#like something he feels he owes to the world

[archiveikemen]

Jude Jazza Main Story: Preview

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

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My sin is— an unfulfilled promise. 

It all started with a single promise I blurted out in the heat of the moment. 

…

Kate: Until my time as the Fairytale Keeper comes to an end, I’ll keep looking for something I can love about you. 

Jude: Remember one thing, Princess. … My “promises” ain’t cheap. 

Jude: If ya break yer promise, I’ll show ya a livin’ hell that’ll make ya wish ya were dead. 

Jude Jazza, a member of Crown and president of a trading company. He was an arrogant, merciless, unforgiving villain. He was… exactly the despicable jerk my first impression and his reputation warned me of. 

…

Kate: If you keep going out of your way to make enemies, incurring the enmity of others, and putting yourself in more danger… you’ll… end up dead, you know? 

Jude: Ha? What’s it to ya if I die from all the grudges against me?

Jude: Don’t go actin’ all righteous and stickin’ yer nose where it don’t belong, idiot. 

Jude: No passin’ out now. Ya still owe me two rounds, mister. 

Amidst the endless cycle of revenge, he laughed in joy. 

He was a cruel man who delighted in the misery of others. There was no way I could ever come to love someone like him. 

But if I didn't fulfil my promise, it would be a breach of our contract— and I would become his prey. 

…

As I desperately tried to find something to love about him, we slowly grew closer— and the promise he wanted to fulfil became apparent. 

Jude: Ain’t laughin’? That’s rare. 

Kate: I’m not going to laugh. While it’s true that you’re narrow-minded, arrogant, cruel, greatly disliked, and a true villain right to the core… 

Jude: Go on. 

Kate: … No matter who they are, I would never laugh at someone’s genuine dream. 

That night, when we shared things about ourselves that we never revealed to other people— I found myself falling into the depths of love. 

… Because I fell in love with him, I realised things I never wanted to… like his true feelings. 

…

Kate: — You really should stop making any more enemies, in order to fulfil the promise. 

Kate: And yet… you’re crossing dangerous bridges on purpose.

Jude: … What ya tryin’ to say?

(The truth is, Jude is…) 

(He’s…) 

Kate: Do you want to give up? 

Jude: …

Jude: So what if I am? 

In this world where no amount of grudges, hatred, or cries can bring back what was lost— you’re more exhausted than anyone from carrying the burden of a promise you can't forget. 

…

Kate: I…! 

Jude: Love’s a curse.

Jude: Sayin’ “I love you” is like sayin’”I’ll  put a curse on you.”

Jude: It hurts when ya lose it, ya hate it when it’s taken from ya, and it’s unforgivable if ya get betrayed.

Jude: And yet, ya can’t resist it once it’s given to ya. Love’s the root of all evil.

Jude: I don’t wanna curse nobody, nor be cursed myself.

There's no saving you from love. It only brings you pain and suffering.

As I was crushed by this undeniable truth, a dark shadow crept up on me. 

…

???: Don’t move. Put your hands up…! 

???: Crown member Jude Jazza, you're under arrest by the order of Her Majesty's private army, 

Ellis: Jude.

Jude: Ellis, stay outta this.

Kate: Why!? 

Ellis: … He’s probably being framed. 

…

Even if you reject my love, even if you push me away, I’ll keep clinging to you. 

But while on the run, you… 

Jude: That’s enough. This time, I’m endin’ our contract. 

Jude: I got nothin’ to do with ya anymore. Don’t care how ya do it, just get outta my sight. 

Kate: What… how could you… you said it yourself that a one-sided cancellation of the contract is invalid! 

Kate: I refuse. I want to be together with you—

Jude: … Kate. 

He touched his fingers to my forehead. 

He was all I could see as he gave me a pained smile. 

Jude: I thought it was stupid of ya to go lookin’ for something to love about me.

Jude: But bein’ genuinely liked without an ulterior motive… doesn't feel so bad. 

Jude: — Good night, Princess. 

…

It was unbelievable how he put me to sleep, ignoring my wishes, and did as he pleased. 

That arrogant, cruel, unforgiving villain. 

And yet, because I was in love with him— 

I wasn't going to forgive him so easily for abandoning me after saying his piece. 

When I woke up, I chased after the 13th fairy… and cast a curse on him. 

An merciless, unbreakable curse called love.  

…

Jude: Of all people, I’ll make sure that ya never feel unhappy. And ya ain’t allowed to leave me, either. 

Jude: That's the price for castin’ this curse on me.

Let’s make a promise— even if it curses you. 

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

i lied (warning i don't think my commentary r that good) ⬇️

JJ cheered in the background, almost face-planting the ground as he struggled to get off his chair and call Pope.

that’s his bf fr

But watching Rafe Cameron—the boy who had idolized his father for years, now a man—sit in a chair facing countless cameras and strangers for hours as he recounted his life under Ward's control? That was a different kind of heartache.

he’s just a baby boy

ALT

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The barriers between you two seemed insurmountable.

climb that wall

Luke laughed, a deranged sound, and lunged. You swung the skillet with all your might. It connected with his shoulder, the impact reverberating up your arm

this scene is supposed to be serious but i imagined tommy and jerry where jerrry hit jerry with a pan or smth and the thing bounces off of him wobbly 😭😭ok back to reading (i wanna let u know the lengths i went through to make this gif bc i literally downloaded it and made it myself)

(i wanna let u know the lengths i went through to make this gif bc i literally downloaded it and made it myself)

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a sob escaping instead. Your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor, the phone slipping slightly in your grasp. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing down, the silence deafening except for your labored breathing.

this is claustrophobic

"Sit here," Rafe said, motioning to the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a first-aid kit. He kneeled in front of you again, this time with a different purpose. "Lemme see your hands."

MY BABY TAKING CARE OF MY OTHER BABY

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against the barrier you'd built around your heart. “Why—Why did you pick up the phone?”“You know why.”

can we please just fuck and make up

Without a word, he slipped off his shoes

this took me out white boy why do u have shoes in the HOUSEEEEE

“…I don’t care what it fucking takes,” Rafe all but spat, his tone filled with determination. “Yeah, I know the charges will stick. Just make sure he doesn’t get out on bail. I don’t want him anywhere near her again.”

rafe is such an action man we love 💕

"I owe you everything," he murmured.

screeching under my pillow 🦅

“You’ve been alone?” You all but sob, “You’ve been here all this time? By yourself?”

the way ur dialogue is like a movie SOMEONE GET GIGI INTO THE WRITERS ROOM STAT

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was as if he was testing the waters, ensuring you were okay with this, and when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as his lips explored yours.

SEXYYY TIMEEE 💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻 i am so unserious

“I don’t care,” you replied, shaking your head. “You fucked me after I got shot.”

say it

"That night was different. We were different."

oh fuck off being a gentleman pls ✋🏼🤨

His voice trailed off, but his hands spoke for him, tracing patterns along your sides, sending shivers through you. His touch was reverent as if he was rediscovering you, piece by piece.

why is this so beautiful

"I love the way you look at me," he continued, his hands slipping under your shirt, his shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath. "Like I'm the only person in the world. Like I matter."

ohmygod 🙈 i feel like i am interrupting something

"You do matter," you whispered, your voice breaking. “You matter to me.”

BABIES ALL OF THEM !!!!!!!!!!!

Rafe's hands found your hips, his touch firm and reassuring. "I love you," he said again,  "And I need you to know that. Shit, I need you to feel it."

put it in already 🙄 (kidding i love this)

"My perfect girl," he growled against your lips.

ur making me blush

“Fuck, yes,” he whimpered, his grip on your hips tightening. “You feel amazing.”

RAFE WHIMPERING I WONNN

"I can't believe you're real."

i swear to god if this turns out to be a dream i’m booking the next flight to ur city n murdering u in ur sleep (real)

final thoughts — this is so tender and sweet, i love this. i think i can offer no true words to have much i appreciate this series (also because i used it all up in the last review) but yes, like i said. compliments to the chefs for her dialogue and beautiful imagery. additionally, i wanna let u know that u give me so much inspiration. whenever i finish one of ur work, i'm like "i gotta get my ass up and work" because i always feel so motivated to write whenever i read ur stuff. <3 truly, t💘💘hank u for everything, i'm so excited (and sad... and horny...?) to see them come to a delightful end next part

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - six

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: domestic violence; blood; injuries; angst; smut;

word count: 7.6k

You saw it on the news before Sarah told you.

Ward was officially in police custody.

They were calling it the biggest crime operation in years, plastering his face on every corner of every newspaper in the country. You saw it first on your busted-up TV, the morning news anchor's serious tone making the gravity of the situation clear before Sarah had a chance to call.

He was stopped.

The man who caused so much pain and chaos to everyone you cared about was finally behind bars.

But your relief came with a bit of caution.

This was just the beginning. There was still a trial to face, and you knew how slippery Ward could be. He had enough money to buy whoever he wanted, and the justice system wasn’t always as just as you hoped. Trials could take months, even years before he was sentenced.

JJ cheered in the background, almost face-planting the ground as he struggled to get off his chair and call Pope. You hadn’t seen him this ecstatic in years, the hallways of your home echoing with “let’s fucking go, baby!” as he made his way upstairs.

You were content.

Was there really anything to be happy about?

Sure, a bad guy was getting what he deserved, but the destruction he left behind was still very much there.

Months ago, when the police contacted you again, you had refused to testify. What Ward did to you was terrifying, but what he did to Sarah, John B, and Rafe? They were the true witnesses to his evil. You barely got a taste of his wrath. You were lucky. You wanted to be there, of course. Every person Ward hurt deserved all the support they could get. But watching Rafe Cameron—the boy who had idolized his father for years, now a man—sit in a chair facing countless cameras and strangers for hours as he recounted his life under Ward's control? That was a different kind of heartache.

Rafe.

You hadn’t seen him since that day he dropped by, and it felt like he vanished into thin air. You didn’t see him around town, not at the beach, and he never stopped by your job. You started wondering if he’d been cooped up in that awful house all this time.

You couldn’t shake this feeling of worry, knowing he was stuck in the shadow of his dad’s mess.

Did he feel abandoned by you?

The thought of him, alone in that house, haunted you. You knew you should’ve reached out, found him as the town buzzed with the details of Ward’s arrest. More stories came out, each more horrifying than the last.

You almost gave in.

One evening, you found yourself riding past the Cameron estate, its looming structure a dark silhouette against the fading light. You almost went in, stopping by the gigantic gate, but then you saw movement inside and sped away on your bike.

You couldn’t do it. 

The barriers between you two seemed insurmountable.

As you walked home from your shift as a lifeguard at the beach, the sun setting behind you cast long shadows on the sand. The rhythmic crashing of the waves had always been your favorite soundtrack. You’ve spent most of your life inside the water, it was in your nature. 

Growing up, surf and swimming were your outlets to get away from your violent father and deadbeat mother. The ocean was your sanctuary, a place where you could forget the shouting matches, the broken furniture, and the empty bottles scattered around the house. When you were out there riding the waves or just floating on your back, everything else melted away. The water had a way of washing off the grime of your home life, even if just temporarily.

Unfortunately, once you set your feet on the sand and walked home, that feeling always vanished.

Tonight, as you made your way home, the familiar dread began to creep in. Both your parents were long gone, but the sense of dread would never leave you, always attached to that stupid house.

Even though the yelling had stopped, and the bottles were gone, the walls seemed to hold on to the echoes of your past. The creaky floorboards, the dim lighting, the chipped paint—You hated it.

You had considered moving out many times, but something always held you back. JJ. Money.

When you got there, the air felt unusually still.

JJ’s truck wasn’t parked in its usual spot, which was strange, but not entirely unheard of. What really unsettled you were the closed windows. You always left them open to let the ocean breeze in, but now they were all shut tight.

You called out your brother’s name, hoping to hear his usual welcoming shout, but there was only silence. You shrugged it off, thinking he was probably out on the boat or lost in his video games.

You dropped your bag by the door and walked further inside.

"JJ?" You called again.

As you stepped into the living room, the sight of your father, Luke, froze you in place. 

He seemed worse than you remembered—disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and reeking of alcohol.

Luke had been gone for a year, no contact, nothing. But the memories of his drunken rages and the bruises he left behind were still fresh. He was supposed to be miles away. JJ made sure of that, paying him off and helping him get off the island.

Seeing him was the last thing you were expecting.

"You shouldn’t be here,” You warned him, trying to mask the fear rising in your chest.

He laughed, a hollow, chilling sound. "I’m just here to see my kids. Is that so wrong?”

Liar.

You knew better than to trust him. “You need to leave. Now.”

His expression darkened, the smirk fading. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Watch me. Out.”

He took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender, “I just need a little loan.”

You tightened your grip on the edge of the doorframe, “No. You need to go, for good.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might listen. But then he took a step closer, and you could smell the stale alcohol on his breath.

“I’m not leaving without what I came for.”

“I don’t care,” You snapped, no longer the scared girl he was used to, “Get your ass out of my house before I call the cops.”

“This is my house!” He all but screamed, the veins in his neck visible.

“Not anymore,” Your heart pounded in your chest, and every fiber of your being screamed for JJ, wishing he was here, “I’m not afraid of you,” you said, more to convince yourself than him.

He took another step forward, his face twisted in anger. “You always were a stubborn little brat.”

“And you’re a piece of shit.”

He lunged. 

You barely dodged his grasp, stumbling back into the living room.

“Stay away from me!” you shouted, desperately looking for something to defend yourself with. 

Luke laughed, a dark, hollow sound, and came at you again. This time, he grabbed your arm, his grip painfully tight. You barely had time to react, instinctively raising your arms to block his advance. 

“You little bitch,” he snarled, pushing you against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of you, but you fought to stay focused. You couldn’t let him win, not again.

“You’re going to give me what I want,” he hissed, his breath hot and foul on your face.

“No, I’m not,” you spat back, summoning every ounce of courage you had.

With your free hand, you grabbed a nearby lamp and swung it at him. The base connected with his head, and he stumbled back, cursing.

“Bitch!” he roared, holding his head. Blood trickled down the side of his face, but the sight only seemed to enrage him further.

He charged at you, knocking the lamp from your hands and pinning you to the floor.

You were panicking, resorting to kicking and thrashing, trying to throw him off. “Get off me!” you screamed, clawing at his face.

He slapped you hard, the force of the blow making your vision blur. “You think you can fight me?” he snarled, his hands wrapping around your throat.

Gasping for air, you felt the desperation claw its way out. You’d been here too many times. Your hand groped blindly on the floor, finding a heavy candlestick. Your mom’s candlestick. With the last of your strength, you brought it down on his head.

Luke’s grip loosened, and he slumped to the side, groaning. You scrambled to your feet, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He tried to get up, but you struck him again, this time with all your strength. The candlestick connected with a sickening thud, and your father collapsed, blood pooling around his head.

You stood over him, panting, the weight of what you’d done sinking in.

But then, with a guttural growl, he stirred and reached for your ankle. You staggered back, your heart hammering. 

“Stay down goddamit!” you shouted, raising the candlestick again.

He pushed himself up, eyes wild with rage. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he spat, lunging once more.

This time, you were ready.

As he reached for you, you twisted to the side, bringing your knee up sharply into his stomach. He grunted in pain, doubling over, and you seized the opportunity to land a sharp elbow to his nose. The crack was satisfying, but brief; he roared and grabbed at you blindly.

You ducked under his arm, grabbing a chair and shoving it between you. Luke, half-blind with fury, kicked the chair aside, but it gave you enough time to reach the kitchen. You grabbed the first thing you could find—a cast-iron skillet.

He stumbled into the kitchen after you, a trickle of blood from his nose mingling with the sweat and grime on his face.

“You just had to put up a fight, huh? Just like her.” he snarled.

“Stay back,” you warned, brandishing the skillet, “I’ll fucking do it.”

Luke laughed, a deranged sound, and lunged. You swung the skillet with all your might. It connected with his shoulder, the impact reverberating up your arm. He staggered, and you swung again, aiming for his head. The skillet hit with his temple, the sound echoing through the room and he collapsed, finally unmoving.

Oh fuck.

For a moment, the house was deathly silent.

You dropped the skillet, your hands trembling.

Kneeling down, you checked for a pulse. It was faint, but there. Relief and horror flooded through you simultaneously.  You almost killed him. There was so much blood. It stained the old carpet, the candlestick, your hands.

You backed away, your mind racing. 

What if he died? What if you’d killed him? Oh god, oh god. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You just wanted him gone, out of your life for good.

With trembling fingers, you picked up your phone, the weight of what had just happened settling heavily on your shoulders. Your heart raced with adrenaline and fear, each breath feeling labored as you scrolled through your contacts. You needed help, someone who could make sense of the chaos now consuming your life.

The screen lit up with familiar names, but your vision was blurred with tears.

Without fully realizing it, your finger landed on a contact you hadn’t called ever before. The phone rang, and you kept an eye on Luke, praying he wouldn’t move. It rang for only ten seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

“Maybank?”

“Rafe?” You gasped out, your voice breaking as you clutched the phone to your ear.

There was a brief pause, and then his voice came through, “Hey, hey. What's wrong? Are you okay?”

But you couldn't speak.

Hearing his voice after all this time, after everything that had happened, it was too much.

The fear, the relief, the chaos, all of it came crashing down, and your breath hitched.

You couldn’t think.

“Hey! Are you there? Talk to me!” Rafe's voice grew more urgent.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a sob escaping instead. Your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor, the phone slipping slightly in your grasp. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing down, the silence deafening except for your labored breathing.

“Where are you?!”

You focused on his words, trying to match your breath to his timbre.

In. Out. In. Out.

It helped, if only a little. The shaking in your hands lessened, but the fear never eased.

“I think... I think I killed my dad.”

You looked at the bloodstained carpet, the unconscious body of your father still lying there, and the horror of it all washed over you again. 

“Are you home? Are you safe?”

You glanced around the living room, the familiar space now a scene of violence.

“I’m home. JJ isn’t here. I-I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m coming,” Rafe said firmly. “Stay there. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Rafe—” You began, but he cut you off.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hang on, okay?”

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself staring at the door, willing Rafe to appear.

What were you going to do? How were you going to live with yourself if Luke died? This wasn’t you.

You didn’t hurt people. You just wanted a little bit of peace in your life, some quiet. Why did things never work out the way you wanted them to?

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, you heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. Moments later, the door burst open, and there he was.

“Maybank?”

He called out for you as he stepped inside.

Seconds later, he was standing in front of you, scanning the room, analyzing the scene before him. He rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple as he guided you away from the scene, his eyes lingering briefly on your father’s motionless figure.

“What happened?” He asked softly, leading you to sit on the couch. 

“He just showed up out of nowhere. He wanted money. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t. He got violent, and I... “

“It’s okay.”

His warmth helped.

But you still felt the overwhelming weight guilt eating you alive. The blood on your hands—it all felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

“Have you called 911?”

You shook your head, lips trembling as you tried not to cry.

“Do you want me to?”

The thought of police cars and paramedics filling the house, made your stomach churn. The fear of what might happen if Luke woke up, or if he didn't, paralyzed you. It took you a second to realize he already had his phone out, pressed to his ear.

"I need an ambulance.”

He stayed on the line with the dispatcher, giving them your address and the details. Your ears were ringing, unable to make out exactly what he was saying. 

"They're on their way," he reassured softly. "It’s gonna be okay."

You nodded weakly, grappling with the aftermath. Rafe stayed close, seated next to you.

"They'll take him to the hospital," He murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "He'll get the help he needs."

"I... I didn't mean to..." you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Rafe’s hands griped your own, despite the blood coating it, "I know.”

The minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You just wanted it to be over.

When the paramedics finally arrived, Rafe guided them to Luke's unconscious form while you sat numbly on the couch. They immediately went to work, assessing his condition and preparing him for transport. Police officers soon followed, asking questions, and taking statements. Rafe handled most of the interaction, shielding you from the brunt of their inquiries. You watched in stunned silence as they worked.

He stayed close by, offering quiet reassurances and answering the paramedics’ questions.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally moved Luke onto a stretcher and carried him out of the house. Rafe followed them to the door, speaking briefly with one of the paramedics before they loaded Luke into the ambulance and drove away.

He kneeled in front of you, “You can’t say here, okay? They called JJ, he’s on the mainland, but he’ll take the first ferry down here tomorrow.”

You nodded weakly, your body feeling as if it had been drained of all energy.

"Come on," Rafe urged, helping you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here."

He guided you out of the house and into his truck, the engine already running. The drive was quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you.

Rafe reached over, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. You slumped back in the plush seat, eyes closed, trying to steady your breathing, too embarrassed to look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You didn't even register where you were headed until the truck pulled to a stop. When you finally opened your eyes, you realized you were at Rafe’s place.

Tanneyhill.

It felt odd, being there after so long, and under such circumstances. He helped you out of the truck, guiding you inside with a protective arm around your shoulders. 

"Sit down," he said gently, leading you to the living room. "I'll get you some water."

You sank into the expensive couch, feeling the soft cushions envelop you. It was weird sitting in Rafe’s home after everything that had happened.

He returned quickly with a glass of water, pressing it into your trembling hands.

"Drink," he instructed, sitting beside you.

You took a small sip, the cool water soothing your dry throat. Rafe watched you closely, concern etched across his features.

"You need to rest," he said. "I’ll be right here."

"But I—"

"You need to rest," he repeated firmly, but not unkindly. "We can talk more in the morning.”

There was a part of you that wanted to argue, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help. You’d done this for years, alone.

And yet, here he was, offering you help. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe you just missed him, but for once in your life, you didn’t fight him. 

You nodded, letting him take you upstairs.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, noticing the blood still on your skin and clothes. "You can’t go to bed like this."

At this point, you were too tired to speak, simply following his instructions as he led you inside, guiding you to the bathroom.

"Here," he said, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature. "Take your time. I'll leave some clean clothes for you right outside the door."

You nodded gratefully, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The sound of the water running was comforting, a small sense of normalcy. You stripped off your clothes, your hands trembling slightly as you pulled your shorts off.

The sight of the dried blood on your hands and shirt made you want to burst into tears, again.

Stepping into the shower, you let the warm water cascade over you, washing away the grime and blood. The heat soothed your tense muscles, and you stood there for a long time, eyes closed, letting the water work its magic. 

Slowly, you began to wash yourself, scrubbing away the remnants of your father’s presence. The soap smelled of lavender, and somehow you found yourself smiling for a second, realizing this was Rafe’s scent earlier. You washed your hair, the routine bringing you back to the present. As the water rinsed off, clarity slowly returned. You were still scared shitless, but that shower gave you a moment of peace. Stepping out, you wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel and took a deep breath.

Rafe had left a pair of sweatpants, boxers and a t-shirt outside the door, just as he said he would.

You dried off and changed into them, feeling a bit more like yourself. They were a little big, but they were warm and comfortable.

They were Rafe’s. 

You opened the bathroom door to find him waiting in the hallway. He seemed relieved to see you and you hated yourself for making him worry so bad.

"Feeling better?" 

"A little," you admitted. "Thank you."

He nodded. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

He led you to what you assumed was a guest room, the bed already made up with fresh sheets. 

"Sit here," Rafe said, motioning to the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a first-aid kit. He kneeled in front of you again, this time with a different purpose. "Lemme see your hands."

You hesitated, then slowly extended them. They were scratched and bruised, remnants of how fucked up your father was.

Rafe’s touch was gentle as he cleaned the wounds, using antiseptic wipes to carefully remove the blood that you hadn’t been able to get rid of in the shower. 

“This might sting a bit,” he murmured, his voice soothing despite the warning.

It made you wince, but you bit your lip, staying silent.

"I’m sorry," he said, noticing your discomfort.

"’M used to it. It’s okay,” You nodded, biting your lip as he cleaned the wound. 

The antiseptic burned, but you focused on Rafe’s face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the softness in his eyes as he wrapped your hand with practiced care. 

“I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Rafe paused, his hands stilling for a moment.

“You’re not a mess.”

Your chuckle was short and stifled, “Right.”

His fingers continued their work, securing the bandage with gentle precision. “I mean it.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against the barrier you'd built around your heart. “Why—Why did you pick up the phone?”

“You know why.”

Rafe’s tone was final, leaving no room for conversation as he finished wrapping your hand and set it gently in your lap.

“There,” he said, “All done.”

You sank into the mattress as he pulled the blankets over you.

He was tucking you to bed, so…lovely, so not like the Rafe you met years ago. It made your heart hurt. No one had ever cleaned your wounds. 

“C-Can you stay here?”

Rafe paused, turning from where he was adjusting the pillows, "I don’t think—”

“Please.”

Without a word, he slipped off his shoes, climbing into bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The warmth of his body against yours, his steady heartbeat, the scent of lavender and something uniquely Rafe—it all made you feel safer than you had in a long time.

"It's okay. I'm here. You're safe."

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the tears start to flow again, but this time they were tears of release, of letting go. Rafe held you tighter, his hands gently rubbing your back, his touch tender.

He didn't say anything more, just held you. As the minutes passed, your breathing gradually slowed, matching the rhythm of his. The tension in your body began to melt away, your eyes grew heavy. 

"Thank you," Your voice was muffled against his chest. "For everything."

Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"Sleep.”

You snuggled closer, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, finally feeling at home.

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed, the warmth of Rafe’s embrace replaced by the cold reality of the previous night’s events. The room was dimly lit, the morning sun casting soft rays through the curtains. You sat up, your mind hazy with sleep, and glanced around, your heart sinking as you realized Rafe was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, you wondered if it had all been a dream, but the dried blood on your clothes, lying by the floor and the faint echo of fear told you otherwise. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. 

Your father, the struggle, the blood—Rafe’s comforting presence.

You felt an immense amount of guilt as you remembered how you had leaned on him for support after you cut him out of your life.

He was already dealing with so much because of his own father, and now you had burdened him with your problems.

You rose from the bed, the oversized sweatpants and t-shirt Rafe had given you hanging loosely on your frame. You made your way to the door, listening for any sounds that might indicate where he had gone. As you walked down the hallway, you heard a faint voice coming from the kitchen. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized Rafe’s voice, speaking in low, urgent tones.

You hesitated for a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you. Slowly, you made your way towards the kitchen, the sound of Rafe’s voice growing clearer with each step.

“…I don’t care what it fucking takes,” Rafe all but spat, his tone filled with determination. “Yeah, I know the charges will stick. Just make sure he doesn’t get out on bail. I don’t want him anywhere near her again.”

He paused, listening intently. You took a step closer, peering around the corner to see him standing by the kitchen counter, his phone pressed to his ear. The intensity in his eyes was unlike anything you’d seen before.

“No, she’s fine,” he continued, “But I want to make sure she stays that way.”

You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching in your throat. Rafe was talking about your father, and the realization hit you in the face.

He was trying to protect you, even now.

“Rafe…” 

Rafe turned around, his eyes widening as he saw you standing there.

“I’ll call you later." He quickly ended the call, slipping his phone into his pocket as he approached you, “Hey, you’re awake,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

“What were you doing?” you asked, “Who were you talking to?”

“Hmm?”

“Rafe,” You warn, too tired to play games, “Who were you talking to?”

He sighed, looking impossibly uncomfortable as you sized him up, “My lawyer. Getting a restraining order for you.”

The confirmation nearly made your brain split into two.

“What?”

Rafe hesitated, knowing he couldn't hide the truth from you. Not that he even tried lately. He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, a gesture you recognized as a sign of his unease. 

"I'm trying to get a restraining order against your father."

"Why?"

His eyes bore into yours, a silent plea for you to understand, “Because you need one.”

Rafe was going to bat for you, putting himself in the line of fire to protect you from the man who had haunted your life for so long. Tears welled up in your eyes as the enormity of his actions sank in.

“I’m sorry.”

He ran a hand over his face.

“Maybank, what happened last night… it’s not something you should ever have to deal with. I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve—"

“You couldn’t have known.”

Rafe shook his head, "I should've been here.”

You walked closer, closing the distance between you. "Rafe, you don't owe me anything."

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he gently cupped your cheek. His touch was familiar, comforting and you leaned into it, closing your eyes briefly.

"I owe you everything," he murmured. 

You let out a shaky breath, “Don’t say that.”

He tilted your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear, “You think I’d be there if it wasn’t for you? Shit— Pretty, look around. It’s just me.”

Your heart pounded in your ribcage, the sincerity in his eyes making it hard to breathe.

You had spent so long building walls, convincing yourself that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle everything on your own.

“You’ve been alone?” You all but sob, “You’ve been here all this time? By yourself?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” His hand on your cheek trembled slightly, the vulnerability in his voice laying his heart bare. “I’m okay, see?”

You reached up, covering his hand with yours, “I was so angry at you.”

“Baby—”

“You don’t understand,” you explained, voice cracking slightly, “I just... I didn’t know what to do.”

He drew you closer, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. You melted into him instantly. 

"I deserved it,” Rafe muttered, his breath warm against your ear.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"You told me you were getting clean, that you were seeing a psychologist, and I-I wasn’t there.”

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading with you to understand. “I was a train wreck, and I hurt you. You needed to protect yourself.”

“But I should’ve been there for you,” you insisted, your voice breaking. “You were trying to get better, and I just... walked away.”

“Jesus Christ Maybank” He tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a groan, “Stop the waterfloods, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Shut up,” You let out a genuine laugh, despite the ugly crying, “’M trying to apologize—“

“You don’t have to, baby,” He cut you off, shaking his head, “Not to me, or anyone else.”

His breath mingled with yours, his presence soothing you in a way you hadn’t felt in months.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was as if he was testing the waters, ensuring you were okay with this, and when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as his lips explored yours.

You felt yourself give in to him, your hands gripping his shirt to make sure it was real.

You’d dreamed about him for too damn long to understand the difference. The kiss was slow, deliberate…loving. Each touch, each movement, was a reassurance, a silent promise that he was here, that he wouldn’t let go. 

As you broke apart, gasping for air, lips swollen and shining, Rafe rested his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged.

“Can’t believe you made me fall in love with a pogue.”

Oh.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“In love?”

Rafe bit his lower lip, “Yeah.”

You could see the anxiety roaring inside him. The way his shoulders seemed to squeeze back in, eyes dropping to your lips. 

"I never thought I'd fall for a kook," you teased gently, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek.

“Don’t play with me,” He huffed, dropping his head against your shoulder, teeth grazing against your skin, “Fucking hell.”

You tilted his chin up gently, meeting his gaze with sincerity, “I mean it, Cameron.”

His eyes examined yours for a long moment as if confirming your words. Then, without a word, he closed the distance between you once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty.

His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough. The kiss was so different from the one before. You could feel the heat building between you, that undeniable chemistry pulling you together.

His hands slipped under your shirt, his shirt, the touch of his fingertips on your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. Rafe’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped, tilting your head to give him better access. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing, making you dizzy with want.

“I need you,” your voice's breathless, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

He paused, lifting his head to look at you, blue eyes darken with desire.

“You’re hurt,” he gulped, “Last night—”

“I don’t care,” you replied, shaking your head. “You fucked me after I got shot.”

"That night was different. We were different."

You nodded, the memory of that night vivid in your mind. The urgency, the desperation, the way you had clung to each other as if you were drowning.

He hesitated for a moment longer, his thumb brushing over the bruise on your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you promised, pulling him back to you. “I trust you.”

That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. His restrain visibly slipped away as his lips found yours again as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you upstairs, to bed and then laying you down gently as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

Rafe hovered over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped off his shirt. You reached up, tracing the lines of his muscles, marveling at the way they moved under your touch. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, his hands working on the buttons of your shirt.

The clothes disappeared in a blur, and then it was just the two of you, skin against skin, only underwear. His hands and lips were everywhere.

“Y’know how much I missed you?”

You sighed, a smile playing at your lips as you cupped his face, “Tell me.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mixture of tenderness and desperation.

“Every damn day. Every fucking minute. I’d close my eyes and all I could see was you.”

His voice trailed off, but his hands spoke for him, tracing patterns along your sides, sending shivers through you. His touch was reverent as if he was rediscovering you, piece by piece.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, your bodies aligning perfectly. 

“I’m here now.”

Rafe’s lips curved into a smile against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, holding you steady. “You sure you’re okay?” 

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “More than okay. I want this. I want you.”

He kissed his way down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of heat as they moved lower.

“I love the way you laugh," he purred against your skin, his lips trailing down your collarbone. "The way your eyes light up when you talk about something you care about. How strong you are, even when you don't realize it."

You shivered at his words, your heart swelling with love for the man holding you so tenderly. "Rafe..."

He kissed your lips softly, silencing you.

"I love the way you look at me," he continued, his hands slipping under your shirt, his shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath. "Like I'm the only person in the world. Like I matter."

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, his touch.

"You do matter," you whispered, your voice breaking. “You matter to me.”

Rafe's hands moved lower, teasing the waistband of your, his, boxers.

“I love how brave you are," he said, his voice husky, "How you face everything, even when it's terrifying."

He slid them down slowly, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Last night," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I was terrified. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You reached for him, your fingers tangling in his grown-out hair, pulling him closer. "I'm here," your lips brushed against his, "I'm right here."

Rafe's hands found your hips, his touch firm and reassuring. "I love you," he said again,  "And I need you to know that. Shit, I need you to feel it."

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I do. I feel it."

He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a desperate urgency. He took his time, worshiping you with every touch, every kiss, making sure you knew exactly how much you meant to him.

His lips found your breasts, kissing and teasing, his hands caressing your sides, your hips. You moaned, arching into his touch, your body trembling with need. "Rafe..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a small smile playing at his lips.

"I love the way you say my name. Like it's the only word that matters."

He kissed his way down your stomach, his hands sliding lower, teasing you, driving you wild with anticipation. "I love the way you taste," he breathed, hot against your skin. "The way you feel."

You gasped, your body arching off the bed as his fingers found you, teasing, exploring. 

"Rafe, please..."

He kissed his way back up your body, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss.

"I've got you. I'm here. Tell me if you want me to stop."

You shook your head, urging him on. "Don't stop.”

He kissed your hip bones, his hands gently spreading your legs wider. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your breath catch. He moved lower, his lips trailing down your inner thigh, his fingers lightly caressing your other leg.

When his mouth finally reached your core, you gasped, your body arching off the bed. His tongue flicked out, teasing you, tasting you.

The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Fuck you missed this.

Rafe’s grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place as he continued his slow, deliberate assault.

He explored you with his tongue, each movement precise, intentional. He found a rhythm that made your head spin, alternating between gentle flicks and firm strokes. You moaned, your fingers tightening in his short strands, pulling him closer, needing more.

Rafe responded to your silent plea, his tongue delving deeper, his hands gripping your thighs harder. The pressure built, an overwhelming wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you. He groaned against you, the vibration sending you even higher.

"Oh, Rafe," you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

He didn't.

He increased his pace, his tongue moving faster, his hands sliding under your hips, lifting you slightly to give him better access. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

Rafe’s mouth never left you, his tongue driving you to the brink. You cried out his name, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking rapidly, and that was all it took. You shattered, not a wave, but an entire ocean of ecstasy crashing over you, your vision going white as the pleasure consumed you.

He continued his ministrations, guiding you through your orgasm, his tongue and lips never slowing, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

When you finally came down, your body spent and trembling, Rafe kissed his way back up your body, his hands soothing the aftershocks with gentle caresses.

He hovered over you, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the intimacy of it making your heart swell.

"My perfect girl," he growled against your lips.

Your bruised hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself back. He shifted, pressing his hips against yours, letting you feel his arousal. You moaned into his mouth, your hands moving lower, wanting to touch him, to feel him inside you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as your fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxers, teasing him.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked again. 

He cared so much it nearly sent you into an emotional spiral again.

 “I’ve never been more sure.”

That was all he needed.

In one swift motion, he shed his boxers, and you took in the sight of him, hard and ready. He moved over you, positioning himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. He took his time, teasing you with his fingers, making sure you were ready for him.

You gasped, arching your back as he entered you slowly, his movements deliberate, and controlled.

God, you missed feeling every inch of him. 

He paused, giving you a moment to adjust, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, his voice strained with restraint.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to move. “Don’t hold back,” you almost sobbed, your breath hot against his ear. “I want all of you.”

Rafe needed no further encouragement.

He began to move, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm, each thrust deep and controlled. The pleasure built with every movement, the sensation of him filling you completely driving you wild. Your fingers dug into his back, your nails leaving marks as you clung to him, needing the connection.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hips, the sensation of his lips on yours amplifying the pleasure. His hands roamed over your body, one sliding under your back to pull you closer, the other tangling in your hair, holding you in place as he devoured you. You matched his rhythm, you bodies moving together in perfect harmony. Rafe’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his control slipping.

His words, the sound of his voice, sent shivers down your spine.

“Don't stop, baby- Oh, fuckkk. Please, d-don't stop."

"I won't," he promised, his voice a low growl. “Never stopping."

With those words, he lost the last of his restraint, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, driving you both toward the edge. The room filled with the sounds of your passion, the slap of skin against skin that made you absolute feral for him, the desperate moans and gasps of pleasure.

You didn’t understand the sudden urge, but before you could think about it, you were pushing against Rafe’s chest.

“Your turn,” you murmured, flipping him onto his back with ease and straddling him. 

He looked up at you slightly startled, hands resting on your plush hips as you settled over him and you swore he never looked prettier.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his hands sliding up your sides, over your tits, cupping them gently. “Every part of you.”

You leaned down, his stubble grazing your skin, burning you most deliciously. You feel him rubbing against you, his tip touching your clit just right and you couldn’t help the satisfied moan that escaped your lips. You broke the kiss, sitting up and grinding your hips against his, feeling the heat building between you again.

“You like that?” you teased, your voice low and sultry, your fingers trailing down his chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he whimpered, his grip on your hips tightening. “You feel amazing.”

You reached between you, guiding him to your entrance. The sensation of him sliding back inside you was electric, drawing a gasp from both of you. You started to move, slow at first, savoring the feeling of him filling you completely.

Rafe’s hands roamed over your body, caressing, teasing, driving you wild. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours. “Ride me, baby. I want to see you come again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, spurring you on. You increased your pace, rolling your hips, finding the angle that drove you both to the edge. Your hands braced against his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, faster.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. “You feel so good inside me.”

He groaned, “You can’t be real,” his hands guided your hips, urging you to move faster. “This can’t be real—Shit, keep doing that.”

The pleasure built with every movement, your bodies moving together like they never parted.

You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the tension building, ready to snap. Rafe’s hands slid up to your breasts, teasing your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“Come for me, baby,” Rafe urged, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words pushed you over the edge. You cried out, your body arching, your vision going white as the orgasm crashed over you. Rafe groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet yours as he followed you into ecstasy, his release filling you, pretty hisses and groans filling your ears.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathless, spent, and completely satisfied. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips brushing against your ear.

You buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed by how loved you felt. You’d never felt anything like this before. His heartbeat echoed against your chest.

As you started to shift to look at him, you noticed he was staring at you with an expression that caught you off guard. His eyes were wide, intense and unwavering, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"What?" you asked softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the slight confusion.

Rafe blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. His hand reached up to gently trace your cheekbone.

"I can't believe you're real."

"Rafe..." 

He silenced you with a gentle kiss, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. "I love you, Pretty Maybank."

"I love you too.”

[revelboo]

I just wanted to say, thank you for showing me where to get the little models, I've been having so much fun putting these guys together the past two days

Sorry for the quality of the photo

Shockwaves! I found the Blokees models purely by accident, but I love how tiny and posable they are. I ended up moving my Flame Toys Megs to my plant shelf just to make more room for these guys

Gravity Pt 6

IDW Optimus x Reader

• “Why Earth?” Turning away from his work at the soft question, he finds you sitting cross legged nearby watching him with a little frown. Yours been quiet so long, he’s assumed you were resting. At his questioning look, you roll your hand in a vague little gesture. “Why did you all come here? Why Earth?”

• Servos flexing slightly, he leans his forearms against the desk. Almost looming over you, but you don’t lean away. Just arching your eyebrows at him, because it’s been bothering you for a while now. Surely there were other worlds closer to his world, to Cybertron. So why here? “In the archives, there were ancient records of worlds the Primes had visited during the expansion before the war with the Quintessons. Of worlds that had been seeded with energon or interacted with,” he says. The words bringing up more questions than answers. Quintessons? Other Primes? Only energon rings a bell, because that’s the stuff he lives on, but seeded?

• Your expression twists and he knows he should explain it all. That he owes it to you after trapping you with him, but the past has only ever wounded him. Dredging it up always brings up the choices and mistakes he’d made. The things he can’t undo, but wishes he could because something small might have led them all down a different path, a brighter one if he’d only been better, stronger.

• “You came here for the energon,” you hazard. He’s volunteered so little of his past, only letting things slip occasionally. Like that his Autobots are at war, that they’d had to flee their world and that their enemies had followed. The details, though? Like why they’d left Cybertron or even what the war was over? Those things he doesn’t seem ready to talk about so you haven’t pushed.

• “We had no way of knowing about your species. You didn’t exist when this world was seeded as a potential colony.” Reaching out, he crooks a servo not really expecting for you to lay a hand on him and let him gently pull you to your feet. “I wouldn’t have led the Decepticons here if I’d known.” And that’s his guilt to carry from now on. Another failure that might cost so much, another sin weighing on his spark, because this world might not survive their war. You might not.

• “You guys were starving, right?” You ask, hand lingering on his servo as he inclines his head. “You were trying to save who you could, I get that.” It’s not fair or right, but you do understand. From what you can gather from the things he doesn’t want to say, things were pretty desperate. He was desperate. And to be responsible for the survival of your people, what would you have done in his place? You’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be nearly as honorable as he is, that you’d do anything regardless of the cost, because you’re not good like he is.

• Spark warming at your soft words, it’s that you understand that makes him curl his servo about you. How can you not blame him for bringing his war to your home? Not hate him or at least resent him? Your little palm slides against his servo like you’re trying to comfort him, worrying over him. It’s a weight from him that you don’t despise him even though he knows that this and what will follow will be his fault. For now he just wants to feel your hand on him and pretend that this one time, his decisions won’t cost him what little he has right now in this moment. Won’t cost you, because you give him something to look forward to every day. Something beyond duty or responsibility, just enjoying your company, the sound of your voice. The soft touch of a hand reaching out to him to break his loneliness.

Previous

[pandapetals]

Watch It, Bub

Logan whips out his claws to scare off some creepy guy for you.

logan howlett x fem!shy reader - etablished bf/gf, shy reader, introvert reader, bookish reader, logan being protective, logan whipping his claws out, cute ending, some fluff, some angst, no y/n used, no reader description, sweetheart/darlin pet names used

a/n: inspired by @romanarose post about logan whipping out his claws at any tiny threat towards reader.

"Take your time, sweetheart. I’ll be just over there looking handsome," Logan murmured, brushing a quick, warm kiss against your cheek before stepping away.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at his usual confidence, but you felt the familiar flutter in your chest as he headed to the other side of the store. You hadn’t expected him to come with you today—bookstores weren’t exactly his thing—but here he was, giving you the space to browse in peace, even offering to pay for whatever books you wanted. He knew how much this place meant to you.

With a small smile lingering on your face, you turned down the fiction aisle, your eyes drifting over the rows of books. The shelves were packed, full of spines in every color, each one a doorway into a new world. You felt at home here, surrounded by the comforting smell of paper and dust, your fingers grazing the covers as you searched for the title you came for.

But as you rounded a corner, your easy calm shifted. A man was standing a little way down the aisle, leaning against a shelf with a book open in his hands. His posture was casual, but there was something in the way he glanced up at you—quick, assessing—that made the back of your neck prickle. His gaze lingered a second too long, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

You considered turning around, ducking into another section, but a voice in your head stopped you. Would he think that was rude? Why should you care what he thought? But still, your heart beat a little faster, and you could feel the edges of your shyness creeping in, making your movements a bit more stiff.

Taking a quiet breath, you forced yourself to keep going. You focused on the titles, searching for that book you’d been wanting. Your fingers tightened around the spine of a novel as you found it, pulling it from the shelf with a small, victorious smile. But before you could fully turn away, you heard him clear his throat.

“Hey," he said, his tone almost too casual. "So…you into that author?”

The question caught you off guard. You glanced up, your brow furrowing slightly. “What?”

He tilted his head, closing the book in his hands. "Just wondering if you’re a fan. I’ve read a lot of their stuff. Thought maybe we could compare notes.”

His smile was meant to be friendly, but there was something too forward about it, too expectant. You felt your cheeks flush, the words caught somewhere in your throat. You hadn’t prepared yourself for small talk—especially not with a stranger who seemed to have taken a bit too much interest in you.

The man’s question hung in the air, and you felt a weight in his gaze, waiting, pressing as if he had a right to your attention. Your brain scrambled for something to say, but all you could manage was, “Yeah—I mean, I guess.”

Your cheeks felt warm, an awkward flush creeping up as you struggled to fill the silence. You wished, just for once, you could handle moments like this smoothly—could just have a regular conversation without your words tangling on the way out. But another part of you bristled, reminding you that you didn’t owe this stranger anything. You glanced down at the book in your hands, hoping he’d take the hint and move on.

Instead, he stepped closer, a too-friendly grin stretching across his face. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping as if to make the conversation more intimate, “I’m always happy to give recommendations if you’re looking for something… different.” He reached out and touched your arm, a casual gesture that lingered a beat too long, his fingers warm against your sleeve.

A chill shot up your spine. You stiffened, pulling your arm back instinctively, but the man didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care. He leaned in, that smile of his edging from friendly to something more expectant, his gaze fixed on you as if he were waiting for permission to keep going.

Your heart sped up, the edges of your discomfort sharpening. You swallowed, feeling the prickling heat of anxiety clawing its way up your throat. You opened your mouth, trying to summon a polite excuse to leave, but the words died as a shadow fell over you both.

Logan had appeared beside you, silent as a storm gathering on the horizon. His hand came to rest on your waist, pulling you close to him. He didn’t look at you—his focus was locked entirely on the stranger, his eyes dark and unblinking.

“Watch it, bub?” Logan’s voice was low and even, each word laced with a quiet, unmistakable threat. “She’s not interested.”

The stranger’s grin faltered, his fingers twitching as he quickly withdrew his hand from where he’d touched your arm. He looked between you and Logan, his smile turning nervous as he took in the hard line of Logan’s jaw, the clenched fists. Logan’s stance seemed to expand, filling the aisle. A faint, metallic snikt cut through the silence as Logan’s claws slid out just far enough to make his intentions crystal clear.

“I—uh,” the guy stammered, his eyes wide. “Didn’t mean any harm, man. Just… being friendly.”

“Then back off.” Logan’s gaze didn’t waver, his voice steady as steel. “Find someone else to be friendly with.”

The stranger held up his hands in a quick, defensive gesture, the color draining from his face. “Yeah, yeah. No problem,” he muttered, taking a step back. He turned and practically tripped over his own feet as he made his way down the aisle, disappearing around the corner without looking back.

As soon as he was gone, Logan’s posture softened. His claws retracted with a soft click, and he turned to you, his expression shifting from deadly to concerned. He brushed a gentle thumb over your shoulder where the stranger had touched you, his eyes scanning your face.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice a low rumble of reassurance.

You felt a small, shaky smile tug at your lips as the tension slowly ebbed from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath, but laced with quiet relief.

Logan’s eyes softened, his mouth curving into that rare, gentle smile he saved just for you. He kept his hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing slow, reassuring circles over your skin. “Can’t have anyone bothering my girl,” he said.

A soft laugh escaped you, and a gentle warmth bloomed in your chest, melting away the last of your unease. “I guess it was my fault…” you started, feeling a bit sheepish. “Maybe I should have just walked away.”

Logan’s face darkened, and he shook his head firmly. “No, sweetheart. Don’t go blaming yourself.” His eyes flicked toward the empty aisle where the stranger had disappeared, his jaw tightening as if the man were still standing there. “He put his hands on you…” His voice dipped into a dangerous growl, his hand clenching briefly at his side. “I should’ve cut off his damn arm.”

The words were half-joking, but his eyes flashed with something deadly serious. You could feel his protective fury simmering just below the surface, a fierce heat held in check only by his respect for you. It was a reminder of exactly who he was—the dangerous edge he kept hidden, for your sake.

You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Well, good thing you didn’t… cut off his arm,” you said, glancing up at him with a soft smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his usual hardness melting into something warmer that seemed to wrap around you like a shield. Slowly, his hand traced down your arm, his fingers leaving a gentle warmth that lingered on your skin long after they passed.

“You’ll never have to find out, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low, steady promise.

His words hung between you, carrying a weight that was both fierce and comforting as if he was making a vow he intended to keep with every fiber of his being. You felt a soft warmth bloom in your chest, and suddenly the world seemed a little smaller and safer, with him beside you.

You met his eyes, feeling your own shyness creeping in, but unable to look away. “Thank you, Logan,” you whispered, feeling the words fall short of what you really meant.

He just gave a small, knowing smile, as if he understood everything you couldn’t quite say. Then, with one last brush of his thumb along your arm, he pulled back, letting you return to your books, but not before giving you a final, reassuring nod that told you he’d be right there if you needed him.

[anonziesssz]

Pumpkin Lattes & Autumn Glances.

✦- Authors Note: Posting a Blue Lock fic after this 🙈

✦- pairings: Yuki Tsunoda x reader.

✦- summary: Yuki Tsunoda Takes the reader to a cafe and teases them

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It's a perfect autumn afternoon, with the streets colored in warm hues of amber and crimson, with golden leaves drifting down to cover the cobblestone path outside. Yuki holds the door open for you, pink coloration on his cheeks as he gets the chill in the air, smiling softly at the corners of his mouth.

Inside, the café is comforting and inviting, the scents of cinnamon and coffee filtering through the air. There are old posters on the walls, strings of fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, and, somewhere way in the back, a soft humming of jazz music. You slide into a small table by the window-the kind where you can watch the world walk by outside-and it feels like you stepped into a warm bubble off a cold outside.

So, the pumpkin spice latte here? A masterpiece. Not too sweet, not too spicy. Perfectly balanced." Yuki says with such great authority

"Didn't know you were such a latte connoisseur."

"Hey, it's a big deal." Yuki grins, leaning in, and for a second, the two of you just look at each other, caught in that quiet, unspoken moment.

Your drinks arrive just then, in oversized, excellently crafted mugs. Yuki takes a huge sip, barely waiting for it to cool down. Immediately he scrunches up his face and pulls back from the cup.

"Ah! Hot, hot, hot-too hot. But worth it." Yuki fans his mouth, laughing at himself while you chuckle along with him.

He pulls his phone out and snaps a quick photo of you in under a second.

"Caught you. Looking cute." He says

"Hey! Warn me next time."

Yuki (texting you under the table):

tooltips But then I'd miss all the best parts, like the way you look when you laugh <3

You feel a warm flush rise to your cheeks, and you sneak a glance at him, catching his soft happy smile as he waits for your reply.

You (texting back):You know, for all your teasing, you look kinda cute with that scarf all bundled up like that.

Yuki (still texting):Oh, so you like the scarf look? Noted for all future dates. ????

You laugh, and your smiles melt into your cups as you take another sip of lattes. It's rich, it's warm, with just the right amount of spice to remind you of everything you love about fall.

Outside the window, the street bustles with people, but somehow, you seem to be both in a world of your own as your conversations flow as effortlessly as the falling leaves while you chat about everything and nothing.

After a while, Yuki turns towards the window, his gaze pensive.

"Personally, it's really felt like my favorite season lately." He catches your eye with a soft, upturned smile. "Kinda makes everything feel… softer, you know? Like the world's giving us a little break."

"Yeah… And it's cozy. Like, we could sit here for hours and just watch the world go by."

Yuki just texts back, his fingers flying across the screen:

We really could. Just me and you. Bottomless lattes. We could act like no one else exists.

You read his message, the warmth settling further in your chest. And you text him back.

You:

Deal. But only if you promise to keep ordering lattes, and pretending they're not too hot for you.

He chuckles, peering over the rim of his cup with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Deal. And every time I burn my mouth, you owe me one more date. Think you can handle that?"

"Oh, easily. I'll bring aloe vera for you next time." You answer

"You're thoughtful, aren't you? But I wouldn't mind a kiss as a cure either."

You both laugh, but his words hang between you, filling the silence with a little spark of something more.

Yuki lifts his phone again-this time, holding it up for a selfie. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, and you both smile as the camera clicks. He looks down at the photo, nodding approvingly.

"Great, this is going to my wallpaper. Can't believe I finally found someone who tolerates my love for pumpkin lattes."

"Hey, someone has to keep you humble." You chuckle

You both keep sipping your drinks, sending each other silly comments via text despite sitting only a few inches apart. Every now and then, Yuki bumps his knee against yours or leans over to steal a bite of your pastry, his face lighting up at every tiny, simple joy of the afternoon.

The café around you feels like it bathes you in a golden glow; with Yuki there, it feels like this moment, just the two of them present, wrapped in the warmth and laughter of autumn-might be one you could remember forever.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[slut4evanpeters]

The Danger In Beauty

james patrick march x reader

songs i recommend listening to/loosely based on: pacify her by melanie martinez

warnings: reader lowk evil, reader manipulating, cheating

word count: 1.3k

note: no this is so bad i fear. I HAD THE IDEA BUT I COULDNT WRITE WITH OUT MAKING IT SO CLUNKY😞😞

You’d been drawn to the Cortez the first time you saw it. It was no ordinary hotel, its walls held secrets, and you could feel them pulsing under every golden light and velvet drape. This was a place of luxury tainted by dark desires, a perfect setting for someone like you.

But it wasn’t just the hotel that intrigued you. It was its infamous owner, James Patrick March. The eccentric, architect whom was a legend, and from the moment you laid eyes on him, you knew you wanted him.

He was magnetic in his cruelty, charming with a sinister edge, and he possessed a sophistication that you found endlessly alluring. The only problem? He was taken. His heart and soul, it seemed belonged to the Countess. She was beautiful, otherworldly, a force in her own right, but she was also in your way.

Your desire for James wasn’t born out of love. It was out of a lust for power and control, a hunger to mold a man as infamous and deadly as him to your will. To own him, to make him crave you and no one else. You had no intention of playing second to anyone, not even the Countess. You wanted her out of the picture, and you wanted James all to yourself.

From the moment you arrived, you’d crafted your plan with care, moving like a predator in the night, your beauty and charm luring him in like a spider weaving a web.

One evening, you found him in the lounge, seated in one of the dark leather armchairs, a half empty glass of whiskey balanced between his fingers. He looked as he always did, sharp in his tailored suit, his eyes gleaming with an intelligence laced with madness.

“Ah, Miss Y/N,” he greeted, that charming smile flashing across his face as he looked up at you. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice was smooth, accented with that old-fashioned charm you found so irresistible.

You sauntered over, letting your gown cling to your curves, accentuating every step as you moved closer. His gaze followed you, lingering, almost devouring. You could tell he was intrigued, that he was beginning to see you as something more than just another guest.

“Mr. March,” you purred, your voice low and velvety. You gave him a slow, deliberate smile, watching as his eyes darkened. “I was hoping you’d be here tonight. I’ve been… longing for some company.”

He chuckled, taking a sip of his whiskey. “Is that so? I must say, your presence is quite the remedy for a lonely evening.” His eyes held that glint of mischief, a hint of the thrill he found in danger, and you knew you had him hooked.

You took a seat beside him, leaning in just enough so that your perfume filled the air between you. “I was wondering,” you murmured, your voice soft and intimate, “if you’d be kind enough to tell me about the hotel. I want to know everything… about you, about this place.”

His face lit up at the invitation, and he launched into stories of the Cortez’s design, his voice rich with pride as he recounted its creation. You listened with attention, laughing at his humor, gasping at his more chilling tales. You let your hand rest on his arm, your touch light, casual, just enough to remind him of your presence, to pull his attention back to you.

“You are quite captivating, Miss Y/N,” he said after a while, his voice dropping as his gaze lingered on your face, your lips. “I dare say I have never met anyone quite like you.”

“And I have never met anyone like you,” you whispered, letting your fingers trace a slow, delicate line up his sleeve. “You’re so… extraordinary, Mr. March. It’s like you’re from another world.”

He smiled, clearly pleased by the attention, and you saw the way his gaze softened, the way his guard lowered just a bit. He wanted to believe you, to see himself through your admiring eyes.

“You are too kind,” he murmured, leaning a bit closer, his voice filled with a dangerous allure. “But tell me, do you flatter everyone with such… grace, or am I merely a fortunate man tonight?”

You gave him a smile, one filled with equal parts warmth and wickedness. “Only you, Mr. March. I assure you, you are quite special to me.”

His hand moved to rest on top of yours, his touch firm, almost possessive. “The Countess may not be too pleased if she sees me in such… captivating company,” he murmured, though he made no move to pull away.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “The Countess needn’t know every little detail, does she? After all, we’re just… getting to know each other.” You leaned in, your lips hovering close to his ear as you spoke. “But if it bothers you, perhaps I should go…”

His grip tightened slightly. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you leave. Stay. Indulge me a while longer.”

You smiled, knowing you’d won this small battle. Over the next few nights, you spent more time with him, each encounter growing more intimate, more charged. He was charmed by you, captivated, and you could tell that his thoughts were beginning to shift, that he was seeing you as more than just a passing amusement.

Then came the night you made your move. The lounge was empty, dimly lit, and James was alone, swirling his whiskey as he stared into the dark. You approached him quietly, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you stepped into his line of sight.

“Mr. March,” you greeted, your voice soft, almost a whisper. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He looked up, his gaze sharpening, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Is that so, my dear?”

“Yes,” you replied, moving closer until you were standing just before him. You leaned down, your face mere inches from his. “I find myself… wanting things I know I shouldn’t.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what, pray tell, are these things?”

“Things I can only have with you,” you murmured, your voice soft, your gaze smoldering. You reached out, letting your hand trace along his jawline, feeling the strength there. “But I can’t have you with her still in the picture, can I?”

He chuckled, though there was a hesitation in his eyes. “The Countess and I… we share a bond. A loyalty.”

“Loyalty?” You laughed, feigning a pout. “Mr. March, are you really going to let her keep you from what you want? From someone who would do anything for you?” You leaned closer, your lips almost brushing his. “I would never betray you.”

He was silent, his gaze dark and conflicted as he looked at you, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes beginning to fade, replaced by something deeper, darker.

Slowly, his hand moved up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you to him. When his lips met yours, it was as if a dam had broken a hunger, a need that had been simmering for days finally unleashed.

Your kiss was fierce, consuming, as if you could devour him, pull him entirely into your world. His hands roamed over you, pulling you close, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

When he pulled back, breathless, his eyes were wild, filled with a darkness and a devotion that you’d longed to see. “You, my dear,” he murmured, his voice thick, “are unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”

“And now, you’re mine,” you whispered back, sealing his fate with a smile, knowing that you had finally, completely, won.

[dandelion-wings]

Hello! Love your fic and blog. I would love to hear your thoughts on something. There's a thing I sometimes see people say...that like Kaeya should have told Diluc his secret earlier than he did. (And I agree that he should have told him at a different time. And I do think it is generally a good thing that would strengthen their relationship, after they work through it, and it gives Kaeya a confidant.) Idk, it's complicated because I kind of feel like Kaeya doesn't really owe anyone the truth until such a time that he is put in a position of potential or active harm to Mondstadt. But I am generally of the opinion that people are way too harsh on most of the characters that keep secrets, as if that in itself is a moral wrong.

Hmmm. I had to think about this a little, anon, because "should" is such a loaded term here!

I think so much about evaluating his choices here depends on context we simply don't have in canon. Is Kaeya actually in Mondstadt for any malicious reason, or did his father leave him there to protect him in some way (and if so, did he justify it with a false mission to make Kaeya cooperate, or is Kaeya fearing a war that isn't actually likely to come)? If there was a reason, was he an active agent (spy, saboteur, what have you) or a helpless pawn (c.f. this post)? If there was an actual plot, has his loyalty changed and he doesn't have to do anything for Khaenri'ah going forward, or does he fear some kind of secret trigger word or magical control that would make him a danger to Mondstadt no matter what? Is "Khaenri'ah" only the Abyss Order at this point, or are there actual non-Order Khaenri'ahans still around that Alberich Sr. is trying to save? (Or, in between the two, is he on the "save/purify the hilichurls" boat with Caribert, but is taking a different tack than the Order, or working with them only reluctantly?)

An important question for me has always been whether the fanon that Kaeya is "a prince" is true because, if he is, and there is an actual plan, and there are actual Khaenri'ahans this plan was meant to save, then morally speaking I don't think he should have told at all. I tolerate royalty even in my fiction only and exclusively on the premise that they serve their people No Matter What (this is why I still hate Ei >> ), and I would lose all respect for him if those three conditions obtained and he still chose Mondstadt.

But like... my insanely high standards for fictional royalty aside... Kaeya was a kid abandoned in a foreign land. That's the one thing we know for absolute certainty. Even if he was around Diluc's age of eighteen, and even if Mondstadt definitely gives responsibility to kids way younger than in our world, to me that's still a kid. "Should" seems to come with moral judgement here that's pretty harsh, given that, and I say this as someone who does judge Diluc around the same events--but with the same ambivalence, for the same reasons, of him being a kid in a tough spot. (I did not make better decisions re: sibling relationships than either of them at that age, let me put it that way.) Also, honestly, if Kaeya had confessed earlier, I don't think Diluc was the person to initially do it to--leaving aside all moral questions, I think the smart person to tell would have been Crepus, an actual adult who, while not perfect as a parent by any means, I feel likely would have chosen to protect his adopted son from blowback. He almost certainly had the experience as a businessman to control when and how that information was disseminated to any relevant parties, including Diluc himself.

I honestly don't even think Kaeya "owes" anyone the truth even if it does put Mondstadt at risk, though that comes from the premise that he still feels conflicted somewhat (which canon has drifted away from somewhat but I do stubbornly cling to, because it's spicier, and I don't love them blandifying my boy >> ). He gets to make his own choices. And then he gets to deal with whatever consequences fall out for them! And honestly, while I feel like the morality of secret-keeping in the real world depends very much on the secrets and their impacts, and can often go horribly wrong, in fiction it leads to some of my favorite kinds of narrative drama. So I guess that's my takeaway!

[randomciabatta724]

I was thinking about this today and I'm curious to see if anybody else has thoughts on it.

So, Polites is generally regarded as a ray of sunshine, a kind person, and among the most morally good characters in the musical.

But how do you think he sees himself? Do you think he considers himself to be a good person?

[dinoburger]

Have you ever thought about silas and gray interacting? Maybe he meets hhh one day or something. They r both kinda outsiders of the family who have been pushed aside in a way. I wonder what their relationship could have been like if their paths crossed.

EXCELLENT QUESTION and definitely something I was planning to touch on!

Gray represents an incredibly fraught cognitive dissonance for Silas. Everything Silas does is "in the name of his family", including defending some of Zepheniah's worst traits to the bitter end.

He wants to buy into the narrative that Gray isn't related and it's part of some scheme, but there's just too much that doesn't make sense in this equation. He wants to be able to use this as more evidence that Barnabus is just meddling in their affairs, but he can't quite rationalize the logic.

But having to accept the reality of Gray means also having to accept that... maybe, just maybe his defenseless, misguided little brother isn't a very good person. It's painful trying to rationalize his existence. Gray is the impossible choice of having to preserve the existing structure by enforcing the same ostracization of which Silas is deeply afraid.

This is something that cuts him much deeper than he can admit to.

Gray is no wiser to it. It's already painfully clear to him that the Mann family as a whole is uncomfortable with his presence.

HHH... I think still suffers a bit from this dissonance. He's not instinctively as protective and paternal to Gray to the same degree as he is towards Redmond, for instance. The question of whether or not he's a threat to Gray is something that Gray himself isn't sure of at first, either.

At the least, he doesn't seem as persistently hostile as with the mercenaries, so Gray is... very wary.

[skrunksthatwunk]

ok i know everyone says "love like you is soooo xyz shipcore" but i need you to know it's kuwameshicore to me. song's got yusuke written all over it arright. in case you don't have the lyrics memorized like i do here they are

[butteryunlikelylady]

it was never my life to live and he didn’t fall for the real me… he fell for an accessory and thought he could just change the label while things stayed the same

[satyricplotter]

i find it very funny the one place my heart went to find a (visual) depiction of bruce I liked best was in extremely nsfw yaoi batjokes fanart (as opposed to the comics, say). looked at him taking the joker way up his guts and went yep that's mr. wayne.

[takiki16]

so what’s the deal with your new blorbo? assume 1. i know how football works (used to actually watch) but not how/why some players get famous; (2) i know nothing about messi except that he. exist; (3) feel free to go bananas to your heart’s content if you decide to answer this.

fuuuuUUUUUUUQ ME. Can litchrally any Argentinian, any FC Barcelona supporter, ANYONE who has followed fuutyball for more than *checks watch* TWO WEEKS spot me for this one?!?! I am GROSSLY underqualified to answer this question Cunningham's law is about to hunt me for SPORT.

Okay. LIONEL MESSI. I can't summarize everything about this Guy who is currently one of the Main Characters of the most watched sport in the world, but I CAN summarize how he has started cooking my brain!!!

(that is him!!!! my guy!!!! HIM JUMP)

I have been trying to read a book with @rhaeneystargaryen for at least a couple years now, but somehow never had the spoons or the right overlapping interest. And then she told me that she was reading this:

I figured I would give it a try! I wanted something low effort, low investment, something I didn't care a whole lot about that I could put down at any moment bc work has been hell lately. And then I hit THIS line in the introduction, and I could literally FEEL the cursed hyperfixation key in my brain start to turn:

GUESS WHICH ONE IS MESSI!!!!!

I'm not a twitter stan, I swear. I am AWARE there is a media layer here. These people are real, actual human beings with documented flaws and mistakes, I am WELL AWARE that they are ungodly wealthy pro athletes and not "stars who are just like us!!! ✨✨✨." It's also obviously reductive and unfair to view anyone solely through a comparative lens - no living being could live up to the marketing hype that has been generated around Messi, Ronaldo, or indeed any pro athlete in the elite leagues.

BUT GOTDAM IF THIS FUCKER DOESN'T MAKE IT HARD!!!!

Bare bones: Lionel Messi is a football player born in Rosario, Argentina, who at 13yo moved to Spain to play for FC Barcelona. He joined the adult team at a whole ass 17 years old. Ensue absolutely RIDICULOUS teen prodigy meteoric rise, with both Messi and Barcelona winning all the Best Football Awards ever and Best Individual Sports Achievements in Everything. I have spent the last two weeks spending FAR too much time reading football books, and all the gotdam graphs look like this:

People talk about Messi being the player who made them fall in love with "the most beautiful game," and I can SEE WHY!!! HERE I AM!!!! A CLOWN!!! ALSO FALLING IN LOVE!!!! I am googling sports highlight reels of his plays like a CHAD FOOTY HOOLIGAN!! WHO AM I, I AM HAVING AN IDENTITY CRISIS. It is just so much fun to WATCH him! Listening to commentators screaming "Eight, ten, IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW MANY DEFENDERS THERE HE GOES THROUGH THEM!!! MESSI GOAAAALLLLL"

What makes it WORSE is the whole fukken rivalry business the book was about. Cristiano Ronaldo was another super-gifted player who debuted at about the same time and had a similar prodigy teen genius rise. He signed for a rival club in the same league at the same time Messi was playing with Barcelona. The story reads like a gotdam Hollywood sports drama, on both an individual and a team level!! I cannot IMAGINE what it was like watching this unfold as it was happening!

For starters: on an individual level, they were constantly thrown up against each other for every award imaginable. The Ballon d'Or awards list, which crowns you King of Soccer for the year, has looked like this since 2008:

(there is obviously talk that Messi is up for an EIGHTH award this year, but I don't think about the future bc it is bad for my cooked brain 😊)

On a team level, there was (and IS) of course the clubs. I am ABSOLUTELY not qualified to get into the weeds on this, but the rivalry between Barcelona and Real Madrid has deep, deep political, historical, and cultural roots going back (among other things) to Catalonian oppression under the fascist Franco regime in Spain. Josep Suñol, then-president of FC Barcelona, was shot in 1936 by Francoist troops.The matches between the two clubs and the two players with their drastically different teams and styles at the time were super-charged - an ACTUAL QUALIFIED Barcelona supporter is going to have to get in here and explain the history and emotion behind the Clasicos bc THAT IS SEVERAL BOOKS IN AND OF ITSELF!!!!!

The whole point of THIS particular book was not, in fact, a blow-by-blow comparison of the players. The point was that by being WHO they were and WHEN they were, Messi and Ronaldo changed the shape of the game forever in terms of marketing, branding, team strategy, finances, etc etc etc. It's an interesting read (if not entirely unbiased on all points), if you enjoy the absolute blood and oil-soaked clown show that is professional football money!

But ANYWAY.

AFTER I finished the book Messi ended up cooking my brain bc (1) all of the context above re: rivalry in league football, and (2) his PERSONALITY. Someone made him in a lab to ruin my life!

I mean, the club loyalty gets me. For his entire professional career, Messi has played for exactly two teams - Barcelona and his homeland Argentina NT. He only left Barcelona in 2021, VERY much against his will (per him, his agent, his friends, his family, AND FC Barcelona) due to an absolute hot mess of a league financial situation that is apparently still sorting itself out. I don't know how common it is for pro athletes at his level to move around, but I feel like it's more common than that!!! THE CLUB LOYALTY gets me, the HOME LOYALTY gets me!!!! Especially as he's gotten better and better, and there's been more and more pressure on him to keep delivering even in the absence of anything else!

The gotdam STOICISM also gets me!!! Call it shyness, call it humility, call it down-to-earthness or reservedness or whatever you want - what everyone kept mentioning about him in the books (and what certain French marketing departments are still probably saying about him) is how QUIET he is. Journalists would complain about how he "made it to age 30 without ever uttering an interesting sentence in public." A Nike exec who lost a bid with his agent for a sponsorship waved it off by saying "Imagine how much trouble we would be in if Messi had a personality." Relative to his peers in the elite football world, he doesn't have a flash lifestyle with a huge entourage. He doesn't do a lot of press. He doesn't try to push a personal brand, even though it's a big chunk of income for wherever he plays. Even though he obviously COULD, he doesn't go around talking about Greatest Of All Time (TM). When he DOES give interviews he doesn't even talk super loudly. He keeps to his immediate family and his closest circle of friends.

AND YET. AND YET. ON THE PITCH, HE PLAYS LIKE HE DOES. He creates not just for himself, but for his TEAMMATES the way that he does! I realize that NO ONE gets an award for being a team player in a team sport, or for "not being as much of a dick as you could have been," but HE STILL HAS HIS HOMETOWN ACCENT!!! He dedicates his goals to his GRANDMOTHER! He met his wife when he was FIVE YEARS OLD, he has never had a relationship with anyone else ("It has always been Antonella, for me"), he has three beautiful kids, his teammates keep apparently falling in love with him and doing Intricate Rituals, I AM ENDEARED I AM ENDLESSLY ENDEARED

Did I mention he is also very short? Allow me to mention that. 5"7 / 1.7 meters in pro-athlete world is PICK-UPABLE SIZE. Multiple reels out there of his teammates celebrating goals just by PICKING HIM UP it MAKES ME SO FOND

(on an Intricate Rituals note, Messi's size and his evasive style of play has caused a lot of opposing team's strategy to be "make a cage, kick him as soon as you can and tackle often," which has in turn prompted a lot of specific protection strategies for him as a forward and also over-protective teammates :)))). WHICH OF COURSE COOKS MY BRAIN EVEN MORE YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.)

And that isn't even STARTING on his saga with the Argentina NT, which reads like YET ANOTHER HOLLYWOOD SPORT DRAMA that I cannot believe actually happened!

Again, I am begging ANY Argentine to jump in here, I AM GROSSLY IGNORANT as to the history of this sport I got here two whole weeks ago how is this HAPPENING to meeeeeeee

My very basic understanding of the situation is that Messi has played for the national team ever since 2004, whenever he was on break from Barcelona. Over the years since then, Argentina (with Messi) has tried again and again to win the World Cup (and the Copa America), but consistently failed despite regularly advancing to finals. BECAUSE Messi was on the team, Argentina routinely and perhaps unfairly got billed as "favorites" to win, with criticism in the press being focused disproportionately on Messi when they didn't. I don't know how bad the situation in Argentinian media got, but even the western English outlets were picking it up. "Messi plays better for Barcelona than for his home country, Messi isn't Argentinian enough, Messi keeps too much to himself and doesn't sing the anthem,etc etc etc". Maradona famously commented that Messi was "a great person, but had no personality," and that it was useless to try to make a leader out of him because he caved under pressure (referring to Messi reportedly being sick from nerves before the world cup games).

(note: gotdam rivalry. Of the people named who would be better and more stylish leaders, Cristiano Ronaldo was up top )

The pressure DID get to Messi in the end - he issued a statement in 2016 saying he would retire from international football, but there was a huge home campaign to get him to come back to the team. Argentina still didn't win the 2018 World Cup (players of opposing teams said that their strategy against Argentina was not letting them pass to Messi). And so on, and so forth.

AND THEN!!!!! 2021!!!!!

I THINK I HAVE POSTED FAR TOO MUCH ALREADY about the current Argentina NT for someone who, as I said, JUST ARRIVED AT THIS GOTDAM SPORT, but I'm going to make everyone look at these quotes again. These are quotes the team has given ABOUT MESSI HOW IS THIS REAL????

Argentina would go on to win the Copa America - and then...well 🥰

I DON'T KNOW IF I'VE EXPLAINED THIS ADEQUATELY!!! I DON'T KNOW IF I HAVE SUFFICIENTLY REPRESENTED THE DEGREE TO WHICH MY BRAIN IS COOKED!!! Did that mean anything to anyone???? I don't know!

HELL

[talentforlying]

constantine: turned out pearly gray was sorta grateful about that one, actually. stepped in to fill the power vacuum after the coopers went to their just reward. chas: yeah, i heard you an' pearly was tight again . . . but that's not why you helped me out, was it? constantine: no, it wasn't. chas: so. i know we said were quits. but y'know, all bollocks aside. i s'pose what i'm sayin' is, y'know, if you ever need someone to do you a favor . . . constantine: you are doing, mate. you are.

there is no one in the WORLD that john constantine loves more than chas chandler, in any sense of the word, and that is a FACT!! chas is the one who stays!! chas is someone who could be his anchor!! chas is the family he chose and chas is the person he would end the world for!! chas motherfucking chandler is just a guy, just a taxi driver, just a family man doing his best, but he is also the trigger on an occult weapon, because anyone who touches a hair on his head is going down in flames, damn connections and consequences and maybe even the fate of the world: john constantine is lighting cigarettes off them as he watches them burn.

[jewishrizahawkeye]

and the arguments that i have won against you in my head; in the car, in the shower, and in the mirror before bed…

yeah i’m so tough when i’m alone and i make you feel so guilty and i fantasize about a time you’re a little fuckin’ sorry-

and i try to ꪊꪀᦔꫀ𝕣ડ𝕥ꪖꪀᦔ why you would do this all to me. ‘you must be insecure. you must be so unhappy.’

and i know in my heart: hurt people, hurt people. and we both drew blood, but man those cuts were

ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴇQᴜᴀʟ!!

and i try to be tough. but i wanna scream ‘HOW COULD ANYBODY DO THE THINGS YOU DID SO EASILY?’

and i say that i don’t care.

say that i’m fine.

but you know i can’t let it go, i’vetriedi’ve triedi’vetried for so long… it takes s⃞   t⃞   r⃞   e⃞   n⃞   g⃞   t⃞   h⃞ to forgive but i don’t feel ₛₜᵣₒₙg

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

give summer a character arc challenge