing the good in people, even when there isn’t any. All it took was a few remotely sweet words and she’s already allowing him to hold her this close— a foolish deer resting peacefully next to a starving wolf and expecting not to get hurt.    

Momentarily, he gets the urge to just finish the job right now, wrap his arm around her throat until the flame burns out, leaving her eyes dull, lifeless. After all, it would make his life considerably easier. He can almost feel it— the moment her heart comes to a halt in her ribcage as she turns into nothing more than flesh and bones, freeing him from this burden.  

And at the end of the day, it’s part of his nature to kill for his own benefit, muscles nearly stinging with the self-serving temptation because that’s what he’s always been; selfish.    

“Rafe, that hurts,” her voice is small, nervous, nonetheless forcing him to resurface to the current; his rough fingertips mindlessly sinking into the bare surface of her thigh, harsh enough to leave a bruise. 

Her entire form is tense, breathing shallow and limbs unmoving, resembling a rabbit rigid with fear, only amplifying this ever-growing itch under his skin.  

He clears his throat.  

“Sorry,” a mutter through his teeth before she can finally feel the pressure dissipating— his thumb smoothing over the sore patch while he tries to decide what the fuck he should do with her.    

[amirasainz]

Hear me out. What about Charles x singer reader. She wants to write a new song and Charlss is helping her with playing the piano. Like, lots of couple goals.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ♥️

Composing Love

Yn sat in the sunlit corner of their apartment, her fingers lightly pressing the piano keys. A pencil rested between her teeth as she hummed a few bars of a melody. Sheets of paper were scattered on the floor around her, littered with scribbles, crossed-out lines, and hastily drawn musical notes. Despite the cozy setting and the warm golden light pouring through the window, frustration tugged at her features.

“Ugh,” she groaned, flopping back against the bench. “This isn’t working. It sounds... boring. Like elevator music.”

From the kitchen, Charles glanced up from where he was cutting strawberries. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched her with a soft smile. Yn was beautiful when she was lost in thought, her lips moving silently as she tried out lyrics, her hair falling into her face. But when she sighed for the third time, he placed the knife down and walked over.

“What’s wrong, ma belle?” he asked, sitting beside her on the bench. “You’ve been at this for hours.”

Yn looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of determination and exhaustion. “I can’t get the balance right. I can hear the song in my head, but when I try to play and sing and write, it’s like my brain gets tangled. It’s... it’s stupid.”

Charles chuckled softly and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not stupid. It’s hard to do all of that at once. Why don’t you let me help?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Help how? Last time I asked, you said the only thing you could play was the F1 steering wheel.”

“Touché.” He grinned, but then he nudged her gently. “I’ve been practicing since then, remember? You taught me the basics, and I’ve been working on it. Let me play the piano for you. You focus on singing.”

Yn blinked, surprised. “You’ve been practicing... for me?”

“Of course,” Charles said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Anything to make my girl happy.”

Her heart swelled as he slid onto the piano bench, cracking his knuckles dramatically. “Okay, maestro,” she teased. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He gave her a mock-serious nod before positioning his fingers on the keys. As he began to play, a tentative but sweet melody filled the room. Yn’s eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise—he wasn’t perfect, but he was good. Really good.

Charles looked up at her, his green eyes shining. “Is this close to what you had in mind?”

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice catching slightly. She picked up the pencil and tapped it against her lips, focusing on the lyrics she’d been working on. “Okay, let’s try this.”

She began to sing, her voice soft and rich, floating above the melody Charles played. Every now and then, he glanced at her, his expression a mixture of awe and adoration. Yn caught his eye once and faltered, laughing nervously.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said, her cheeks pink.

“Like what?” Charles asked innocently, though the mischievous grin tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Like I’m a goddess or something,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands.

“You are,” he said simply, reaching over to gently pull her hands away. “Now sing. I want to hear my goddess’s voice.”

Her blush deepened, but she obeyed, picking up where she’d left off. This time, she let herself get lost in the music. Charles adjusted his playing to match her energy, his fingers moving with more confidence as the song grew in intensity. When she hit the final note, the room seemed to hum with the lingering magic of their collaboration.

Charles stopped playing and turned to her, his expression soft. “Yn... that was incredible.”

“Really?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Really,” he said firmly. Then, without hesitation, he stood, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of the love and admiration he couldn’t always put into words.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “You’re amazing, you know that? Every day, I’m grateful I get to love you.”

Yn’s eyes filled with tears, but she laughed, brushing them away. “You’re making me all emotional. I’m supposed to be working.”

“You’ve worked hard enough for now,” Charles said, sitting down and pulling her onto his lap. “Let’s take a break. You can tell me about the song—what inspired it?”

Yn leaned her head against his chest, tracing patterns on his shirt. “It’s about you, actually.”

Charles’s breath hitched. “Me?”

She nodded, her voice shy but steady. “It’s about how you make me feel... safe, loved, like I can do anything. I wanted the melody to capture that warmth, that... magic.”

He kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” she said fiercely, sitting up to look him in the eye. “You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, Charles. You inspire me every day.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other and the music they’d created together. Eventually, Yn slid off his lap, stretching her arms.

“Okay,” she said with a determined smile. “Let’s try it again. This time, I think I know how to fix the second verse.”

Charles returned to the piano without hesitation, his fingers finding the keys with ease. “Anything for you, my love.”

As they worked together, laughter and music filled the room, blending into a melody that was uniquely theirs—a song of love, teamwork, and the magic of two souls perfectly in tune.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

SCOTT MONROE's weight pressed you harder into the mattress, hand covering your mouth as his hips kept moving against yours. The cheap bed frame creaked under his rough pace, sound echoing just too loud with your whimpers following

“Keep it down,” he droned, eyes burning into yours, catching every flicker of your desperate expression. “You want my mom to walk in here and see her sweet little boy fucking someone like you?”

Your muffled whimper vibrated against his palm again, fat tears pooling in your eyes as shame loomed your mind for feeling heat bloom deep in your belly. His other hand moved to grip your hip hard enough to leave a bruise, anchoring you as he slammed into you again and again, stretching your hole in a ways that made you want to scream

“Look at you,” he sneered, lips going down to brush against your ear. “Such a fucking mess. You couldn’t wait, could you? Had to come crawling into my bed like the needy little slut you are.”

His words stung, hurt, yet they sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core, as bad as it may sound. Your nails scraped along his back, desperate for something to hold onto while he was in the middle of wrecking you, cock hitting that devastating spot with every thrust.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” Scott snapped, pulling his hand from your mouth to wrap it around your throat instead. Thumb pressed lightly against the side of your neck, where your pulse was, just enough to make you gasp and your fingers claw at his wrist. “You’d let me do this anywhere, yeah? Against the wall, in Sam's car--hell, maybe even in the fucking living room if I told you to.”

You really tried to respond, do anything, but your words came out as a broken, choked moan from the pressure of his hand and the strength of his movements.

“Pathetic,” he muttered with a grin crossing his lips. His free hand slide down your body to where you were soaked and slick for him; fingers circled your clit with such precision your body arched up to him, a cry escaping your lips before you could even stop it.

And who would have known, that through the smallest gape at Scott's doors, a pair of eyes were watching his twin brother treat you as if you were nothing but the dirtiest slut ever

Scott froze, hand letting out from your throat to, surprisingly, gently smack your thigh “What the fuck did I just say?” voice a harsh whisper. “You want her to hear? Want my mom to know I’ve got you spread out, dripping all over my cock like this?”

Your lips trembled, head shaking as tears slipped down your flushed cheeks. The humiliation, the pleasure--it was way too much, and obviously Scott could see it all screaming over your face. His teeth sank into his bottom lip, a quiet groan slipping free despite trying to hold himself.

“Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping down as his rhythm faltered. The mean, sharp tone in his voice cracked, and he whimpered, dick pulsing around your walls “I hate how fucking good you feel.”

You clung to him, nails digging into his skin as a gasp left his swollen lips “I--hate it--I hate how much I fucking need you.”

His voice broke, low whimper slipping from his lips once more as he buried himself deep one last time, trembling with the force of his upcoming release.

And for a moment, when it was all over, as his lips brushed against yours, soft and shaky, Scott wasn’t mean or cruel. He was just a boy who wanted you to stay.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne

[webanglikethat]

Inho and Gihun have consumed my brain: a rant.

their dynamic is absolutely insane, like watching two halves of a broken mirror slowly shift toward each other, each reflecting something so raw, so !! unbearably !!! human !!!

they are opposites in the most obvious way: one, a cold-blooded killer who thrives on power, privilege, and pain (though they both come from a similar background); the other, a man haunted by his own humanity, stubbornly holding on to the last shred of his moral compass, believing in a better life, a greater future.

but it’s the tension between them that burns — the way they orbit each other, drawn together by something darker than either of them is willing to admit. and it drives me insane, insane I tell you.

Inho studies Gihun like a predator; he is disguised as an ally, draped in the mask of sympathy and empathy, but every moment spent with him … it’s like watching a snake move through tall grass, its every flicker of movement calculated, controlled and designed to ensnare, trap, conquer, destroy. he watches his every more, everything he does and he doesn’t do. it’s a real time dissection !! he watches Gihun's cracks, his weaknesses, his flickers of anger and despair. every subtle movement doesn’t escape him.

he needs to see that part of him, the part that’s been broken, the part that still hurts. and in a way, he’s intoxicated by it. it’s like he wants to drink from those wounds, to feel the sharp, stinging taste of anguish on his tongue, to experience that pulse of pain, just so he can savor it, dissect it, and make it his own.

he watches Gihun not because he’s merely intrigued, but because in his suffering, in his brokenness, there is beauty. a beauty that can only be savored when torn apart, shredded, dissected, bruised. and the more he watches, the more he feeds on that agony, the deeper he falls into the nightmare of this endless fucking twisted game.

Inho is too far gone. he’s lived through the games, seen how the system works, and he’s embraced it without shame. to him, the so called “blood money” he earned is a truth. he doesn’t hide from it. he doesn’t pretend it’s anything else. he has seen too many bodies pile up to think there’s any other way. Inho believes the only way forward is through destruction. he’s accepted the curse of the games. hell, he’s fucking embraced it ! the lives lost are nothing more than fuel for his ascent to power. people are pawns, and pawns don’t matter. it’s all part of the game.

Gihun, though… he’s not like Inho. he too has been brutalized by the games, crushed under the weight of the world’s cruelty, watching as the lives of those he loved dimmed. BUT! even so !! there’s this flicker of light in him — a really fucking stubborn and desperate hope to protect those who still live, to undo the wrongs. for all the pain he’s endured, he hasn’t completely surrendered to the darkness. he’s been pushed, stretched to the breaking point by the horrors he’s witnessed, by the blood shed that he can never wash away and still lingers even in his dreams … but there’s this part of him that still fights to hold on to the fragments of the man he used to be. he’s so stubbornly human.

and yet, it’s not the break that Inho is after imo — it’s the collapse. he doesn’t just want to see Gihun’s humanity crack; he wants to see him fold. he wants to make him question everything, even his need to protect others, even the value of his own moral code. to descend into madness, forsaking logic.

you can see him being fascinated when Gihun agrees to sacrifice people for the greater good. I swear, you can see Inho alive in that moment. I can’t explain it other than he’s feeding on him. he’s watching this man, so different from him, with scars that shine the same way, who once held onto some semblance of hope, succumb to the same darkness that devoured him.

he wants to see the man who refused to let the games destroy him finally fall into the same dark logic that built those games in the first place.

but here’s the thing — Gihun’s resistance, his refusal to just surrender to Inho's desires, drives him insane. Inho, for all his power, for all his twisted thrill at orchestrating this, isn’t immune to that same hunger. he sees Gihun as both a reflection and a challenge. it torments him. he wants to unravel him from the inside. the more he watches, the more he understands just how much it is tearing at him, how much he wants it.

there is a tenderness to it, a chilling, perverse tenderness, where one offers the illusion of safety while the other inches closer to the slaughter.

what drives me insane is that Gihun doesn’t know. he doesn’t know that the man he’s grown to trust, the one who’s quietly listened to his every confession, who has offered him that flicker of human connection in the desolate wasteland of the games, is the very demon he’s been chasing. the one that has orchestrated every nightmare he’s endured. and every time Gihun speaks of his mission, of his burning desire to kill the one who created this nightmare, to undo the games and get revenge Inho just listens intently, relishing in every moment of vulnerability.  and it’s delicious. Gihun is literally unraveling before him, piece by piece, and Inho hasn’t even revealed the true extent of his power!

the betrayal scene is going to be so good. SO FUCKING GOOD. it’s when Gihun talks about revenge, when he plans to end the game, to kill the person behind it all, that Inho feels that twisted thrill in his chest. because what Gihun doesn’t realize is that all those plans, all those quiet declarations of death, have been heard and they’ve been absorbed, broken down, and processed. Inho already knows what Gihun is capable of, what he’s willing to do, and how far he’s willing to go to get his revenge. it doesn’t matter to Inho. it never has. he’s already five steps ahead. Inho has studied Gihun like a surgeon carving through flesh, patiently unraveling his soul, savoring each fragile thread of hope only to tighten the noose, knowing that the moment Gihun’s trust shatters, so too will his humanity.

-> and like … Gihun’s humanity is his greatest weakness. his desperate hope to protect, to save, to make things right when he couldn’t before (example: in season 1 when a dying man reached for him and he looked away, in season 2 he helped a dying man) that's what Inho sinks his teeth into, because he knows that in this world, hope is the ultimate poison, the biggest gamble. every moment Gihun spends clinging to the idea that he can save anyone, that he can stop the game — that he can stop The Frontman — it draws him closer to the truth that will eventually shatter him.

and imo — Inho watches him with a twisted admiration, because in that desperate struggle, he sees himself or rather, the version of him that could’ve been if he had not embraced the game so fully. and in that, their paths, though seemingly different, are always converging. they are the same in the most brutal way: two sides of a coin, both marked by the same blood, the same violence, the same emptiness, and in the end, they are not so different after all. for all their differences, in the end — they are mirrors.

addition cause I saw this post and omg ?? it’s an intentional, almost possessive move. he’s not just playing along with their conversation; he’s LITERALLYYY replacing Jungbae with himself in Gihun’s mind, stepping into the role of someone who belongs in Gihun’s future.

Inho doesn’t just want power or control over the situation — he wants needs Gihun to need him, to see him as the one who’s always there, the one who understands him, the one who can stand beside him.

and to me, it feels like a possessive kind of longing that goes beyond mere rivalry or control. it’s ugh — just the way they orbit around each other, the way Inho needs Gihun to acknowledge him, to see him as more than just the “other guy that joined my team”.

and as much as Gi-hun is fighting to hold on to his humanity and the relationships that matter to him, Inho is just as desperately fighting to be the one that Gihun turns to in the end. it’s obsessive. it’s possessive. it’s dangerously romantic and I need them to fuck it out.

[themultifanshipper]

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

It really depended on who you asked. But you were determined to make everyone have a good time at the end-of-season celebration.

Warnings: no plot only filth, smut, most of the drivers are present and active, cum, a lot of it, like A LOT, inside and outside, public sex? Voyeurism, many orgasms, the end is crack i'm telling you now

Part 9 of One of the Boys

Max and George had been fighting, Carlos was a mess, Lewis was a mess, Kevin, Guanyu and Valtteri were leaving, Max was celebrating his fourth Championship, Franco didn't have a seat for next year, Charles was in mourning, Lando and Oscar were… well. They were doing what they do best: dancing around each other awkwardly.

Tonight, everyone was free to have a piece of you if they so desired.

For the end of season celebrations, a club in Monaco had been completely privatised for the occasion.

No cameras, no outside guests, this was exclusively for the drivers to let loose and enjoy their last time all together.

They decided not to do it in Abu Dhabi given the nature of some of the local laws, so the usual parties happened there before you all flew to Monaco for the private celebration.

It had been previously agreed that anything went. There was a private room in the back, and as many drinks as you all required. Open bar, no barman.

You were in a skirt, for convenience, and were doing rounds of shots with all the drivers. For the last time for some of them.

Kevin wasn't particularly sad, he would be able to spend a bit more time with his kids, and he had a seat in endurance racing, so the shots were celebratory, and the backshots he gave you in the private room were sweet and passionate, a testament of how happy and fulfilled he felt about his time in Formula 1.

The room consisted of a low table, a few sofas, a stage with a pole (that you were not going anywhere near, thank you very much) and even a little adjoined bathroom for any eventual (inevitable) cleanup, which even had a shower in it.

Whoever chose this club really knew what they were doing.

While you were dancing, Kevin still dripping down the inside of your thighs, two others came up to you.

The Sauber pair. Guanyu was looking a bit shy but Valtteri didn't hesitate to lean in and purr seductively in your ear, hands going to hold your hips that were swaying to the music.

“We were wondering if we could have our turn…”

And take turns, they did.

They had you on a couch, legs akimbo while they worshipped your body with their mouths and hands.

Valtteri fucked you up against the wall, mustache tickling your neck as he groaned into your skin.

“Such a sweet pussy- shame I couldn't have it more often”

You nodded desperately, tears running down your cheeks from the pleasure as you clawed at the walls looking for purchase. His cock was curved upwards slightly, so the angle made him hit your g-spot dead on every time.

Guanyu's cock was shorter but thicker, and he chose to take you from behind, and you learned he was very good with his hands.

His pace was maddeningly slow, but the way he snapped his hips made you shudder as you came around him, aided by his expert fingers working away at your clit.

Once you were all dressed again, and cleaned up, they kissed you goodbye and you frowned.

“You don't have to go, stay for a bit, enjoy the company” you begged.

“I have a flight home in a couple of hours” Valtteri uttered sadly. “and Guanyu has a very long flight home”

They smiled and kissed your hand reverently. “It's been a pleasure, my dear”

You watched them say goodbye to the others, very tight hugs being exchanged, then trundle out of the door, as if it was just another post-race celebration.

You made your way over to Fernando who was chatting animatedly with Lance.

“Enjoying yourself, beautiful?” Fernando greeted you, sliding an arm around your waist and pecking you on the cheek.

“Very much” you grinned at him. “I was just wondering if you two want to have me to yourselves for a bit before the others start getting possessive”

Fernando’s hand made its way down to squeeze your ass and he leaned in to mutter in your ear.

“With pleasure, hermosa. In the back room or out here in front of everyone?”

The idea made you shiver. “Which ever you prefer…”

That's how you ended up bouncing on his lap, his cock splitting you open, in one of the booths that lined the walls of the club.

You certainly turned a few heads, some drivers looking up at you curiously, others in amusement, but you weren't really paying attention to anyone else.

Your skirt was bunched up around your hips, which were being bruised by the hold Fernando had on them as he impaled you on his cock repeatedly.

Lance was watching the two of you from across the leather seated booth, lazily stroking himself.

“Fuck- Fernando she's dripping.”

You really were. You'd never really had an audience like this, but the fact that you were exposedin such a manner, surrounded by people you loved and trusted, made you wetter than you ever thought possible.

Fernando thrusted into you from below, bruising grip slamming you down onto him in a way that made your toes curl.

The ease with which he could manhandle you was impressive, his muscles bulging under his shirt every time he flexed. It took him so little effort you felt weightless, being used like a ragdoll to satisfy Fernando's need.

“Shit- I missed this so much” you whined as you felt your orgasm approaching rapidly. “The car had better be good next year, I can't go another year without a podium from you…”

You gasped as he wrapped his arms around you and bent you forward over the table, deepening the angle and making you almost burst into tears with how good he felt inside you.

“If this sweet pussy is what I will get, then I will put as much money in the car as it will take for me to get another taste”

He grunted in your ear and you knew he was getting close. You were too, and you didn't even need to tell him,  he could feel your body trembling like a leaf in his grasp.

“Go on princess, come for me, make a mess of the seats”

You cried out as your orgasm overcame you, the constant relentless abuse your g-spot was getting made you feel like your whole body was on fire.

You were a vice around Fernando, and your pulsing walls milked him for everything he had as he came with a loud groan inside you.

He sat back down with you in his lap, his cock slipping out of you, along with his cum as he spread your legs for Lance to kneel between and immediately start lapping at your creamy folds.

His hand worked furiously over himself as he did, and the debauched act was enough for him to come all over his own hand and the floor.

God help whoever was going to be cleaning this place once the night was over.

A few minutes later you found yourself doing another round of shots, with Carlos and Lewis.

“Looks like Fernando's still got it after all this time” Lewis joked, lifting an eyebrow at you suggestively.

You scoffed at him and reminded him he was only 4 years younger than Fernando.

“In dog years that's 28 years difference”

You rolled your eyes. “Lewis, in dog years you are both dead.”

He chuckled before taking another shot.

“We'll see who's dead after I'm done with you.”

Well, you might as well have been dead. Your hips certainly were.

He had you bent in half on the table, knees against your collarbones as he pounded into you.

The squelch was obscene, your sopping cunt clenching on every thrust of his thick cock until you were a crying, babbling mess.

It also didn't help that in an effort to shut you up, Carlos had slid his cock into your mouth.

So you lay there, with your head hanging off the table while two men filled you up with their cum, in front of their friends and rivals.

The table was filthy by the time the two men had finished with you, so you moved to another booth and beckoned Lando and Oscar over for more shots.

“Hello boys!” You cheered as they slithered into the seats either side of you, Lando on your right and Oscar on your left.

“How does it feel to be the first McLaren constructor's champions since 1998?” you purred, fingers wrapping around a shot glass and pouring it into your mouth.

“Feels fucking amazing…” Oscar whispered into your neck.

You threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him up to join your lips.

You’d only swallowed half the glass and he moaned when you pushed the remaining liquid into his mouth. It burned on the way down, making him splutter at the bitter taste.

You and Lando laughed softly before you took another shot and did the same thing with him, and he took it like a champ.

Oscar didn’t like that you’d made him look ridiculous by surprising him with Tequila, so he demanded another go. And the same thing happened again.

You did another couple of shots like that, the two men eventually getting desperate for a different kind of taste of you.

Lando had a hand on your right thigh, Oscar on your left, and they pulled them apart to hook your legs over theirs.

You were fully exposed to their torture, the only thing you could do was moan when fingers (you didn't know whose) trailed along your folds, gathering your wetness while avoiding your clit on purpose.

“I think we deserve a reward for our hard work. Keep your eyes closed sweetheart, if you open them, we stop…”

It was turning you on to no end, having four hands on your body, and not being able to open your eyes to see who they belonged to.

Two fingers were inside you, rubbing insistent circles into your g-spot, another finger was circling your clit gently, a hand was alternating between squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipples, and the last one was wrapped around your neck, cutting off the bloodflow to your brain and making you feel incredible as your orgasm approached at a record pace.

“Fuck-” you rasped “I'm close, I'm so fucking close, oh my god!”

You clamped down on whoever's fingers they were as the pleasure overwhelmed you and you leaked onto the leather under you.

You panted into Lando's mouth, whining in overstimulation and he chuckled, standing up and sucking his fingers clean.

Oscar gave you a quick kiss as well before mirroring his teammate. They made no move to unbutton their pants.

“What?” you sat there panting, blinking up at them in confusion “What about you guys?”

Oscar chuckled.

“We figured you had enough to be getting on with tonight, so we'll be taking our reward privately another day, when you’ve recovered from what the others have planned for you” they winked at you and slipped out of the booth, leaving you to recompose yourself.

You made your way back to the dance floor, moving to the beat of the loud music while you danced with the others. That’s when you caught the eye of Yuki.

Yuki seemed pretty shy at first glance, but once you got to know him he was a menace.

He grinned at you and made his way over, dancing along the way and you laughed at the ridiculousness of his moves.

You turned so your back was to him, letting him wrap an arm around you from behind and gluing his hips to yours.

His hands went to grip your hips tight as you danced together, pretty much grinding on the dancefloor.

“Is it my turn yet?” he growled as he rubbed his crotch against the curve of your ass.

“It certainly is.” Your head lay back against his shoulder and he took the opportunity to trail kisses along the side of your jaw. “And you're free to have me however you want...”

He chuckled darkly when his hand slipped under your skirt to feel how wet you were.

He slipped a finger in easily, too easily and he grunted into your skin.

“Looks like I can just slip inside you right here, then”

You gasped when you felt one of his hands flip the back of your skirt up, then unbutton his pants to pull his cock out and slip it between your wet thighs.

The advantage of being similar heights meant that there was no need for either of you to bend your knees awkwardly or get up on tip toes, he just slipped into you and you moaned, high pitched into the thick air of the club.

It was slow. It was maddeningly slow as he rocked his hips in time with the beat of the song that was playing.

“Yuki!” you whined but he just laughed, his grip on your hips unrelenting as he bullied his cock into your sopping cunt at a snail’s pace.

You could feel your slick dripping down your legs, apparently being watched, or at least visible to all the others was making you wetter than ever.

“Such a dirty girl, aren't you?” he grunted into your ear as he picked up the pace slightly.

“She certainly is” said a voice in your other ear, which made you jump slightly.

It was Liam.

He closed the gap between your bodies, hands going to your waist as he kissed you.

But Yuki got rougher with his thrusts, making you moan into Liam's mouth and break the kiss to get some air into your lungs.

God, men were so competitive.

“So how’s your evening going?” he asked teasingly with a lopsided grin as you clung onto him for support.

“Don't- fuck!” Yuki gave a particularly hard thrust to try and distract you from Liam “Don't make small talk while I'm being fucked, you can see exactly how ahh- how my night is going…”

Liam chuckled and slowly lowered himself down to his knees, so he was eye level with where Yuki’s cock was spreading you open.

He flipped your skirt up and groaned at the sight.

You were dripping all over your thighs and Liam wanted nothing more than to lick them clean.

But instead he brought a hand up to his mouth and sucked on his thumb to wet it, before bringing it to your clit to rub it lightly.

“Oh fuck!” you squealed, and you wrapped a hand in his hair to steady yourself.

“You gonna come baby? Gonna come all over Yuki's cock like a good girl?”

You nodded desperately. Yuki's thrusts were getting sloppier, and you could feel your high approaching quickly as Liam worked over your clit diligently.

“I'm… I'm fuck- I'm coming!” you cried out, your orgasm washing over you in waves, and Yuki followed shortly after as he pumped you full of him.

He tucked himself back into his pants, giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek and muttered “thank you” before leaving you with the insatiable blonde standing in front of you.

He rubbed a couple of fingers through your folds, gathering some of the obscene mixture, and brought them to your lips for you to suck on.

His pupils were blown wide, feeling utterly insane as he watched you suck them clean.

“Want me to fuck Yuki's cum back into you?” he purred.

You moaned and nodded, eyes closing at the bitter taste on your tongue.

You ended up back on top of one of the tables in a booth, this time on your stomach as Liam slid himself in to the hilt, displacing Yuki's come and making it drip down your legs.

Nico, who you'd picked up on the way to the booth, was unbuttoning his pants as quickly as he could while you looked up at him with your tongue hanging out of your mouth.

As soon as his cock was freed you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the tip, teasing it with your tongue.

He groaned, and Liam took that as a sign to start moving, so he planted his hands on the table either side of your waist and started fucking you in earnest while Nico slid more of his cock into your mouth.

“God, your mouth schatz…” you hummed at the praise and his hips bucked at the extra vibration on his cock.

They got into a rhythm, one pushing in while the other slid out, and thank god you were laying down because your legs wouldn't have withstood the pure obscenity of the way Liam rolled his hips expertly, hips meeting yours every time you tried to push back against him.

You were so blissed out you didn't even notice Esteban slink into the booth and take a seat next to you.

He wasted no time pulling his pants down, and he hissed as he wrapped a hand around himself and squeezed lightly.

It didn't take Liam much longer to come, given how he'd been riled up ever since Yuki had beaten him to you on the dance floor, and he pumped his cock into you a few more times before letting out a low groan and emptying himself inside you.

He stepped aside and motioned for Esteban to take his place, and you gasped when his cock entered you.

It was longer than Liam's, and it bumped against your cervix on every thrust, despite him not even being fully inside you.

He chuckled when you choked around Nico, making the older man grunt and pull himself out of your mouth to give you a breather.

He jerked himself off furiously as you heaved in a breath, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“You gonna open that pretty mouth and let me come on your tongue, princess?” he panted, and you nodded, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue back out as far as it would go.

A few seconds later he came in hot spurts over your tongue, some of it dripping onto your lips and chin as you winked at him, and swallowed the lot.

Esteban didn't last long either, leaning over you and whispering dirty praises into your ear until you were a trembling mess underneath him.

“I didn't get to have this pussy last time, but I could wait for a thousand years if it meant being able to have this perfect cunt wrapped around my cock, squeezing around me so tight…”

You could hear the smirk in his voice, and when you looked to the side, you could see Max staring at you, a glass of Gin & Tonic in his hand as he fixed you with a look that clearly meant ‘It's my turn soon, and you're not going to be able to remember the others when I'm done with you”

Esteban wondered what made you clench like that, and his gaze fell on Max and he laughed at the expression on the Dutchman's face.

“He may have kicked us out last time, but tonight I get to have this sweet pussy all. I. want.”

He punctuated his words with hard thrusts, and you cried out as he made you see stars, coming for the umpteenth time that night.

He rocked his hips a few times and followed in Liam's footsteps, emptying himself inside you.

You had so much come inside you, and running down your legs it felt obscene.

“Well, well, well… what a sight”

Franco suddenly appeared beside you, hand trailing down your back to squeeze your ass in his large palm.

“Can I have a turn?” he asked, eyes drawn to the way your cunt fluttered and more cum dribbled out.

“Of course, Franco” you smiled up at him lazily, obviously fucked out of your mind on dopamine.

Alex also showed up, having spotted his teammate making his way up to you, he used your mouth to get off while Franco slipped his impressive girth inside you.

Franco was whining as he fucked into you, the squelch making his head reel with how wet you were around him and he came in no time, only adding to collection of cum dripping out of you.

On his way out, he bumped into Charles and Pierre, who had decided it was their turn.

They watched Alex finish over your tits, for which he had a bit of a thing, and fist-bumped him on his way out.

Charles moaned as you spread your legs, his cock throbbing at the mess in front of him.

“Oh darling, it looks like you've really made the most of tonight, haven't you?”

He trailed a finger along your inner thigh, spreading the mixture of juices around your skin.

His tip was just resting against your entrance, not pushing in yet while he had his fun.

His finger trailed up your inner thigh, through your folds and spread the wetness all the way up to your puckered rim.

“Charles no” you whined pitifully “I need you inside me now, just fuck me please”

He chuckled pushing just over half his cock inside your cunt and thrusting ever so gently.

“But I haven't done this with you yet” he pouted, his finger applying the lightest pressure and breaching your hole shallowly.

He was barely moving inside you and you felt like you were going mad with need.

“Chaaaarles, not tonight, please just go faster” you bucked your hips backwards, trying to get more of his cock inside you, and the two men laughed at your neediness. “If you don't want to fuck me then move over and let Pierre do it”

Charles’ eyebrows shot up in surprise and Pierre smirked at him. “You heard the lady”

Charles sighed, rubbing the tip of his finger over your rim longingly.

“Okay, next year then”

He slammed his hips against yours suddenly, making you jolt and cry out at the stimulation.

“Yes Charles, fuck!” his thrusts rendered you breathless, your thighs hitting the edge of the table every time.

Surprisingly, Charles didn't last very long. When he felt like he was getting close he pulled out and turned you over onto your back, slamming into you a few more times while he held your legs open before pulling out completely and finishing all over your thighs and quivering mess of a cunt.

He quickly stepped aside and Pierre, who you hadn't noticed had been jerking himself off next to you, wasted no time pushing into you and stretching you more than any of the others could.

Because he was so big, he had to go slow at first to make sure he didn't hurt you, but he quickly picked up the pace and hurtled towards his own orgasm, and weirdly, he did what Charles did, pulling out at the last second and shooting his cum over your lower stomach and puffy lips as he groaned at the sight.

You looked at the two men questioningly, and they looked a bit sweatier, and a bit more unhinged than they usually did after fucking. What on earth had gotten into them?

“What was that about?” you asked, seeing the way they were eyeing up your body.

“We've never seen you covered in so much cum and… it's doing something to us” Charles chuckled breathlessly, once again swirling his finger through the mess on your body.

“Is that right?” you giggled pulling him down for a kiss. “Well maybe if you win a race next year, I'll let you and Pierre cover me… completely” you muttered and he had to close his eyes to recompose himself.

“We would love that” He whispered and he dipped down again to give you a filthy kiss.

The moment was interrupted by a low groan and the sound of shuffling.

“Jesus Christ”

George and Max were standing there stiffly, staring at you.

Charles and Pierre just smirked at each other and sat down on the leather seats, eager to watch whatever was about to unfold.

“I'm the last one, right?” George said, eyes still trained on where your cunt was still leaking cum.

“Actually, I think you'll find that I am still-“

You couldn’t bare hearing any bickering right now, you were high on sex, and you just wanted to feel good.

“Excuse me!” you snapped, cutting them off “Actually, neither of you are coming anywhere near me until you've sorted out your differences”

They looked like they were about to argue with you.

“So either make up or make out, I don't care, but you're not getting me until you decide to work together”

Their jaws snapped shut.

They glanced at each other sheepishly.

“Come on, man…” Max lightly prodded George and that set them off again.

“Don't fucking touch me”

“What? you scared of me?” Max prodded him again.

“Fuck off” he slapped Max's arm away.

“Oh yeah, why don't you make me?”

“Oh you don't want to get me started-“

“Go on then”

“Yeah? You want to fight? Typical”

“Fuck you-”

They were getting physical, pushing each other roughly back and forth and you were about to intervene when…

“Ow! You fucking- mmmff!”

It happened so fast, you, Charles and Pierre barely had time to register what was happening.

Max grabbed the front of George's shirt and slammed him against the side of the booth, but instead of punching him, which is what you thought he was going to do, he pressed his body against the taller man and pulled his head down to shove their lips together.

George tried to put up a fight, but it didn't last long as Max quickly invaded his senses and all he could do was cling to the older man while they fought with their mouths rather than their fists.

Although with how the kiss was going, you wouldn't be surprised if they did end up taking each other's fists.

You laughed at your own unhinged dirty mind and turned to the others, who were gawping at the two with open mouths.

You had a feeling they were going to be there a while.

So you picked your skirt up off the other side of the leather couches and put it on in a semblance of modesty, and made your way to the room that had a shower in it to freshen up a bit. The hot water felt amazing as it washed away the stickiness all over your skin.

When you came out, fresh and ready to party, you ran into Pierre who was looking for you.

“They were at it for ages, and they only stopped when they realised you weren't there anymore. Look, I took a picture, it's in the group chat” he showed you his phone and indeed, they had moved to the seats, Max on top and they looked debauched.

If that picture ever got out, the world of F1 would be shaken forever, and twitter would probably explode.

You spent the rest of the night dancing and doing shots with the remaining drivers. You danced for hours, enjoying each other’s company as the season officially came to a close.

 Max and George were scowling at you from across the room the whole time, which was fine. At least they were no longer scowling at each other.

Besides, you'd have plenty of opportunities to make it up to them, next season.

[deterioratingpisces]

Daniel Molloy, marriage councillor from hell.

He’s got a 98% divorce rate. The other 2%? They’re probably staying together out of sheer spite—or fear of returning to his office.

Instead of fixing his clients’ problems, he digs up some more. Forget “working on communication.” He’s a master at uncovering your worst secrets and weaponizing them like a teenager in a text fight.

He gets a little spark in his eyes whenever he finds something new to grill his clients about. It’s the closest he gets to joy: that glint that says, “Oh, you thought that wasn’t going to come up?”

Don’t worry about him playing favourites; he’s being a little shit to everyone equally. Even the mildest disagreements become battlefields under his gaze. You’ll go in debating how to load the dishwasher and come out wondering if love is even real.

Also, don’t be gleeful when your partner is on the receiving end of his judgement. Your turn is just around the corner. The moment he catches a whiff of smugness, he redirects like a hawk zeroing in on fresh prey.

Passive-aggressiveness just gasses him up more. Every eye roll, every groan, every passive-aggressive “are we done here?”—it’s all fuel for the fire. You think you’re breaking him down, but really, you’re just feeding the beast.

The only way of coming out of his therapy still married is through fraternizing against him. But good luck. Before you can say “teamwork,” he’s found the one thing you can’t agree on and driven a wedge so deep, you’ll forget you were ever on the same side.

Probably one of the biggest mistakes you could make is trying to weaponize his own two failed marriages against him. Oh, sweet summer child. You think that’s a trump card? He’ll shrug it off like lint on his blazer and hit you with, “That’s adorable, but let’s talk about why you brought this up.” Cue emotional bloodbath.

Thinking you can charm him by mentioning you’ve read his work and thought it was brilliant? Big mistake. He doesn’t take compliments; he takes ammunition. “Oh, you read my book? Fascinating. Let’s talk about why you felt the need to bring that up. Seeking validation, perhaps?” Now you’re defending yourself for being polite.

He’s written exactly one book, and it’s the kind of thing only masochists or grad students read. Titled “Irreconcilable: Why Most Marriages Were Doomed Before They Began,” it’s a scathing 600-page manifesto on why love is an illusion and compromise is a scam.

He’ll be going off on you for one hour, and the second the time is up he’s his perfectly composed self. Nothing like hearing, “Same time next week? We’re really cracking this open!” after you’ve spent an hour sobbing and accusing your spouse of crimes you didn’t even know you cared about.

He’s immensely motionless and visibly dissatisfied every time a couple does make it out of his counseling still together. No congratulations. No “job well done.” Just a flat, “Wow. Guess miracles do happen.” The closest thing to an endorsement you’ll ever get.

If you somehow survive his sessions intact, you’ll leave with a list of issues you didn’t even know you had. Trust issues? Check. Miscommunication? Check. A sudden, inexplicable need to google “how to file a restraining order”? Double check.

His office décor is clinically neutral—beige walls, minimal art—because the real carnage happens in your emotional landscape. There’s no place for comfort here. Just two chairs, a box of tissues, and the sharp glare of his judgment.

He’s the kind of counselor who will literally pause a heated argument to correct your grammar. “Actually, it’s ‘my partner and I,’ not ‘me and my partner.’ But please, go on about how they never support you.”

He’s got a poker face so strong, even the most unhinged confession barely raises an eyebrow. You could admit to orchestrating a fake kidnapping to test your partner’s loyalty, and he’d just scribble something in his notebook with a bored, “Huh. Interesting.”

Somehow, he remembers everything. That tiny detail you offhandedly mentioned in week one? He’ll bring it back 15 sessions later, weaponized and sharper than your spouse’s passive-aggressive tone during your last fight.

His motto? “Honesty isn’t always the best policy—it’s just the most fun for me.” Because nothing says therapy like watching couples tear each other apart under the guise of “truth.”

Every session is like playing emotional Minesweeper. You think you’re navigating safely until—BOOM—he hits you with a “So when are you planning to tell them about the credit card debt?”

He’s probably got a closet full of tissue boxes because he goes through multiple ones a day. Not that he’s offering comfort, mind you. He’s just emotionally eviscerating people left and right, leaving them to weep into piles of Kleenex while he sits there scribbling in his notebook like “Another one bites the dust.”

On the rare occasion he does favour one client over their partner, he’ll join in with them to gaslight the other. If you thought your gaslighting was bad, wait until he tags in. “Honestly, that’s a perfectly normal thing to do. I don’t know why your partner’s making such a big deal about it.” Next thing you know, you’re doubting your grip on reality.

You know he’s in a good mood when he starts with, ‘So, let’s revisit that thing you were hoping I’d forget.’ His version of ‘good vibes’ is a merciless callback to the worst fight you’ve ever had. Bonus points if it involves a completely trivial topic like a burnt casserole.

He once accidentally helped save/improve a marriage, and he still brings it up as his greatest failure. “It wasn’t my fault. They blindsided me by… actually communicating. Ugh.”

He doesn’t just break you down emotionally; he’ll dismantle your hobbies too. “So you knit to ‘relax’? Interesting. Is that why your partner feels neglected every time you pick up the needles?”

Every now and then, he’ll throw in a “fun” hypothetical just to spice things up. “So, if your spouse did start an affair with their coworker, how do you think you’d react? No, seriously, let’s explore that.” And just like that, he’s set your relationship on fire.

If you’re brave enough to call him out for being biased, he’ll hit you with a “Why do you think you feel that way?” Congratulations, you just fell into his trap. Now you’re the one who needs to “explore your insecurities.”

He’s got a way of twisting even the smallest compliment into a passive-aggressive critique. “So you think they’re a good parent? Interesting that you don’t mention them being a good partner.”

No argument is off-limits to him, no matter how petty. You could be fighting over the remote, and he’ll somehow turn it into a deep dive on your inability to compromise. “Is it really about the TV? Or is it about the control you feel you’re losing in this relationship?”

He has the audacity to send you home with homework. Nothing says fun date night like sitting down to answer questions like, “What’s the worst thing your partner’s ever said to you, and why do you think they meant it?”

He signs off every session with, ‘It’s not my job to fix you. It’s my job to show you what’s broken.’ Thanks, Daniel. Really uplifting. Can’t wait for next week.

He keeps a tally on how many digs it takes for both of his clients to start sobbing. He’s like an emotional sniper, except instead of bullets, it’s a well-placed “So, how did your mother influence your relationship dynamic?”

He also keeps a separate count of how many clients had a full-on mental breakdown that week. At the end of the week, he probably leans back in his chair, reviewing the numbers with a satisfied, “Another record-breaking performance. Good job, me.”

He gets a twisted sense of joy from the whole thing. Every time someone cries, he casually slides the tissue box closer with a little smirk, like “That’s the spirit.”

He claims he doesn’t enjoy making people cry, but the smug look on his face says otherwise. You swear you caught him jotting “two-for-one cry deal” in the corner of his notebook after both you and your partner lost it in the same session.

If you call him out on the tally, he’ll act surprised. “Tally? Oh no, that’s just... uh... my grocery list. Don’t mind that.” Meanwhile, you can see “MENTY B TOTAL: 12” written in huge letters.

He has a "Hall of Fame" in his mind for the fastest emotional breakdowns. “Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Impressive, really. Most people hold out until the ten-minute mark.”

His biggest letdown of the week is a session where nobody cries. He’ll sigh heavily, jot something in his notebook, and mutter, “Well, we all have off days.”The week his tally hits zero? He might as well shut the whole office down. He’d sit at his desk, staring out the window, whispering, “Have I lost my touch? No... it’s them. They’re just repressing better.”

The reason his Google ratings are still up? It’s either fear—because who wants Daniel Molloy coming after them in a vengeful Yelp tirade—or gratitude, but of the gaslit variety. His clients walk away thinking, “Wow, our marriage was doomed from the start. Thank you, Mr. Molloy, for showing us the truth.”

There’s a rumor that he has a celebratory bell he rings in his private office for every milestone. After every couple that leaves his office divorced. Ding-ding-ding! “Another happy ending.”

Sometimes he drops subtle hints about the bell mid-session. “You know, not every couple makes it through therapy. But that’s okay. There’s… closure in accepting the truth.” And you know he’s thinking about that bell.

If he had his way, the bell would be a centerpiece of his practice. Displayed proudly behind his desk, polished to a shine, with an engraving: “In honor of irreconcilable differences.”

Please feel free to add anything I have missed. 💀

[reccyls]

Azel chapter 19 premium story

My translation of Azel's chapter 19 premium story. This is where he speaks about his past to Emma, so please do note the content warnings for child abuse & violence

---

Every beginning comes with a matching end. Everything that comes to pass eventually fades from memory, disappears, and becomes something that remains only in dreams. That day may arrive sooner than we think. Soon enough that there is no time to prepare.

...

Azel: I recommend that you leave Tanzanite before the next full moon, Young Akatsuki.

(Huh...?)

Prince Azel spoke calmly after he took a sip of his Zel-Tea. Akatsuki's gaze steadily met that of the all-knowing, all-seeing God.

Akatsuki: ...Things will take a turn for the worse?

Azel: Yes, and quickly.

(...If even Tanzanite's God says so...)

The moon was about half-full tonight. There was little time left until the full moon.

(The riot from before was still only a small one...) (If the situation really will get worse, then the military could be called in.) (Once the royal family starts cracking down on the protests, that's only going to escalate things.) (I hope things don't come to that.)

Thoughts of the doomsday prophecy, the topic on everyone's lips, ran through my mind. I could barely taste my own cup of Zel-Tea.

Akatsuki: I appreciate the warning.

Azel: I've said this before, no? Emma has served me well. Azel: This advice is thanks for her service. However... Azel: If word got out that God had made such a declaration of misfortune, it would lead to even more unrest among the people. Azel: So let's keep this discussion between just us, shall we?

(...If things really descend into civil war...) (Will Prince Azel be okay?)

...

(...) (......) (I can't sleep at all...)

I gave up on trying to fall asleep and opened my eyes, still curled up on the bed. But the sight that greeted me wasn't the star-dotted ceiling, but Prince Azel's eyes.

(......!?)

Azel: Wha-

He seemed just as surprised as I was, and all but leaped backwards.

Azel: If you were awake, don't just lie there quietly, say something! You nearly gave me a heart attack!

Emma: W-what were you doing?

Azel: You have it all wrong, I wasn't doing anything.

(...Well it really looked like he was staring at me while he thought I was asleep...)

I continued to stare at him. After a few more silent seconds, Prince Azel raised both of his hands as if to say "look, I'm innocent!" and turned away.

Azel: I didn't do anything bad. Azel: I was just... you were disturbing me, so I was moving you closer to the edge of the bed.

(Oh, right. I do always end up near the middle of the bed when I wake up all the time.)

I always tried to sleep on the edge of the bed so I didn't take up too much space. But I usually woke up the next morning in the middle.

Emma: I'm sorr-

(Wait, no. That's weird.) (There's no way that I'd end up shuffling to the middle every night, right? Especially not if Prince Azel keeps moving me back.)

Azel was very deliberately not looking at me.

Emma: ...It's the opposite, isn't it?

Azel: No it's not, why would it be the opposite, that's absurd, why would I move you to the middle, you're mistaken.

Emma: So it is the opposite.

Azel: ......

(This isn't the first time I've felt all warm and ticklish inside.)

Emma: Thank you. For tonight, and all the other times too.

Perhaps giving up on trying to deny it any longer, Prince Azel moved back closer to the bed with a sulky look on his face.

Azel: Don't get the wrong idea-

Emma: You're going to charge me a "Move to the Center of the Bed" fee?

Azel: ...Yes. I'll add it to your debt.

He picked up one of the nearby books and lay on his stomach as he began to read. It was probably his way of trying to end the conversation. I shuffled more to the side to give him more space, but I couldn't stop looking at him. His profile as he read was as handsome as the magnificent statue that stood in the main market square. At a first glance, he was every bit the distant, cold god the statue depicted. But Prince Azel always showed kindness in the times it was needed. He was a money-grubbing scumbag of a god who worked me like a slave... But his awkward compassion still put a smile on my face. --And I could feel my heart start to race.

(I still can't sleep. But now it's for a different reason.)

As I continued to stare, the frown on his face deepened, a wrinkle forming between his brow. He reached out to pinch my cheek.

Azel: Go to sleep already. I can't concentrate because you're staring too loudly.

Emma: Can you talk to me until I fall asleep?

Azel: No.

Emma: I have something I want to ask you. I'm really curious.

Azel: I just said no.

But despite his words, hs fingers stopped turning pages. It showed that he was listening to me.

(See? I know he's a kind person.) (So then why...)

Emma: ...Why don't you love your people?

Azel: What?

Emma: You were the one who told me that before.

(flashback) Azel: To be loved is a nuisance. And God does not love the people either.

Emma: You don't hate people. Emma: You care. You never turn away anyone who comes to see you at your temple, and you always treat people gently with a smile. Emma: To me, it looks like you do love the people of Tanzanite.

Azel: ...I had thought that Rhodolite's Belle was supposed to have good judgment. Azel: You've so grossly misunderstood me that I might actually be sick.

He closed his book and then pinched my cheek again.

Azel: I have always been Tanzanite's God Incarnate ever since I was born. Azel: People looked to me for hope and to hear my prophecies. Azel: They were looking to an infant for guidance.

Emma: Since you were that young?

Azel: Yes. My mother knelt before my crib, and my father was a fanatical believer. Azel: Of course, I have no memories of this time. I wasn't even a year old. Azel: But according to my brothers, I was forced to use talismans to tell people's fortunes. Azel: It wasn't prophecy. It was pure blind luck. A baby was telling fortunes by randomly picking out cards from a set.

Emma: That's absurd.

Azel: The people of Tanzanite don't have your common sense. Azel: They entrusted their lives, their country... everything. They left everything up to an infant.

Prince Azel let go and rested his chin on his hand.

Azel: The older I became, the more was asked of me. Azel: People worship god because they believe that their futures are already determined by those fortunes. Azel: And more importantly, it was so easy for them. They didn't even have to think for themselves, didn't have to make a single decision on their own.

(...I had known that things were sort of like this. But giving up all choices and entrusting everything to god... that's unthinkable to me.) (Making choices comes with responsibility.)

As Belle, my choices had helped to determine Rhodolite's future. If the king I chose brought the country to ruin, then that would be my responsiblity.

(How many more decisions like this has Prince Azel had to make for others?) (And how much blame will fall on his shoulders if any of those go wrong?)

Emma: ...Did you ever hate it?

Azel: Every day. That's why I acted out once. Azel: Well, I say that. But it was both of my brothers' decision. Azel: Enis and my eldest brother must have felt sorry for me, the same way you do now.

Azel: So one day, the three of us ran away from the palace and hid in these ruins. Azel: There were no adults around. No one aside from the three of us. It was the first time they could treat me like their brother. Azel: I never knew that being treated as just another "person" could feel so good. Azel: ...So much so that I made a mistake in judgment. I should have pushed for us to return to the palace before we were discovered. Azel: Our father sent soldiers out to find us when we were discovered to be missing. It didn't take them very long. Azel: And then...

Azel's hands clenched the sheets.

Azel: My father had my brothers' nails ripped out. He whipped them until they bled, and hanged them from the ceiling of a freezing cold cell for three days and three nights.

Emma: ...!

(That's... that's just...) (That wasn't discipline. That's torture.)

Azel: I was just a child. I couldn't do anything but scream and cry, begging my father to stop. But he didn't. Azel: "Everything I do is for your sake," he told me. He was smiling as he hurt my brothers. Azel: ...I haven't been able to stand the sight of blood from that day.

Hearing the pain hidden behind Azel's matter-of-fact tone, I placed my hand over his. I was barely thinking. I just wanted to try to soothe his pain no matter what.

Emma: ...That's horrible.

Azel: Nobody stopped my father. Azel: Because he believed in god, because he loved god, everything he did for god's sake was justified.

Azel uncurled his fists, without moving my hand away.

Azel: Since then, Enis has never been able to speak out against our father. He no longer sees me as his younger brother. Azel: Our eldest brother was the mastermind behind our escape plan. So he was exiled from Tanzanite. Azel: I still call myself the Second Prince out of stubbornness. Azel: My eldest brother still holds the title of First Prince to this day so that the old man will always remember how much I hate him.

(...So that was it.)

(flashback) Azel: It's fine. The old man is in his sanctuary today. Azel: No one is here to punish you for breaking from decorum for a while. Enis: ...All right.

Emma: When you say your father... Emma: You mean the Apostle?

As if in confirmation, Azel gripped my hand tightly.

Azel: You have always felt there was something off about him, haven't you? Azel: It impressed me. Not many can look behind his mask to see the madman beneath.

(The more I hear, the more it sounds like...)

Azel: People worship me as a god, but that is just a convenient illusion for their sakes.

Azel: The true identity of Tanzanite's God Incarnate... Azel: ...is just a pathetic, helpless slave.

All I could do was to hold his hand tightly in return.

Azel: You asked why god does not love his people. Here is your answer. Azel: They all claim to love god... Azel: They believe that just because they hold that feeling called love, they can do whatever they want, that their every action is justified. Azel: He who succumbs to "love" is driven to incurable insanity. Azel: Love is a curse.

(I feel like... I've heard this somewhere before...)

The vaguest memory of a dream washed over me.

Azel: That is why I will never love anyone. Azel: Never insinuate such a thing ever again.

Emma: But... Emma: That "love", isn't truly love.

(Not the kind of love that I know.) (I think this is where that sense of discomfort is coming from.)

Emma: Something that causes you such pain can't be love. Emma: The love that you speak of is just violence masquerading as love.

At my declaration, Azel's eyes seemed to glimmer challengingly in the moonlight.

Azel: So, what is it supposed to be?

(What is love supposed to be...)

It's a question that I've been struggling to answer myself. But if compassion and kindness are just a few of love's faces, then I knew of many examples.

Emma: It's like when you stay up late to talk wth me because I can't sleep.

Azel: ...What?

Emma: And like when you made dinner for me because I was tired. Emma: And when you got a cloth for me to dry my tears because I was crying. Emma: And moving me back to the middle of the bed every night so I don't fall off in my sleep... Emma: I think those are examples of love.

Azel: ...... Azel: So you're trying to insult me?

Emma: How'd you get that idea!?

Azel: What do you mean, how!? What else could it be? Azel: It's like you're saying that I love you.

Emma: -ah.

(Okay those might have been kind of presumptuous examples...) (But those were the first things that came to mind!)

Azel: I'm adding three zeroes to the end of your debt.

Emma: Those were just examples! Examples!

Azel's face was bright red, unmistakeable even in the dim light.

(...Is he that embarrassed...?)

The examples I had thrown out without much thought now seemed to take on a deeper meaning. My thoughts began to turn towards expectation. After an awkward silence, Azel reached out to grab my head and pulled it towards his chest.

Azel: Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep now.

Emma: I can't breathe! I'm not going to sleep, I'm going to pass out!

At my flailing, Azel's grip loosened. But he didn't let go of me entirely, and his arms settled around my waist. He was probably just trying to stop me from looking at his face, but this was causing my own face to heat up.

(This is exactly the kind of thing that's making everyone misunderstand our situation!)

Azel: I'm going to make one thing clear. Azel: Everything I do is for the sake of making money. I have never done a single thing because of you. Azel: The next time you start talking about love or anything of the sort, I'll curse you into your next life.

(.......This is bad.)

Azel's words said one thing. His heartbeat said another. Maybe a god's heart just naturally beat faster than a human's. But regardless... The racing pulse I could feel from his chest was contagious.

(I probably shouldn't point that out, or else he's going to make me pass out for real.)

So although I didn't feel like sleeping, I closed my eyes. I don't know whether he realized it or not, but I could feel his hands gently stroking my back. Perhaps all of this was just god having pity on me because I told him he couldn't sleep.

(...But I feel like I'll be able to find the answer I've been searching for, if I'm with Prince Azel.) (What is true love?)

...

After some time had passed, Azel heard Emma's breaths even out in slumber and he shifted away. Unlike before, there was no indication she was awake. Her breaths dissipated into the desert air.

Azel: ...Good. You're finally asleep. Azel: And now I'm the one who can't sleep.

His complaining was met with only silence. Sighing, he pulled the blanket further up around them. Now wrapped snugly in a warm blanket to guard against the cold night air, Emma shifted in her sleep to curl around the blanket, clutching it tight and moving away from Azel. He frowned at the sight.

Azel: ...I'm definitely warmer than a blanket.

He reached out to her, hesitated, pulled back, and repeated this cycle over and over again for some time. But at last, he finally pulled her back close to him.

Azel: ...Being around you turns me into such a fool. Azel: ... Azel: But no sweet dream lasts forever.

Azel: What happens here will fade away to memory and into dreams, for both you and me. Azel: ...I've suffered so much at the hands of this thing called love. Azel: But at least you will be able to live without such pain. Azel: To be loved is to take the first step into hell.

And then, he pressed a gentle kiss to Emma's forehead, as if in prayer.

[sentientsnakeskin]

Also need to discuss the mischaracterization of Natalie Scatorccio because please look me in the eyes and tell me why people call her a bad person??? Like i get she’s verbally combative sometimes i guess but i can’t think of one time she did something bad that she didn’t genuinely apologize for afterwards. Like… seriously what. It feels like to me, narratively, she’s spent her whole life as a girl who goes through a lot of shit all the time and has unhealthy coping mechanisms, and then she gets shit from everyone around her for those same coping mechanisms. She has spent her whole life being unloved and unwanted and she still has such compassion inside of her and it’s so unreal. I mean i cannot believe the extent of her compassion, and there’s so much about her that I’ve never seen discussed, and I’m gonna talk about it. 

She was most likely going through withdrawal in the wilderness, she didn’t have access to anything and ik we saw her with a cigarette a couple times and we know she brought other contraband, but at some point she had to run out of it. She definitely had the ability to slowly let herself off of it but even that is something to take note of? Like if she did do that if means she quietly took the measures to get herself off it, to prepare for the eventuality that she wouldn’t have anything. And yet she never complained, was never a bitch about it, she even fucking gave what little she did have to Coach Ben cause she knew he needed it

Even with those that she didn’t like, most notably Lottie cause of the mysticism things and Jackie cause of the everything else, she still wasn’t near as rude as she could be? And was actually weirdly nice? She told Lottie to knock off the bullshit because she could see it going badly, and even when it came down to it and everyone started challenging her hunting skills in favor of Lottie, when Lottie needed it, she was there. She made up with Lottie, she apologized, she volunteered her tub of warm water despite also having hypothermia because Lottie needed it more. She could have been a smart aleck, but she wasn’t. She apologized. And even with Jackie, like she had every right to be pissed with Jackie because lowkey Jackie did say some shit abt her, but when it came down to it? She was good to her, she let her out of the closet at doomcoming, she never batted an eye about jackie sleeping with travis, she put aside all the petty shit, and she was the only one who ever showed any remorse for eating her. Nat hated Jackie the most out of everyone and she was the only one to have any reason to hate her, and yet Natalie Scatorccio was the one to carry her bones off to the burial site. She fucking apologized to her bones and thanked her for being the sacrifice they needed to survive, and that’s more than anyone else really did. Like bro… 

She literally always gave 110% for the survival of the group. I’m talking like, she got up at the crack of dawn every morning and went out and tried to hunt despite not getting anything ever, and got up even earlier to search for Javi with Travis despite never finding him. Like she had the same rations as everyone else just less sleep and more work like holy shit she tried?? All the time??? And then spent the time she did have at camp being the voice of reason? Defending the people that needed to be defended? Speaking up when no one else did? 

Also her attitude with Travis was just insane because you’re telling me she made an effort to understand why he was the way that he was even though he was nothing but a jerk to her, then when they got together took the time to go at a pace that was comfortable for him and reassure him of everything he ever needed to be assured of, and shelled out the effort to understand him when he started following Lottie more intensely, never batted an eye at him sleeping with Jackie in a heartbeat when he never did that with her their whole relationship, and even into their adulthood made an effort to help keep him clean and make sure he didn’t off himself while struggling with the same shit herself, even though he was clearly not good for her??? Like that’s literally insane bro 

Also, the stark difference between her behavior and everyone else’s when shit goes down is always stupidly obvious. Like especially at doomcoming? She ate the hallucinogenic mushrooms with everyone else, but she had the sense and the compassion to not only go and check on travis, she let Jackie out the closet, and then confronted everyone about trying to kill him, and stopped them. Like she could have joined in. That’s something she could have done but she didn’t, because she cares about Travis. She cares about people, in general. It’s so bizarre.

All this behavior also continues in the adult timeline. Especially later when she’s at the commune, but we see it earlier too. As mentioned, she continues to chase after Travis, keep him clean and safe. When he dies, she goes on an all consuming investigation into his death. When she finds out he really wasn’t murdered and Lottie saw him die, she spends like .2 seconds being suspicious of Lottie before she’s like okay yeah i believe you. And then despite not believing in Lottie’s like spiritual bullshit cult thing she doesn’t attempt to escape and doesn’t act near as critical of it as she obviously was. She bonded with Lisa, stuck up for her against her mom, stole her fish back in her mouth for her, and genuinely apologized for hurting her. And then she died for her! She sacrificed her life for a girl she knew maybe a week or two at most and im losing my MIND over it 

I probably missed things cause this is mostly just off the top of my head so add on anything i missed, but it’s just so insane to me how kind she was and continues to be despite everything. I just love the exploration of this character who in show is characterized as a bitch and is verbally abrasive but all of that is a cover for her being the most empathetic character ever??? Like oh my god 

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

IF your requests are open, could you please do Hyugo, Geo, and Crowe with a calm s/o that makes them feel safe? Like, for Hyugo, the s/o is probably the big spoon, (was thinking of slightly taller but I think slightly shorter is better..?), someone who just loves to hold him - and for that little time, Hyugo is in heaven. And so is s/o. (Just giving suggestions, you don't have to follow the script.) For Crowe, it's probably similar? But Crowe is the prince charming - meaning s/o would probably have to be hard to fluster (?). The s/o would probably kick some ass if anyone dared say anything about all those three in a ny situations - or if anyone talked shit about the s/o's close friends in general. Geo is probably a completely different story. He doesn't like to be touched - but little things, such as little gifts (or maybe flowers) and the s/o's presenece makes his feel strangely at ease.

I LOVE your work! I can't really figure out how to write my oneshots, especially hcs - but if I ever do, I'll make sure to tag you!

WITHIN YOUR ARMS

Thank you so much for the kind words! And, if you want some advice on writing oneshots or HCs, just press buttons on your keyboard that at least somewhat personify what you're trying to say; but either way make SURE you tag me, whatever it is you cook up I'll feast upon till the day I wither and die. 😔

-- Signed solemnly by @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer AKA Sky Fort(resse)s and Burning Citadels <3

In Geode's case, you serve as one of the few people - that he's already well acquainted with - whom he trusts. Fully trusts. He doesn't know whether to be irked or content with this innate feeling, so he does what he typically does with feelings - repression.

He's very rarely someone who cracks, or makes it aware how weak he truly feels, the only people who have are Hyugo and maybe his parents - adoptive parents, but parents nonetheless. The point is, that odd trust makes him feel that if he were to crack and have the dams break, you'd do something different. You wouldn't try to rebuild said dam or freeze the cascading waterfalls of tears with ice...you'd simply let the waterworks run, let these feelings run wild and about, until they find their due course down wherever it is that feelings go.

Not that he will, of course. That'll never happen, especially if sober. The only way tears'll ever happen is if Geo's tipsy or high. He's never been under the influence. Doesn't want to be either.

The only reason he starts somewhat talking to you is if you're close with Crowe or Brittney. Or if either of them - or even Deryl - ask him to be more open with you.

He appreciates your nonchalant nature, you've got a moral compass and plenty of passion - but you're logical, reasonable, tolerable. He finds himself approving of you eventually.

You both get closer typically through Deryl or Crowe being with you lot, the former tends to drag Geo along regardless, while the latter wants to simply relax with his friends - and you lmao.

Anyway he'll only start cracking when you show a more serious interest in being his friend, whether that be inviting him somewhere or getting him a small gift. "Did Deryl put you up to this? What even is it."

"It's from me! We're friends - at least I want us to be - so, yeah. Heard you like these. :))"

"Oh". *long pause* "Thank...s. It's appreciated. :]"

Soon enough he decides he likes you enough to hang out with you alone, and that's when the true bonding starts. You become good friends pretty quickly - especially comparing to Geo's friendship track records and in turn it takes him significantly longer to discover he likes you. Not simply platonically.

To put this simply, Geo's a little bitch who fears rejection and humiliation and thus, you will have to be the confessor in terms of these romantic feelings.

Insert long dramatic timeskip.

When together, Geo gently, gingerly, starts being less stoic around you, he still detests being touched, but he'll allow a handhold every now and then, he enjoys knowing you're comfortable and content with him. Only allows things like hugging when severely comfortable around you, and only when you're asleep. You'll probably be watching a movie together and you 'fall asleep' (or maybe you actually do, who knows) on his shoulder, and after about 20 minutes that man is grinning to himself. Not that you'll ever know, but the satisfaction he gets is insane.

This man will also serve as the perfect #malewife. Will cook, will clean, will drive, will be a jealous little shit. There's no way he isn't. He definitely spends hours in bed contemplating what to do about these nuisances. ALSO GETS RED AND FLUSHED EASILY!!!!!!!!!! He blushes so hard his skin looks red. That's probably why he looks up at the sky when around you lets be fr.

In terms of sleeping in the same bed, it'll probably never happen. Firstly, his touch aversion; secondly it's normal for couples to sleep separately in Japanese culture anyway, so for him that was always the norm growing up. It'd take a LOT to get you both together, but let's make some magic happen and you're in a one-bed scenario (check out that one HC I did of this trope btw).

Only touching that happens will probably be hand-holding, but while that may seem small for most, for Geo that's insane. For him to initiate touch is even crazier, so if he does, you better stay with him. If something happens that makes you either scared or otherwise require comfort, he might let you hold him - him being preferably in a couple of sweaters to ignore the feelings (also I HC he's cold all the time) - BUT he's big spooning. He is not risking his hair being touched, no sir no ma'am.

"Hm. >:)" *silently smiles in the dead of night in a Japanese manner*

For Hyugo, you're one of - if not the - only thing that's remained steady in his deranged, messy life. He's surrounded by falseties, by masks, by faces of people who either hide their truth from him, or - like his brother - made it apparent how willingly they would be to leave him alone within this web he's entangled himself into, been forced to be entangled into.

He's been raised in wealth and fame, so he's learnt about reputation - and the vitality of safety - from a young age, an age that should've been saved for childlike naiveties...but not Hyugo. Since his youth he's either guarded, watched or puppeteered - if not by his family then by his reputation, and if not for reputation then the endless scandalous things he's gotten up to.

He's learnt to rely on intuition, on logic, on maintaining unpredictability that can leave most confused or deterred from pursuing any suspicious things he might've revealed sometime ages ago. He's got a good memory to, how else is he meant to memorise every alibi and lie he's ever uttered?

Either way, he never was able to simply be. To exist in himself and feel serene, at ease. Until he met you, that is; and it wasn't a short process either! This man's got intense, well-rooted trust issues. He fears attachment, but alas his heart decided that this one - this beautiful stranger - was someone...stable. Someone trustworthy, someone safe.

He's by far not a saint, he knows it, some nights it even haunts him...on rarer times he wonders if he's even got any humanity left. If he has any empathy left. Love left. The thought scares him, oddly enough. Until you come along and remind him that clearly not, because he feels something akin to devotion in terms of you, especially after a long time of knowing you.

When he does grow close to you, in a sense that blends the lines of platonic and romantic, he sees you as his aegis. His sword and shield, his camouflage and beacon. Not that he'll admit the extent of thee feelings, of course not. He's got a facade to maintain, or 100.

When you two eventually try out a relationship and find it works well, find you guys have stuck it out together for a year or so and decide to live together, he serves as a domestic cook and tutor. He'll help you as much as he can, when not MIA or finding himself occupied by important-people-duties.

In terms of sleeping in the same bed, it'll take a LONG time to get to that, but say you two are watching a movie and he ends up resting his head on your shoulder, gingerly nuzzling into your neck and then, before either of you know it, he falls asleep.

According to himself, one of the best nights of sleep he's ever gotten. And that begs the thought, was it you specifically? yes it was

He thinks about it, and overtime notices he's less anxious around you, his inner turmoil finds pause in your arms, and soon enough he's wrapped around your abdomen as many nights as he can get - and if you're willing. You've a calm presence, a soothing soul and your touch is a balm to the many wounds he's earned and suffered, both physical and mental - murder takes its toll on everyone. He'll rarely say it, but your calm is one of the things that's kept him relatively normal.

100% snuggle switch, loves being the little spoon on darker nights, where the intrusive memories and haunting thoughts return to drive him insane; loves being the big spoon when he's in a protective or possessive mood. If he's feeling affectionate he'll be your personal koala. "Haah. You're many things, Y/N, but you're not false and I pray - for both our sakes - that we'll remain together, that I can stay together with you. For you...I'm willing to try." OR... "Hello. Goodnight." *snores in Japanese*

Hyugo will sometimes decide to flirt with you. If you're calm enough to not appear fazed, he's gonna be the biggest tease possible, kissing either your neck or cheek when he's off to do whatever. Enjoys seeing your reactions to things he does, it brings him immense joy to have you feeling - and expressing - your contentment.

May or may not mutter itadakimasu before annihilating your cunt. May or may not get extremely horny at the prospect of feeling so at ease in your arms, because while being inside your arms are nice, he can think of a few places that'd also be real nice to fit in.

I'd also like to say I'm betting my amygdala on the fact that Hyugo sounds really melodious when he whines. He loves being touched, also. If he feels safe with you, you holding him or touching him makes him feel heavenly. He loves it, and he definitely grows to loving you as well.

In Crowe's case, you've already been friends ages, but even from the second his gaze landed on you he knew he was gone. Despite your camaraderie starting during the pinnacle of a fight he'd thrown himself into to aid you, feeding his newly innate desire - need - to protect you...he knew he was gone.

He probably hadn't realized the extent of it, but even after that fight ended and especially when you finally accepted his hand in friendship, seeing that stoic and distrustful glare turn into a gaze of a simmering warmth, a soothing calm and acceptance. In short, he found you ethereal.

And it was over the course of this friendship that he recognised how truly trustworthy and reliable you are. You're non-judgmental, you voice your concerns, you remain a force of stability amongst the dramas and chaos that is university. You provide a calm to his boisterous and troubled life. You're got an authenticity about you, another trait that Crowe adores you for.

He's got baggage, he knows it, yet with you he feels unburdened. Free from all the shit that's piling up behind the scenes, the rumours and the scandals and the insanity. You offer him a respite from that. An escape, one he ironically enough wants to be trapped in forever, as long as you allow it.

Crowe enjoys making playful remarks, flirtatious compliments; especially when he's jealous or feeling particularly bold. Typically you either bite and flirt back, or coolly brush it off, giving a snarky "I know." or "I'm honoured you think of me so highly."

Anyway Crowe catches on to his own feelings rather quickly, and is the most logical about acting on them. He aids you with homework, studies alongside you, spends as much time with you as possible. But as the years of uni go by, you both grow more distant due to busy schedules and a general social growth and/or decline on your part.

Crowe became a council member, the class president, gaining leadership roles and popularity as time went on, but at the end of the day; nobody - not even his current friendgroup, as awesome as they are - can compare to how safe and genuinely at peace he was with you. By your side.

Now let me say, for the sake of the argument and these HCs, that one day you both lovedrunkenly confess under the stars and have primal carnal sex and in general are so intuned with one-another spiritually physically emotionally that you guys end up together, like how you were always destined to be.

In terms of dating, Crowe will amp up his flirting, especially if you react to it subtly, or indicate you like it. He respects your boundaries of course, that'll never change. He also gets the #malewife title btw.

When you both end up sleeping in the same bed, it doesn't take too long for that to happen, considering how long you've known each other, and while yes sometimes you two go at it and have more carnal loving heated passionate *coughs*...ah, sorry. Anyway! Despite how invested you both are in each other, on nights where it's quiet, where you're listening to each other's heartbeats and breaths (a DJ can make a backing track just from that tbh), Crowe holds you in his arms and resists the urge to weep. Because he has you, in his arms, in his bed, in his heart and soul; and you have him in your heart, your mind, sometimes even between your thighs.

He's so in love with you it's beyond words, touches or gifts. He feels so safe and loved with you, knowing you'll support and defend him as passionately as he does you...and his heart swells.

Will typically serve as the big spoon, loves holding you in his arms, pressing you to his chest and feeling you softly breathe on his skin. Can be a little spoon sometimes, and whenever you wrap yourself around him, he sleeps a tad more soundly than he would normally with you.

"I love you...God I love you so much it hurts..."

OR

"Darling, you're everything to me...and you always were and will be. Eternally."

[paperstorm]

2024 fic round up!

I was tagged by so many lovely people I have lost track of them, so my whole tag list is under the cut! I wrote 270,000 words this year, including the entire Missing Moments season 3. Thank you to everyone who commented or kudosed or reblogged or read silently, the support for writers in this fandom is really so wonderful 💛

Missing Moments [a series of canon compliant tags for every episode of Lone Star, seasons 1-3 completed]

3x01 – Imperfect pieces pulling at the glue (9.1k) 3x02 – Up in smoke (9.4k) 3x03 – Wayfaring strangers (10.4k) 3x04 – Homeward bound (15.7k) 3x05 – Reconstruction (7.3k) 3x06 – All these sacred melodies (8.5k) 3x07 – Everest to mariana (8.2k) 3x08 – "You have one new message..." (12.4k) 3x09 – Cracks begin to show (5k) 3x10 – Push and pull (5.2k) 3x11 – Where the rain won't hurt (9.7k) 3x12 – Losing streak (4k) 3x13 – Heard the risk is drowning (15.3k) 3x14 – Live in the layers (5.6k) 3x15 – Switch (5.5k) 3x16 – Everything and every dream (5.6k) 3x17 – Move into the new (7.5k) 3x18 – Forever is the sweetest con (10.1k)

Hold me too close (1.8k)

Carlos’s lips curve into a small responding smile and he shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

He tilts his chin forward, asking for a kiss, that TK gives him readily because he thinks it would hurt like having a limb ripped off if he didn’t. Carlos’s lips are smooth and damp against his, wet with the salt from his tears.

“Wanna go for a walk?” TK asks when they part, and Carlos quickly nods.

A small extension of the scene after Tommy sings at their wedding.

In Loving Memory for @carlos-in-glasses (1.3k)

The word son catches his eye, and Carlos frowns and tucks his head to look closer. His legacy will continue to live on through his son’s own dedication to public service, is written at the bottom of the thin obituary.Carlos feels his stomach roll and his mouth slacken. Heat blooms in his cheeks and the tips of his fingers tingle. Next to him there’s a tiny, nearly imperceptible gasp – as TK finds the same words and his grip tightens further on Carlos’s arm.

Silver Lining's Gold and Shining (25.3k)

A story of nine pivotal moments in Carlos's life, and nine times his best friend was there beside him.

Butterflies and Sky-High (8k)

TK leans in closer and rests his forehead against Carlos’s cheek, understanding that this is hard for him. Carlos is so heart-warmed by the gesture that it gives him the courage to say, “I’ve been reading about demisexuality. It’s this thing where …”

“I know what it means,” TK says softly, and thank God he does because Carlos isn’t sure he would have done justice to an explanation anyway. Not right now.

“I think … maybe I am. That. I didn’t think I was anything other than gay but then I was reading and some stuff started to make sense.”

Made From Stardust (8.2k)

Adoration swells in your chest as it always does when the warmth of his smile is draped over you like a blanket. You could not express in words, not even if you spoke 50 languages instead of just two, the magnitude of your love for this man. It’s too big, too necessary, too seeped into the cracks of every plane of your existence. You cannot be you without him, because the you who sits here on this couch with your fiancé in the home you share with him would never have taken shape without his guiding hands. A man named Carlos Reyes would have existed, but not this one. He would have been somebody else.

A collaboration with @reasonandfaithinharmony, check out her beautiful gif set 🖼

Fine Line (6.8k) for @heartstringsduet

Carlos ghosts a kiss along TK’s cheek, feeling the shudder of TK’s inhale as he murmurs, “You need me?”

“I …” TK swallows, his throat clicks and Carlos hears it.

Their knees bump and Carlos trails his fingers through TK’s hair and just waits. He doesn’t ask again, he just holds TK in a vertical embrace and strokes his hair and stays patient.

“There’s something that’s helped in the past,” TK says in a small voice. “Something you and I haven’t done before.”

brighter in the morning (40k so far) cowritten with @strandnreyes

Sometimes nights together are hard to come by, but TK and Carlos find ways to connect as husbands in the morning.

A series of 12 mornings together for each of the 12 episodes in season 5 (plot permitting …)

Somewhere in a Song (23.7k so far)

Fresh out of rehab for drug and alcohol addiction, lead singer TK and his band Stranded are pushed into a tour he's not sure he's ready for. To combat the bad press from his very public hitting of rock bottom, his label suggests they take up-and-coming country singer Carlos along with them. Between TK's still healing wounds and closeted Carlos's fears that his parents don't support his musical career, a rocky start might turn into finding exactly what they both need.

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos @heartstringduet

@goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry

@liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @whatsintheboxmh @bonheur-cafe

@reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee @never-blooms @lemonlyman-dotcom

@sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce

@hereghostslive @butchreyes @just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian

@tellmegoodbye @anactualcaseofthetruth @ironheartwriter @eclectic-sassycoweyes @ditheringmind

@emsprovisions @irispurpurea @nisbanisba @corsage @chicgeekgirl89

@carlossreaders @ladytessa74 @denizoid @everlastingday

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[rose24207]

Together

Summary: Lando finds out that his wife is behind the mysterious protector and confronts her with a staged ambush.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, Sniper, weapons

A/N: Part 2 everyone!! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

P1

Masterlist

The night was unusually quiet in Monaco. The city lights glowed softly in the distance, casting faint shadows on the walls of the penthouse. Lando sat alone in his study, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at a map spread across his desk.

The sniper had struck again that night—saving him from yet another ambush. But this time, they’d left something behind.

A single shell casing.

Lando turned the object over in his hand, his thumb tracing the engraved serial number. He’d seen it before—on a rifle he once caught a fleeting glimpse of when he walked into the wrong room of his own house.

His wife’s private study.

Lando didn’t want to believe it. The thought churned in his mind, clashing with every memory of you: your warm smile, your teasing remarks, the quiet evenings spent curled up together on the couch.

Could you really be the ghost who had been protecting him all this time?

The pieces were falling into place, but Lando wasn’t ready to accept them. Not yet.

Two nights later, Lando staged his own ambush.

He arranged a meeting in a secluded warehouse, deliberately leaking false information to one of his rivals. He knew they’d take the bait, and more importantly, he knew the sniper would come.

You would come.

The warehouse was dimly lit, the air thick with tension as Lando stood in the center of the room, surrounded by armed men. He wore a calm façade, but his heart was racing.

“Boss, are you sure about this?” one of his men asked nervously.

Lando nodded, his voice steady. “Just stick to the plan.”

It didn’t take long for the rival gang to show up, heavily armed and ready for a fight. The exchange of gunfire was immediate, bullets ricocheting off metal beams and crates.

Lando stayed low, waiting. Any moment now.

And then it happened.

The familiar crack of a sniper rifle echoed through the chaos, followed by a muffled scream as one of his enemies fell.

Lando’s pulse quickened. He kept his eyes on the rafters, searching the shadows.

Another shot. Then another.

The attackers were dropping like flies, and just as quickly as the ambush had begun, it was over.

Lando’s men stood in stunned silence, the tension lingering in the air.

“Boss, it’s clear,” one of them said cautiously.

Lando didn’t respond. He was already moving, heading toward the ladder that led to the upper levels of the warehouse.

You watched from your perch, your rifle still in hand, your breathing steady. The last target was down, and you were preparing to make your exit when you heard footsteps behind you.

Your heart stopped.

Spinning around, you found yourself face-to-face with Lando.

He stood there, his expression unreadable, his gun lowered but not holstered. The dim light reflected off his dark eyes, which were locked on yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like a crushing wave.

“Why?” he finally asked, his voice low and steady.

You swallowed hard, gripping your rifle tightly. “Lando, I can explain—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “All this time, it was you. You’ve been out there, risking your life to protect me, and you didn’t think I deserved to know?”

You looked away, guilt flooding your chest. “I didn’t want you to worry. You already have enough enemies, enough threats. I didn’t want to add to that.”

Lando stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You think I wouldn’t worry knowing you’ve been out here doing this? Putting yourself in danger for me?”

You met his gaze, your voice trembling. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch you get hurt, Lando. I love you. I had to protect you.”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “And what about me? What happens if one day you’re not fast enough, not lucky enough? What happens if I lose you?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you held them back. “I couldn’t lose you, either. This was the only way I could keep you safe.”

Lando stared at you, his expression softening as the anger faded, replaced by something deeper.

“I don’t know whether to be furious or grateful,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

You managed a faint smile, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe a little of both?”

He huffed out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve heard that before,” you said softly, lowering your rifle.

For a long moment, the two of you stood in silence, the weight of the truth settling between you.

Finally, Lando stepped closer, reaching out to cup your face in his hands. “You’re my wife. My partner. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

You leaned into his touch, your heart aching with a mix of relief and fear. “And what happens now?”

He smiled faintly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Now, we figure this out together.”

You nodded, your resolve strengthening. “Together.”

And for the first time in years, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Thank you for reading!

[yurikosinterlude]

hi 💓💓

can you write a drabble of megumi fushiguro and the reader enemies to lovers??

cw: {enemies to lovers, academic rivals to lovers, fluff, kind of spicy (?)} wc: 700

megumi fushiguro hated your guts. it wasn't really unlike him to feel this way towards people, it seemed he hated everyone except for his friends (yuji is debatable). megumi's hatred for you, though, was...different. he couldn't get you out of his mind, he'd stay awake at night because even the mere thought of you made him so upset that he couldn't sleep.

you were perfect. perfect from your grades to your cursed technique, so in your mind, it was natural for megumi to be intimidated by you.

you decided to use this intimidation to your advantage, teasing and pushing every button that megumi had, and then putting on your usual innocent act when confronted by him.

megumi was at his limit. he had grown sick of your little games. you thought you were so funny, didn't you? you probably thought that capitalizing on his aversion towards you would make him crack, but this only fueled every negative feeling he had towards you. he was gonna find out every little thing that made you tick.

from that point on, megumi was silent around you, but he stared at you like a wolf ready to tear apart his prey. this was when he noticed things about you differently, the way your hair always looked perfect, like you had spent hours on it in the morning, the way your eyes looked in the afternoon sunlight, even the way your nosed scrunched up when you laughed.

but he had to focus on the task at hand, he had to get you to be the one to crumble, he had to see you defenseless and at his mercy. how he would do this, he didn't know.

it was a sunny afternoon, a cool breeze complimenting the sight of trees filled with orange and red leaves, and the smell of pumpkin spice flooding the classroom. you stayed inside while everyone else played in the leaves, doodling trees and different plants you saw from the open window by your seat at the front of the classroom. you didn't even notice megumi walk in with a slight devilish grin plastered on his face.

megumi had finally figured out how to push your buttons, he was gonna start by 'accidentally' spilling a hot latte over your sketchbook. (he couldn't think of any better ideas) you finally notice megumi walking towards you, a cup from the café across the street in his hand.

"is that for me?" you ask, taking out one airpod from your ear. "how sweet of you!" before he can even attempt to tilt the cup over your drawings, you take the cup out of his hands, and start to sip the coffee little by little. "so what did you come to talk to me about?" you ask, taking out your other airpod. "I-uh..huh?" megumi stammers, did he want to talk to you about something? if he did, he definitely forgot. "actually, I have something to say first." you say, turning your gaze to the black loafers you wear with your school uniform.

"I..I like you megumi. I have for a long time, and I know you have some like one sided beef with me, but I just want you to know that I don't feel negatively towards you at all.."

what. now this definitely wasn't what megumi was expecting at all. he stands there, in shock, unable to form sentences. "I- er- um.."

"oh my gosh, do I have to do everything?" suddenly, you take megumi's face and smash your lips onto his, spilling the latte all over the classroom floor. the taste of pumpkin spice and cinnamon still decorating your soft, plush lips.

just as megumi is about lift his hands up to your hair, you abrputly end the kiss. "I-I'm sorry" you say, picking up your books and bolting out of the classroom. megumi stands there, still frozen, attempting to process whatever the hell just happened.

just then a voice breaks the silence, "what..was that..?" it was yuji, nobara right next to him, both in almost as much shock as megumi.

"I...I don't know..."

.

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a/n: HI GUYS! I'm fairly new to drabbles, so sorry if this is really long for a drabble (╥_╥)

yurikosinterlude ©️ 2024 ❁ pls don't plagiarize, copy, repost, or translate my works at all ❁ (or atleast without creds :3)

[fireheartpages]

free falling | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader one. two. three. part four. five. summary: everyone has their demons, you just chose to run from yours. straight to basgiath war college. and definitely not towards the grinning tall, dark, and handsome marked rider that seemed too kind to be in a hardened place like the rider's quadrant. when you catch his attention and bond a conundrum of a dragon, you finally feel like you can catch your breath. word count: 2.9k ish maybe a bit more note: second person pov--reader has she/her pronouns, a nickname stolen from dirty dancing, and a last name for continuity purposes. warning for daddy issues, and not xaden's. use of surfing techniques to ride a dragon. someone tell me to shut up why is this chapter so long. i havent even gotten to the point yet. another one is probably coming if not tonight, tomorrow. warning for my proofreading skills theyre really bad even when im not drunk and tired

This boy was everywhere.

The mess hall at breakfast. Battle Brief. Challenges and gym. The flight field. The courtyard after class.

And every time you saw him, he had that lopsided grin, like he was saving it just for you.

Sometimes you two would talk. Sometimes it was just a fleeting look or glance, stolen in between moments that made your gravity shift until you were orbiting him. Sometimes, when you did interact, it wasn't for very long--there were always people around you. Rhiannon and Sawyer pulling you to the library, Garrick and Imogen pulling him to the gym. Your conversations took the back seat to Xaden and Violet's bickering (you would pick sides and place bets on the conclusions when this happened). But sometimes, in a rare moment when you would catch each other and you were both alone, he would walk you to your next class, or your dorm. Sometimes he would leave his friends to do so. Sometimes it all gave you a fuzzy feeling, right in the center of your chest.

It was one of those rare moments. He had seen you across the courtyard and said a quick goodbye to his friends--who proceeded to laugh and wolf whistle as he jogged over to you.

You weren't blind, and you weren't stupid. You knew what this was, this growing spark between you. Knew a boy didn't just walk someone to their dorm because they wanted a friend. You just weren't sure you were ready to admit it to yourself yet.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"Hi." That had become a game between the two of you. It always made you giggle, and you really liked the way he looked at you when you were laughing.

You wrung your hands together, tightening the gloves you wore, more as a nervous habit than anything. Shocair had insisted you get better gloves, even suggested you take her scales and make some yourself. And when you had pointed out that you wouldn't know how to do that, she had scoffed and given you a mental eye roll. She was really good at that.

"How are your hands?" Bodhi asked. "Is the balm helping?"

The balm he had gotten made for you. To help the cracking and peeling skin of your palms. The one he had noticed you had a need for, gone to a healer to have made, and brought directly to you.

"Yeah," you said. "I think it is. A lot, thank you."

"Yeah," Bodhi said. "How much do you have left?"

You cocked your head. "About half."

He just nodded, and slid you one of those lopsided grins before offering to walk you back to your room.

And a month later, he had shown up at your door with a new tin of it, and you let him walk you to breakfast that morning.

You hadn't really been alone together, though. If you weren't with one of your friend groups--which had melded together by now, considering the way Violet and Xaden tended to revolve around each other--you were walking through crowded courtyard and buildings and hallways. Which was fine. You weren't expecting anything.

"Liar." That was Shocair. She had taken a liking to Bodhi.

It was comments like that that had prompted you to figure out grounding and shielding prematurely. Turns out, you’re a natural, and one of the strongest in your year. Shocair was annoyed by the development, but nonetheless impressed.

“I chose you for your mind,” she had said. “Do you expect me to be surprised when you excel?”

Despite her grumbling and chiding, and pretending like she wasn’t happy with your progress, Shocair was the most supportive relationship you’d ever had. You’d answer a question in a class that no one else had thought of and receive a hum of approval in your chest, and she never chided you for making mistakes during flight maneuvers—and there were a lot of them—just gently corrected you until you figured it out.

When you had succeeded as a child, your father had always acted like you met expectations, and your mom was never around long enough to counteract it. So maybe a mother-henning dragon was nice. Kind of. Just a little.

The flying was your favorite though. When you weren’t sitting in the field with her doing work, or dancing around whatever was going on between you and Bodhi, you were on Shocair’s back, flying over the field. Sometimes for practice, sometimes for fun. You’d see Tairn putting Violet through the wringer with incredibly difficult maneuvers, and Shocair would mimic them with more grace, making a dance out of it. An art.

You’d gotten ballsy with it, much to her dismay, but you had the sneaking suspicion she enjoyed it as well, considering the contentment she radiated after every practice and class. You’d taken to walking around on her back, one of the more enjoyable tricks you would pull.

That had started out slowly, and with a lot of protests from Shocair.

“Slow down!” you’d called. Then, mind to mind, “Slow down just a little. Please.”

You felt a flair of curiosity, edged with confusion, but she did as asked.

Slowly, you released your grip and braced your thighs until you had your balance.

“What are you doing?” Shocair snapped.

“Trying something.”

You placed your hands flat on her hide, moving with the dips of the flight and the wind around you until you were able to push to stand. You slipped one foot under yourself, leaning into it and steadying your center before bringing the other one up so you were in a crouch.

“This isn’t as easy as the third years make it look,” you mumbled, more to yourself than anything.

“They have two and a half years of riding experience over you.” The panic that was taking root in your chest wasn’t yours. You ground your feet into the sand of your mental beach, turning your back to the wind of the choppy waters until you had blocked out the feeling, but still leaving the bond open enough to communicate with her.

Slowly, meticulously, you shifted your weight back until you were able to stand, your feet grounded on Shocair’s scales, and you raised onto your fingertips. And then your hands were up.

“I need to know how to do this,” you said to her. “My hands aren’t always going to work like I want them to.”

“And standing mid-flight is your solution?” she growled.

“Do you have a better one?”

There was no answer down the bond, but you could feel the disapproval—and you didn’t need the bond for that.

You kept a bend in your knees, shifting your weight when there was movement, leaning into it to keep your balance. This was it, this was what you excelled at. This was what you were made for.

“Do something,” you said to her. “Let’s test this.”

“I’m not catching you when you fall.”

“Then, I won’t fall.”

You did fall, and she did catch you, and then you tried it again, until you could get the hang of it.

Your biggest hat trick had turned into barrel rolling while standing. That had impressed the fuck out of Kaori. It had been an accident the first time it had happened. Shocair had banked too hard, and you’d gone tumbling, free falling, but she had caught you on her back when she had been able to straighten out, soaring over you before diving under to catch you.

Your landing had knocked the wind out of you. “Do that again!”

“Do you not value your life?”

“Just try it!”

You stood again, getting quicker each time you were able to do it until you were practically able to hop up. She tilted, and you leaned into it until you were practically sliding off of her, and then you jumped.

You fell as she soared over you, and then she banked, finishing out the barrel underneath you, and you landed in a crouch. Your hands had grappled for purchase on the pommel, almost slipping off, but you’d done it. And then did it twice more until you had it down pat.

You’d landed to a multitude of back pats, high fives, and even a handshake from your professor. And despite her grumbling, Shocair was puffing out her chest with pride.

So, you were the best at flight maneuvers, top of the class at battle brief, and fighting with Violet and Rhiannon for top grades in other classes. But it had been nearly five months, and you still didn’t have a signet.

Everyone else did. Sawyer could bend metal and Ridoc could wield ice and Rhiannon could make things disappear and reappear at will. And you had nothing. The power from the bond would make your skin itch sometimes with its intensity, and still nothing.

“It’s fine, Baby. I don’t have mine either,” Violet said with a lightness you did not feel, one day when it was particularly weighing on you. The two of you had shared a look that said everything it needed to.

You were pretty sure the excess magic was triggering the dry patches on your skin. Bodhi had taken to getting you more tins of the balm much more frequently. You had offered to fetch it yourself, asking him to put you in contact with the healer that was making it, but he’d waved you off with some sort of excuse, and kept showing up at your door whenever the tin was low to give you a new one and walk you to class. You’d written the healer—Ané, he’d told you—a thank you note anyway and given it to him to deliver.

It was six months now after Threshing. And you still had no signet to account for, not matter how open the bond was, or how much Shocair channelled into it.

“It will develop in time,” she had said, one day when you’d asked, more full of anxiety than anything. “I know you.”

So you waited. You were sitting in the flight field, leaning up against Shocair’s neck as she dozed. You had a book open in front of you, something you’d found in the archives to study up on signets—since it didn’t seem like yours was coming anytime soon. You flipped the page, the sun smoothing your skin and warming you from the inside out as you lounged.

A rustle through the trees drew your attention, and there he was.

Bodhi stands a few feet away from you, and Shocair stirs, blinking open a golden eye before shutting it again.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you say, and like clockwork:

“Hi.”

“Are you coming out for a flight?” you ask, shutting the book in your lap.

“Nah,” Bodhi says, moving closer to you. “Cuir was around here, but I don’t think she’s in the mood. So, I’m just… taking a walk.”

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips. “I see.”

“What are you reading?”

“A Study on the Magic of a Bond,” you say. “Reading up on signets.”

“Still nothing?” he asks. He sits down in the grass across from you, stretching out his legs, and for a moment, you’re mesmerized by the way the sun reflects the dark strands of his hair, the dark bronze of his skin. He looks like he’s glowing.

He’s beautiful.

“No,” you say after finding your tongue. “No, nothing yet.”

“Has she started channeling?” he asks, glancing to the sleeping dragon behind you.

“Yes.” Your gaze drops.

“It’s okay,” Bodhi says. “It can take a while sometimes.”

“I would just rather not burn up from it if it doesn’t.” You laugh, but it’s a humorless thing.

“You won’t.” His sincerity strikes you straight in the chest, with the surety of it.

You blink. “How long did it take yours?”

“A couple months.” He picks at the grass. “I think it took me a while to figure it out.”

“How so?”

“I had to wait until someone used their signet on me.” He grins, and you get that funny feeling in your chest again. It makes you suck in a breath. “Xaden, actually. He had sent some shadows around me as a joke, and we were all a little surprised when they burned up, basically. Thought light was my signet for a while. Sunlight, or something, but then a fire wielded had thrown something at me, and the flame just kinda sputtered, and even then, it took a few more tries for me to figure it out.”

You nodded slowly. That made sense, countering signets would require a trigger. “Do you have strong shields?”

Bodhi cocks his head. “Yeah, I guess. Why?”

You shrug. “I feel like it would come with the territory. Being able to counter any sort of cognitive signet.”

He seems to sit on that for a second. “I don’t think I’ve actually ever tried that. Never needed to, I guess. Or, If I have, I didn't realize I was doing it.”

You hum, and your mind whirls.

“I’ve seen you fly, though,” Bodhi says, surprising you. “You’re amazing up there.”

“You’ve seen me fly?” you repeat, a furrow in your head.

He folds his lips, suppressing a grin, and you’re once again hit with the urge to press your thumbs to them until he smiles again, until he turns those pretty brown eyes on you again. “Yeah. It’s hard not to look. You’re incredible.”

A giggle twists out of you. “Thank you. It’s… fun.”

“Yeah. You enjoy it in a way I’ve never seen before, though.” He’s grinning in earnest again, that invisible string tugging one side of his mouth higher than the other, but his gaze is elsewhere, and you take it as an opportunity to surveil him from head to toe, from his dark curls to the lean muscle to his flight leathers. His very tight flight leathers. Gods above, this guy’s thighs. “You look more comfortable on the back of a dragon, flying at a hundred miles an hour than you do with two feet on the ground.”

You laugh, and his gaze snaps to you. Something in it softens. “I’m serious,” he says. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“It’s nice,” you say. “It reminds me of home. It’s like I can understand how a bird feels now.”

You really hoped Shocair wasn’t privy to that comparison.

“Do you wanna go get dinner?” Bodhi asks, standing, and before you can even answer, he’s extending a hand.

You aren’t wearing your gloves, and you hesitate for a moment before taking his hand anyway. You stand and quickly take yours from his grip, swallowing hard.

“Sorry.” You shake your head.

“For what?” he asks in earnest, and when you meet his eye, you’re suddenly, brutally aware of how close you’re standing.

“I’m not wearing my gloves. I know my hands aren’t very soft.” You laugh it off, but it comes out strained. A mimicry of what it should have been.

A furrow suppresses his dark brows. “Did I hurt—”

“No!” you say quickly. “I just—the skin is scratchy—”

You cut yourself off when he takes your hand in his, cupping the back and facing your palm up. He runs a knuckle along the cracking skin, as if he could smooth it out, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Do you have the balm?” he asks, and it’s quiet. Like he didn’t want to disturb the space between you.

“Yeah.” You use your other hand to pull the small tin out of the pocket of your leathers, and he uncaps it, dipping a finger in and cradling your hand again as he rubs it over the conjunction of your finger and your palm, right where it was beginning to split. He massages it in, and the relief is nearly instantaneous, surpassing the slight sting of the cold. He repeats with your other hand, until he hands the balm back to you. You tuck it away back into your pocket, and finally, finally look up at him.

He’s already looking at you, and being under his scrutiny like this, all close and personal as you’d imagined a million times, sends a shiver down your spine.

“Thank you,” you say, and it’s more of a breath on the breeze floating between you than anything else.

He nods, but his gaze had drifted down, and now he’s looking at your lips. You swallow, he tracks the motion, and you hope he can’t hear how your heart is beating out of your chest.

“Are you finally going to kiss me?” you ask, unsure where you found the courage.

“Please,” he breathes. “Baby, can I?”

Your name is a plea on his lips, but it doesn’t sound like you name—it sounds like the term of endearment. An honorific. You barely even nod before he’s leaning in. His lips hover over yours, and you can feel his breath fanning your face as you tilt—

Shocair chuffs behind you, and you jump apart.

You’re shaking, and you don’t know if it’s in adrenaline or anticipation as his gaze finds yours, and that lopsided grin is tugging at his lips again.

“Dinner?” he asks, and he extends you his arm.

“Yeah, yeah!” You’re a little too eager to take it. And he leads you back to the school.

“That was on purpose,” you send to Shocair.

“Of course, it was,” she says into your mind. “Make him work for it.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I do.” She sounds snide in your mind. “But he better be worthy of you.”

You send her an eye roll.

“You’re already falling for him. I can’t catch you if you do,” she says, and you nearly scoff aloud.

“I am not falling for him.”

“Sure.” Good gods, are dragons always this sarcastic?