#look how vibrant and purity

[snorp-gorp]

It’s been almost a year since I drew this so I wanted to redraw it!!!! Snorplo I could never forget you

[michaela-o]

Hey guys !! Here's a little writing post for tonight since i once again suffer from art block and i couldn't really get my thoughts on canvas so at least i'll write them down for you🥹🫶🏻

I had a little poetic moment about Cybertronians and how each bot from the Lost Light might view humans in their own way. Here’s how i think a few of them might feel, translated into their own brand of poetic musing:

Rodimus

"They’re like embers scattered on a night’s breeze. Small, insistent, daring to claim a spark of the vast unknown. Fragile? Yes, but isn’t fragility the very flame that burns the brightest in the dark?"

I think Rodimus sees in humans a little bit of reflection of himself—bold and driven, yet so often skimming along the edges of destruction. I think he would admire their recklessness despite their short lives and finds in them a kinship, like stars burning out as they fall.

Drift

"With hands of flesh, they reach for the stars, tiny pilgrims, undeterred by dark. They are warriors bound in tender shells, yet their spirits are sharper than any blade."

I think Drift sees humanity’s journey as sacred, an unlikely pilgrimage. Despite their fragility, they pursue wonders that many would fear, displaying a purity of heart that resonates with his own search for purpose and redemption.

Brainstorm

"They are puzzles, equations, broken in ways no theorem can solve. I could build them stronger, make them last longer, stretch their days to years—yet it’s the ticking clock that drives them which we cannot touch, the glitch of life within the code. They’re impossible, improbable—beautifully, infuriatingly unsolvable."

For Brainstorm, i think humans are the ultimate enigma. So imperfect, so baffling, so limited by their biology—and yet, somehow, they thrive. Their existence nags at him, like a problem he can’t quite crack, but one that has woven its way into his circuits.

Ultra Magnus

"They obey no Prime, no order, no code, yet they find honor in dust and devotion in ruin. There is chaos within them, yet in their eyes—clarity. For all their flaws, perhaps they see the law of the universe far better than we."

Ultra Magnus finds himself both exasperated and quietly moved by humans’ defiance of logic. I think he might struggle with their disorder but recognizes the strange beauty in their conviction. They possess a kind of honor that is beyond his ability to define—a law unto themselves.

Chromedome

"Stories woven in short threads of skin and sinew, their lives stitched in seconds, minutes, hours—a blink of a shutter. Yet they carry tales, so rich and raw, that I cannot forget. They are memory incarnate, fragile as newborn spark, but so full of color."

I think Chromedome would treasure humans for their stories, for the vibrant, bittersweet memories they create within the boundaries of their lives. Every moment for them is fleeting, and so they seem to capture life with a vibrancy he longs to archive.

Swerve

"They bumble and fumble, awkward yet bold, finding joy in the smallest things. They laugh in the face of a world so vast—their clumsy courage, a song I want to know by my spark."

We all know Swerve loves humans and human things. I think he sees humans as charmingly imperfect, stumbling yet fearless in a universe that dwarfs them. Their humor and resilience bring a joy that he can’t resist, as if they were a song that lingers in his circuits, warming him in ways he would never expected.

Megatron

"They are the dreamers, the fools, the ones who hope, rebels in skin who believe in the impossible. I have seen it. They build kingdoms on bones and dreams, believing they can change the world."

Megatron is an amazing character in my opinion in the Lost Light universe. I think he looks upon humanity with a blend of scorn and admiration. They are so weak, yet so defiant—champions of hope despite their powerlessness. Their resilience reminds him of what he once fought for, and though he might deny it, he can’t help but see in them a reflection of his own self.

Ratchet

"Flawed and failing, breaking with each breath, they stitch themselves back with their tender hands. They fall, they fail, yet rise again reminding me why I mend the wounded steel."

I really like Ratchet. I like to think he regards humans with a mix of exasperation and reluctant respect even when he wouldn't directly word it. He sees them as frail and imperfect, breaking down as quickly as they heal. Yet, their resilience, their refusal to give up despite everything, is what keeps him caring deep in his spark. In their struggles, he finds purpose, and in their imperfection, he rediscovers his own reason to heal.

I hope you liked this silly little post for tonight. I hope the art block goes away soon so i can draw more silly robots and their silly lil human friends together :3🧡🧡🧡

[denksmail]

Hello love, i stumbled upon your blog and think that it's cool! Can you write a superman/Clark Kent x flourist!Reader? I can't think of a scene so go crazy😭

let me cook 😈 😈

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ: Superman (Clark Kent) x Reader ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: none! xx ᴀ/ɴ: Finally a Dc request!! I love writing for DC sm >w<. Especially writing for the batfam. Also thank you everyone for the fat load of requests omg!! Multiple of you asked what my guidelines regarding NSFW, just DM me, and see if I'm comfortable writing your request. ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ: Clark is visiting Smallville for the weekend and decides to go to his local florist shop to buy a little something for his mom. Little does he know, he will leave the shop with more than just a bouquet of flowers.

.

.

.

Clark was always sweet but he put his work and responsibilities before everyone. Even his loved ones. His friends start to pick up on this behavior and demand that he take a break from saving everyone all the time. With time, Clark gave in and started with visiting his family back in Smallville. It's been months since he spoke with them. He didn't even know what he'd do when he saw them again. An idea crossed his mind. The least he can do is provide a gift for them. His first idea is to buy flowers for his mom, Martha.

He left the house in hopes of finding the perfect flowers for her. Across the street was a small pink flower shop that recently opened. Clark adjusted his glasses, smiled, and made his way across the street to the shop. Upon walking into the shop, he was immediately hit with fresh floral scents. A blend of roses, lilies, and other exotic blooms. The whole shop was decorated to match each flower displayed. With every flower of every color filling the room and making the shop vibrant.

Behind the counter stood a young woman, arranging a bouquet with deft hands. She had a warm smile and bright eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm. Clark approached her, his usual confidence slightly wavering in the presence of her captivating aura.

"Hi there," he greeted with a friendly smile. "I'm looking to buy some flowers for my mom. Do you think you could help me find the perfect bouquet?"

The florist looked up, her smile widening. "Of course! I'd be happy to help. What's the occasion?"

"Just a visit," Clark replied. "I haven't seen her in a while, and I want to bring her something special."

The florist nodded thoughtfully, her fingers tapping her chin as she considered his request. "Well, let's see. For a mother, you want something that conveys love, appreciation, and warmth. How about a mix of roses and lilies? Roses symbolize love and admiration, while lilies represent purity and refined beauty."

Clark watched her as she moved around the shop, selecting flowers with care. Her movements were graceful, almost like a dance. He couldn't help but be mesmerized by her dedication and passion for her work.

"That sounds perfect," he said, his voice sincere. "You really know your flowers."

She blushed slightly, her smile becoming a bit shy. "Thank you. I love what I do, and it's always a pleasure to help someone find the perfect bouquet."

As she continued to assemble the bouquet, they chatted about various topics—flowers, Smallville, and even a bit about the bustling city of Metropolis. Clark found himself enjoying the conversation more than he had anticipated. There was something refreshing about her genuine interest and warmth.

"You know," she said, tying the bouquet with a delicate ribbon, "these flowers remind me of my own mom. She used to tell me that flowers are nature's way of smiling at us."

Clark smiled, feeling a connection with her words. "Your mom sounds like a wonderful person."

"She was," the florist replied softly, her eyes reflecting a mix of fondness and nostalgia. "I think your mom will love these flowers. Here you go."

She handed him the bouquet, a beautiful arrangement of red roses and white lilies. Clark took it, marveling at the care and artistry that had gone into creating it.

"Thank you," he said, his voice warm. "I really appreciate it."

As he reached for his wallet, the florist placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. "It's on the house," she said with a wink. "Consider it a gift for your mom."

Clark was taken aback by her generosity. "Are you sure? I don't mind paying."

"I'm sure," she replied, her smile genuine. "Just promise to come back and tell me how she liked them."

He chuckled, feeling a warmth in his chest. "I promise."

Before he could leave, the florist reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper. She scribbled something on it and handed it to him.

"Here's my number," she said, her cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "In case you ever need more flowers, or, you know, just want to talk."

Clark took the paper, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. "Thank you," he said softly. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

With the bouquet in one hand and her number in the other, Clark left the shop, a smile playing on his lips. As he took to the skies, he felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. Visiting his parents was nothing new to him but this time, there was an added reason for his uplifted spirits—a charming florist who had managed to make his day a little brighter.

[nathaaaan]

I genuinely love how the Guardian’s little cottage was designed, mainly because it says a lot more about Anne than it does them. I’m going to call it Anne’s cottage from this point on.

I love how all of the Plantars are there, but that’s a given. Instead of all three of them in one portrait together, it’s Hop Pop and Polly together, and Sprig by himself. Sprig’s portrait is also closer to the Boonchuys and Domino, which would make sense because he’s “sort of family now” and Hop Pop and Polly would be like her extended family. It could just be the bond between them too. I mean, Sprig is an important part in her life, he totally deserves his own portrait.

Obviously Sasha and Marcy are here, but I like to think that it’s the them she knows now. If Sasha didn’t decide to go through the biggest change in her life, I’m not even sure if she’d be there. (She probably would be though)

That house was in Anne’s bedroom too and that makes sense as to why it’s in the finale! The “Dreamino” admits to watching her by visiting her when she went to the dentist saying, “You’re fun to watch.” in Marcy’s journal. The Cosmic Guardian can see all, who knew?

Then there’s a buncha items like HP’s cane and one of Anne’s sword in Polly’s bucket (as well as the two outside, can’t tell which is which), her tennis racket, that teapot from Hopping Mall, Anne’s donut pillow from her room, her shoe, the plushie Sprig gave her in Domino Effect, her pen, Sprig’s action figures from that one episode where they shared a room, the emblem of her chestplate… I wanna say the mini-farm that kinda mirrors the one the Plantars have, as well as the giant P in the back.

I also like how in later shots, you can see that the house actually has a pattern of leaves on the walls and the lotuses on the curtains.

(Now that I think about it, there are a lot of references to lotuses with Anne’s powers, and lotuses typically represent purity and rebirth or “the rising of Divine Qualities within a person while he or she still lives in the murky World, filled with desires, temptations and hardships”)

So really? I think the far island in the background is the Guardian’s house/cottage. It looks dead and withered while Anne’s cottage is all lively and vibrant, which could symbolize that it’s the end of their time and will make way for the new Guardian to come forth and accept her role. That aaaand I can’t see anything that even remotely relates to Anne or Amphibia as a whole.

For all intents and purposes, that house is Anne’s future house post-death!

[ashblooddragons]

In Ripe And Ruin

This was a request by @vavafaure1994 I'm so sorry this took me so long to make! I hope it was worth the wait!

also special thanks to @sugutoad for making this fics moonboard! I don't know what I would do without you girly!

Word Count: 2504

Warnings: semi public sex, dirty talk, oral f receiving, swearing, p in v sex, loss of Virginity, purity kink, blood kink, tell me if I missed anything

Summary: When Lady Elia Martell came to the Red Keep for her little sister's betrothal, she didn't expect to catch the attention of a certain Rouge Prince and most certainly didn't expect this visit to involve her being the one betrothed and not her little sister. also this is my first ever smut so do be kind, I tried my best!

I can’t believe my father agreed to come to the little Prince Jacaerys sixth nameday. Though I shouldn’t be surprised, not after seeing that letter from the heir asking if her son and my youngest sister could be betrothed.

I watch as the soon-to-be betrothed run around together. “She will be Queen one day if we agree to this match. Don’t you wish for Arianne to sit on a throne just as you will sit mine?” My father says as he smiles and waves to the heir to the iron throne. 

“But that is the thing, Father, she will not sit on the throne, only look pretty beside it with that boy's seed leaking down her legs as she clutches her swelled belly.” I fire back through clenched teeth as I smile at what seems to be a prancing lion turned human, and not in a good way. 

“Elia.” He chides

“I speak only the truth you seem to be blind to, Father. What you forget at every turn is that we are not like them, we do not see Bastards as sinful as they do. They will kill my dear sister the moment that diseased King falls from that throne. For they know what we all do, that boy, nor his brothers are true-born Velaryons. No matter how hard the Princess so direly tries to make everyone believe they are. And when the King dies, a war will break out, and I will not let little Arianne be in the middle of it.” I hiss back before walking away as my father calls for me.

I walk over to a food table and pick up a honey cake. “Those are my personal favorites as well.” I hear someone say behind me, his voice sent shivers of exhilaration down my spine. I turn and see none other than The Rouge Prince himself smirking at me.

“Well, that’s a shame for you as this is the last one.” I say as I take a bite with a smirk.

He chuckles and looks at my eyes inquisitively. I know why, though my black ringlets and olive skin say I am a  Martell, but my eyes of vibrant Lavender say I’m a Targaryen. “Viserra’s daughter, Elia Martell right?” He inquires as he reaches for a vine of grapes, popping one into his mouth.

My mother passed birthing me, I’m the only child of Princess Viserra. I’ve been told if it weren’t for my hair and skin tone I’d be her clone and anytime I see her portrait I can’t blame them as I at times think someone had ruined one pf mone own only to realize it is my mother’s. 

“What gave it away?” I tease smiling when he laughs fondly. His laugh a deep and sultry sound and the way he’s looking at me as if I’m a gazelle and he’s a lion about to pounce on its prey and have the most delectable feast, leaves me breathless trying to find my footing again.

“What brings a sand Queen to this shit-filled city? Surely there is more to your visit than just making men think most debauched thoughts.” He says as he reaches for two wine glasses from a servant passing by, handing me one with his signature smirk. 

“I had not meant to make men think such ways, though if they are that is their problem is it not?” I say looking down at my dress, in Dorne it would be seen as normal and lovely dresses fit for the heiress to her families seat. But the dress of the finest silks and chiffon only reserves me disgusted looks and the word ‘whore’ whispered behind me as I pass.

“Hmm, that doesn’t answer my question, why are you here? Dorne only comes here if it is of the utmost importance.” 

“My little sister, Arianne,” I say pointing to her talking to the little Prince Jacaerys. “There’s a possible betrothal between her and the little Prince. I do not think it is the right choice, there is a war to come, you know this just as well as I do there is no avoiding it. I do not want her to be in the middle of something she has no part in. She is too gentle and kind for your cruel and septic city and Kingdom filled with snakes and vultures reader to swallow her whole. I do not like that the Princess is now bringing house Martell into her mess because she can not clean it up on her own. Targaryen problems should stay with the Targaryens” I say seriously.

“Are you not also Targaryen?” He says amused looking me up and down trying to asses me after my little speech.

Underestimated me, you will learn to never do that my Prince. 

“Yes I am, I even claimed the she-dragon Sliverwing, but it is not I the Princess wishes to bring into her problems, it is my sister a girl with no Targaryen blood. If it were me that would be a different story, but it isn’t.” 

“Well, put.” He says as he holds out a hand to me. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?” He asks and I take his hand letting him lead me to the horde of dancing courtiers and ladies. 

“So tell me, I had heard you claimed Sliverwing, though not how you had done it.” He says gripping my waist holding me close enough I feel his breath against my ear sending a shiver of want down my spine.

“I kept seeing something in the clouds, it felt like it was pulling at my very soul, calling to me. One night I couldn’t handle it anymore I left the keep and followed that pull and when I finally felt the end of the string, felt it finally slacken, there she was, as if waiting for me to build the courage to face her. I climbed her back, I didn’t need to say a word she thrust herself into the air letting out a happy roar. I knew then with her wings beating under me what I had done, what every child, especially a Targaryen child dreams of, I claimed a dragon.” 

When I looked up at him again he seemed enthralled with my story. I gasp when I see how close we’ve gotten, our lips only an inch apart only needing one of us to bridge the gap and our lips would be locked. I look him in the eyes and see the lust filling his amethyst pools and I know he sees the same lust in my Lavender ones. 

“It’s interesting that our souls know where we belong before we do, don’t you think?” He asks in a tone that tells me there is a darker, more debauched reason behind this question.

When he turns me in time with the beat of the music I feel dizzy with lust, the only thing grounding me is him grabbing my hands so my arms are crossed against my chest and my back rests against his chest. when I look up at the royal table I see the Crowned Princess glaring at me and the Prince, I see the rage she feels towards me and the want she has for The Rouge Prince.

“And what is your soul telling you now, my Prince?” I ask turning my head to look up at him and when I do I feel his breath fan my lips. I feel a coil of need, of lust, form in my abdomen as I feel the large hardness of him against me.

“That it seems we need privacy.” He says as he grips my hand pulling me through the horde of dancers until he leaves the throne room. He continues to drag me until he finds a secluded corridor, he then turns and kisses me walking me back until my back hits the cool stone of the keep. 

I gasp when he dips his head down and starts to suck and bite at the soft skin of my neck. “How have I lived this long without tasting your sweet lips, sweet skin? Is that cunt of yours just as sweet?” He asks as he rucks up the skirt of my dress, I feel his hand grips my thigh as the other grips my hair keeping my head in place as he devourers my lips again swallowing any moans or whimpers that would escape me. 

I gasp when I feel his fingers graze against my wet core. “Gods you're already wet, I knew you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.” He says as he gets down on his knees in front of me lifting my leg onto his shoulder. 

When I realize what he is trying to do I grip his hair stopping his advancement. “I–I’ve never–.” I stutter out blushing as he gives me a wolfish grin.

“Your telling me this sweet cunt is unspoiled? That I am the first to taste it?” He asks as if in a trance.

“Yes, I still have my maidenhood.” I say breathlessly. 

I gasp at the way he looks up at me after learning of this, it’s the look of a madman, of a man given all he has desired on a silver platter and now it is time for him to feast. 

And with that thought in my mind, he delves forward between my legs to lick at my wet core. I slap my hand to my lips trying to muffle my moans. 

I can’t help but fear someone will hear us, more so me I suppose, as of course he couldn’t bring me to his chambers or even a storage closet, only a secluded corridor where anyone can hear or see us. For some reason the thought of someone catching us excites me, making me clench on nothing.

I feel his tongue inside my core and I move my skirts so I can see him better. When I do I see him smirking up at me as he sucks on my pearl, I throw my head back letting out a loud moan. 

“Seven hells, keep singing for me, love.” I hear him growl against me as he laves at my pearl and he sinks a finger inside me curling it just right to make me see stars. As he licks and sucks, pumps and curls I feel my legs tremble the only thing keeping me up is the Prince.

“Please! Please! Please!” I beg not fully sure for what though all I know is the coil in my gut is hot and tight and I need it to release.

“Not yet, love, you don’t get to peak without me.” He says as he rises back up keeping a grip on my thigh as he unties his trousers. 

When he pulls out what must be his cock I gasp and shack my head. “Th–there's no way that is going to fit.” 

I only hear him chuckle as he kisses my neck again gripping my other thigh so he can lift me and my legs wrap around his waist. “It’ll fit, it may be painful but I’ll make it fit.” 

I feel him tap the head of his cock to my pearl making me whimper before he positions himself to my core stretching me to the point of pain. I bite his shoulder fighting back my scream of pain as tears roll down my face. 

“Shh, it’s alright, love just relax.” He whispers as he hisses as he tries to push his way through. “Fuck your a vice, you weren’t lying about being a maiden.” He groans

I continue to cry and whimper as I bite his shoulder until he pushes his way through till he bottoms out, once he does I feel something snap.

He rests his brow to mine waiting for me to relax before he moves, he kisses my tears as they fall slower and slower now as the pain subsides to want and need. I try and move my hips silently imploring him to move, and when I look up at him again I see him smirking down at me. 

“Please.” I whimper out.

“Please what, love?” He teases and I look up at him pleadingly. “Tell me what you need.”

“Move, please move.” I say not knowing what else to say to convey my need.

He lets an animalistic growl as he starts to thrust into me, gripping my hips and plush thighs. I bite my lip trying to hold back my moans only letting the whimpers and whines of pleasure leave my throat.

“Fuck, look at that mess.” I hear him groan as he looks down at where we meet. When I pick my dress up more so I can see what he speaks of,  I see the smear of blood coating his cock and white hairs upon his pelvis. 

“I’m sorry.” I moan out gripping his shoulders tighter as he thrusts into me faster and harder. 

“Don’t be, love, it’s a welcome sight.” He says before capturing my lips in a searing kiss that leaves me breathless as he fucks me against the stone wall. 

I moan into his lips until he pulls back looking me in the eyes as he hits me where I see stars. “You won’t need to worry for your sister anymore, love. For she won’t be needed for an alliance anymore once I fuck my babe into you and wed you before the gods.” 

I can only moan and nod my head in response completely lost to the pleasure he is giving me. He continues to thrust into me hitting me each time in the spot that makes my mind go black. That is until he grips my hair and makes me look at him.

“Fucking say your mine, say you’re made for me.” He demands as he continues to thrust into me.

“I’m your, my Prince, all yours.” I gasp out feeling my peak on the precipice 

“Daemon.” He growls out.

“Wh–what?”

“Call me by my fucking name.” He says emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust. 

“Daemon! Daemon! Daemon!” I cry out as my peak crashes over me in sharp suffocating waves. I swear I hear him groan as he releases his spend in me but I can’t be sure as all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart in my ears.

Once we’ve both come down from our highs he sets me on my own two feet again steadying me as my legs still tremble. I try and ignore the feel of his sticky seed leaking from my core and roll down my legs.

“Did you mean it? Did you mean what you said of marrying me?” 

“Yes.” Is all he says in return.

I don’t know why I believe him, but when I look into his eyes I find nothing but conviction and honesty.

Seems my sister won’t be getting betrothed after all, but me instead. this is most definitely not how I thought this night would go. I think with a chuckle as I kiss the Pri-Daemon again saying in all but words I accept.

Taglist @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @baybaybear1

[bluemoonscape]

Hear me out: Sua and Luka parallels.

In Ruler of My Heart, they're most directly compared and contrasted in this frame including both the real world and Mizi's perception. Here, they both look angelic, something other than human, greater than human due to their purity. They're framed by the moon, something only to be seen when shined on by another.

Both are treated in a manner that strikes the viewer as distinctly different from the other kids. They're all treated as less than human in different ways, but Sua and Luka are the ones specifically treated as dolls. Dolls to be played with, dolls to be moved limb by limb and joint by joint as its superior wishes. They're made to look perfect. They're made to look clean, so clean they look inhuman.

They're perfect narrative foils. Nigeh owns several pet humans who all have the same black hair, white bonnets and fluffy shirts. All girls, all a carbon copy of one another. Perhaps they're sisters, even? And if they're all sisters, there's no possible way they could have been born naturally.

This connects to the widely accepted theory of Luka being made in a lab, artificially rather than organically. They were quite possibly both born unnaturally and were raised to be just as unnatural. Both of them seem rather blank in Anakt Garden. Luka is very solemn and unanimated; the most alive he ever looks in Anakt Garden is at the scene of Hyunwoo's death after Luka presumably killed him. He may exist, but he is not alive. In a metaphorical sense, Luka's life is taken from him every day. His heart is literally under Heperu's constant control, to be stopped and started at will. He is a blank slate for Heperu to use for his own glory. The main change we see in him from his years in Anakt Garden to his time in Alien Stage is how he presents himself. In Anakt Garden, he's fairly meek and stoic. In Alien Stage, he's projecting the idol image the world wants to see from him, the one Heperu has conditioned him to display with nothing short of perfection. He is no more alive in Alien Stage than Anakt Garden simply because he's putting on an act. If anything, this lack of authenticity further deadens him.

Sua, though? Despite Sua's upbringing, she is alive when she and Mizi My Clematis together. She's quite possibly more alive than she's ever been. Just like Luka, she's been dressed in white, made to look like a doll, a blank slate, and yet she is anything but, and she proves it by quietly sacrificing herself for Mizi and (as another post put it) an insurance on Mizi's love. Sua could've ended up exactly like Luka. She could have been made to be the villain, the face of Alien Stage, the lifeless marionette. She could have been Luka, but she isn't. Why?

This scene. This scene is why.

I always took the pink tendrils reaching through the glass between them as a metaphor for Mizi's life and love pouring into Sua, putting life into her. Mizi is so vibrant, so alive, and she loves Sua, of all people. Lifeless, blank Sua, or so she thought. But Mizi saw the life in her. She saw her and she saw someone worth loving. Worth worshiping.

Sua was made alive the moment she saw Mizi. This is the moment her life began.

But then, why couldn't Hyuna's effect on Luka breathe life into him, too? Why couldn't Luka's arc diverge due to this love like Sua?

The thing is, Hyuna did make him feel alive. Just like Mizi, she was so full of life that it was impossible for him not to feel even a hint of something in her presence. Maybe she made him feel real, just for once in his life. Just for once.

But he warped Hyuna's love into something it wasn't.

He warped her love into something Hyuna had no intention of giving to anyone: Her life. Just once had to last, so he tried his hardest to hold onto her with a tight fist. When Hyunwoo threatened to come between Hyuna and Luka and take her life away from Luka, Luka, in some way, shape, or form, dealt with the threat. As I said, the most alive he ever looked in Anakt Garden was in the aftermath of Hyunwoo's death, and I believe this is because he thought he'd secured Hyuna's life for himself. Now my life is yours, and your life is mine.

It could've happened to Sua too, under different circumstances. Mizisua could've been just as twisted and toxic as Hyuluka. She could've fallen into the same mindset as Luka: Your life is mine.

She didn't. Instead, she had the awareness that Mizi wanted to give Sua her life, and she said no. With her death, she put Mizi's life back in her hands where it belonged and made her, as much as Mizi fought against it, live for herself. The difference in the way Sua sings Ruler of My Heart in her cover really highlights this. Opposite to Luka's cool, condescending control over the lyrics and the subject of the song, every word Sua sings is from her heart. Mizi is the ruler of her heart, and she does want to give everything to her out of pure, unconditional love.

Sua's love saved her. It elevated her not to something inhuman and unnatural (untouched by feeling) but to humanity.

Luka's love took whatever humanity he had left of him.

Sua is the moon under the sun's glow, and Luka is left in the dark.

[wchswift]

hiii, it's me again 😭 oh God i'm sorry, i feel a bit pathetic here 😭 but i have another request :3

can you do modern day leopold (HE'S SO BAE I LOVE HIM SM) picking out flowers for his s/o cause he noticed his s/o is a bit down lately? (i took this idea from your prompt!) hope you don't minddd hehe

Petals for a Heavy Heart

Pairing: Leopold Mountbatten x Reader Summary: When Leopold notices that you haven't been looking well lately, he decides to pick out a bouquet of flowers to make you feel better and loved. Content: established relationship, feeling down, comfort, fluff, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 932 notes: hello!! whatt no need to apologize I'm glad you sent me another request! And omg I'm so so happy it's for Leopold, I've been wanting to write something for him so much :3 I loved that you choosed the idea of the prompts, I ended up following your request more than the prompt itself, I hope I wrote it as you expected <3

The delicate chime of the flower shop bell rang as Leopold Mountbatten pushed open the glass door. A faint blush of winter lingered in the air outside, but the shop was warm, bathed in sunlight streaming through the large windows, illuminating rows upon rows of vibrant blooms. The soft fragrance of roses, daisies, and lavender mingled together, wrapping around Leopold like a comforting embrace.

His brows furrowed slightly as he scanned the room. He hadn’t stepped into a flower shop since his days of royal ceremonies—occasions when arrangements were chosen for him, not by him. But this time was different. This time, it was for you.

You’d been quieter than usual the past few days. The sparkle in your eyes had dimmed, and your usual wit had softened into something wistful. Leopold had noticed—how could he not? And while he wasn’t the type to smother with concern, he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Flowers, he thought. Flowers could bring a little light back into your day.

“Good morning,” a cheery voice broke through his thoughts. A petite florist with a warm smile stood behind the counter, hands dusted with pollen. “Looking for something special?”

Leopold adjusted the collar of his cashmere coat. “Yes, actually. For… someone important to me.” He paused, feeling oddly self-conscious. “They’ve been feeling a bit down lately.”

The florist’s smile softened knowingly. “Ah, I see. Let’s find something that speaks to them. Do they have a favorite flower?”

Leopold’s lips curved into a small smile. “Orchids, I think. They’ve always had a fondness for them. Which symbolize purity, prosperity, and good health… So I guess might be appropriate.”

Her eyes lit up. “You know your flowers.”

Leopold’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I do. They’ve always been a subject of interest." Stepping closer to the flowers, he added smoothly, "We could also add some peonies. Symbolic of healing and happiness., an apt choice for the occasion.”

“Good choice,” the florist said, leading him toward a vibrant display of blush-pink blooms. “How about colors? Warm tones are uplifting, while softer hues can be calming.”

He considered this, his gaze lingering on the rich reds and delicate whites. He thought of how your laughter once filled their apartment, how it now felt like something fragile and fleeting. “Something warm but soft,” he decided, pointing toward the pink and coral-colored peonies. “They’re understated but still… hopeful.”

As the florist began assembling the bouquet, Leopold found himself wandering through the aisles, his fingers grazing petals and leaves. Each bloom seemed to hold its own personality—vibrant sunflowers, gentle baby’s breath, elegant lilies. He plucked a sprig of lavender from a nearby basket, its scent reminding him of the evenings you spent curled up on the couch, a lavender-scented candle flickering nearby. Lavender is also for tranquility. He hummed and added it to the mix.

Back at the counter, the florist held up the arrangement. “What do you think?”

It was perfect—beautiful orchids with peonies in soft shades of coral and blush, accented with sprigs of lavender and tiny white asters. The bouquet was cheerful yet gentle, a reflection of everything he wanted to say without words.

Leopold nodded. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

As he handed over his card to pay, the florist wrapped the bouquet in delicate paper and tied it with a ribbon. “I hope they feel better soon,” she said warmly.

Leopold smiled faintly. “I think this will help.”

When he arrived home, you were curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your shoulders. The soft glow of the afternoon sun painted your features, but your eyes were distant, lost in thought.

“Darling,” he said, his voice breaking the quiet. You glanced up, a flicker of surprise crossing your face as you noticed the bouquet in his hands.

“What’s this?” you asked, sitting up as he approached.

“For you,” he said simply, handing you the flowers. “I noticed you’ve been feeling… off. I thought these might help.”

Your eyes widened as you took the bouquet, fingers brushing over the soft petals. The fragrance enveloped you, a gentle blend of peony and lavender. A smile, small but genuine, tugged at your lips. “Leopold, this is… really thoughtful.”

He sat down beside you, his posture casual, but his eyes intent on your face. “I'm not the best at expressing what I want through words,” he admitted. “But I wanted you to know I’m here. Whatever’s on your mind, you don't have to go through it alone.”

Your gaze softened, and for the first time in days, the weight on your chest felt just a little lighter. “Thank you,” you murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

He smirked, Leopold’s hand rested lightly on yours, his thumb tracing small circles over your skin. “It’s hardly a grand gesture,” he said, his tone lightly self-deprecating. “But if it brings even a fraction of your smile back, then it has served its purpose.”

But as he felt you relax beside him, your breath evening out, he knew it wasn’t about being amazing. It was about being there for you—in every small, quiet way that mattered.

And at that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the afternoon and the delicate fragrance of flowers, he was content with the room feeling a little warmer, a little brighter—a reflection of the unspoken love between you.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[merbear25]

Hi,Mer! It's Cami here for your Valentine's Day event! Can I order "A little rain never hurt anybody" with my beloved Law??

Congratulations on your event. Ily ♡

EEEEEE!! Of course!! I'm more than happy to write this for you, girl! I hope you like it 💜💜

Long and winding road of life that had tested him enough to fill a hundred lifetimes, he carried on the best way he knew how. There weren’t many who caught his eye, but you were one that stood out above all others. A sweet flower that deserved to be tended to: he wondered if he was the best suited to do it. He couldn’t be more wrong, for there was no one you’d rather have.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, fluff

Love in full bloom (Law)

Gentle strolls down the paths less traveled. Law was admittedly inexperienced when it came to navigating through these budding feelings of love, though the garden parted in ways that made it easy.

There was a part of you that he found both enduring and intimidating. Coming across a heart like yours was a once in a lifetime occurrence. Its beats sounded through the tests life threw at you, each one crumbling at your feet as you came out without fail. Even when those dark clouds rolled in, you never lost that light within you, one which he often needed to look to in his own dark hours.

Hand in hand, the smell of fresh air did more for you than it did for him, but there was an attempt to live vicariously through you. The calmness of your features, the smile that went unmatched, and the slight upturn towards the sky: no one could appreciate life more than you could, which left him wondering at times what it was you saw in him when there were such defined differences between the both of you.

A drop of rain fell on your forehead. Your eyes shot open and a soft noise of surprise passed your lips. “It’s starting to rain.”

He barely had a chance to cock an eyebrow before the downpour came crashing down. Sprinting to a nearby bus stop, your laughter could barely be heard over the roaring force of mother nature. You looked over at him, amused at the wet cat look he so often wore.

"A little rain never hurt anybody.” Your airy laugh made him forget the discomfort he was feeling. A faint blush appeared on his wet cheeks the longer he looked at how easy it was for you to take things as they were.

The optimistic attitude you carried so well was infectious. Your smile flashing at him was just as influential on his mood. As the drops of springtime water sprinkled on the pavement, the small splashes washed away the heat of the day.

Fresh air drifting in the cool breeze, you closed your eyes to inhale the faint scent of the flowers blooming nearby. His gaze held on yours, both loving and desiring the free spirit you had. “How can you do that?” The question caught you partially off guard.

“Do what?” Your eyes remained closed as you focused on the here and now.

He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Be free.”

Those words weighed on you. Fluttering open, your gaze carried over the vibrant greens of the grass and trees. The gentle bounces of the flowers as each raindrop fell on their still forming petals brought a subtle smile to your face.

“I don’t really know. I just look at the world the only way I know how.”

His heart ached, not from sorrow or envy but from the yearning to be closer to you, to know you more than you could ever possibly know yourself. However, his body froze as if the realization was sinking in—you were unattainable. A purity shone through you and without meaning to, it casted him to the dark corners. Conflicting thoughts of wanting to fight this gnawing feeling that you were too good for him swarmed in his mind, and in a sixth sense you turned towards him. The man you cared so deeply for was sinking in the muds of his insecurities; an extension of your hand was all it took, though.

Guiding him out of the darkness and into the light, your gentleness had an effect on him, offering a sense of tranquility he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He wrapped his arm around your waist, looking deep into your eyes. Before he had the chance to work up the courage to press his lips against yours, you led him into the settling rain. Now sparse, it made no difference when it came to washing away the remains of the day.

You leaned back, letting him hold your hands tightly. Joy exuded from you and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t losing himself in the moment. Gently, he began twirling you. Your giggles, the slight chill of the rain, and the sight of you and him spinning under parting clouds: there wasn’t a time more perfect than this.

Pulling you into his arms, his hand cupped your damp cheek. Not wanting to waste another minute, he planted his lips on yours. The passion made your heart quicken. Your fingers gently tangled in his hair, as he wrapped his arms more tightly around you.

Breaking the kiss, his lips now ghosted yours. “Would you be willing to teach me how to be free like you?”

“Of course,” you whispered before leaning back into the kiss.

[hisui-dreamer]

hiii rinna!!! congratulations on 2k!!!!!! ˃ᴗ˂ 🫶🫶🫶🎉🎉🎉🎉agsgsh I hope I'm not too late ^^"

can I request silver with white rose? :D

foolish decisions in blossoming love

Pairing: Silver x gn!reader

Synopsis: in getting one bouquet for a friend, you ended up getting another bouquet for a stranger

Tags: meet cute, fluff, florist au, reader is just really flustered

Word count: 1.1k+

Notes: you're not late at all kei, im the one who's late ⊙⁠﹏⁠⊙ i hope silver fluff makes up for it!!

Masterlist

flower of choice: white roses

white roses represent pure love, indicating that you are willing to sacrifice your all for your love

The bell tinkled gently as you pushed open the door to the quaint flower shop. Stepping inside, you were immediately enveloped in a symphony of fragrances, the sweet aroma of fresh blooms mingling with the earthy scent of potted plants. The air was alive with vitality, as if each petal and leaf whispered secrets of beauty and renewal.

Your gaze swept over the charming interior, your eyes drinking in the riot of colours and shapes that adorned every corner of the shop. A kaleidoscope of blossoms greeted you, their vibrant hues dancing in the soft, golden light that filtered through the windows. It was a scene straight out of a painting, a sanctuary of serenity amidst the bustling city streets.

You caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye, and your attention was drawn to the silver-haired man, positioned behind the counter. His fingers expertly arranged a bouquet with effortless skill, moving with a fluidity that hinted at years of practice. The gentle sunlight bathed his face, creating a soft halo around his silhouette.

Your heart skipped a beat as you beheld him, and your breath momentarily caught in your throat. There was an ethereal quality to his presence, reminiscent of a fairy straight out of a storybook.

"Excuse me," you finally managed to murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood before him, spellbound by his presence.

He looked up, his purple-blue eyes meeting yours with a softness that sent shivers down your spine. "Hello there," he replied, a smile gracing his lips. "How may I help you?"

Your mind cleared momentarily, focusing on the reason you came here. "I’m looking to buy a bouquet," you said, your voice steadier now. “My friend hasn't been feeling well lately. I thought some flowers might brighten their day.”

He nodded sympathetically, understanding the sentiment.

“I see… Is there a particular type they like?”

"Not particularly. I just want something to lift their spirits," you answered earnestly.

With a gentle nod, he considered your words, his fingers tracing over the petals of various blooms thoughtfully. “Perhaps a bouquet of lilies," he suggested, his eyes alight with inspiration. "Lilies are often associated with purity and success, making them a perfect choice to wish for a successful recovery."

You hummed at his words, a sense of wonder dawning on your face. "I didn’t know flowers carried messages…" you mumbled curiously.

He smiled warmly, appreciating your interest. "Yes, the language of flowers has been used for centuries to convey sentiments and emotions. Each flower has its own unique symbolism, allowing us to express our feelings in a beautiful and meaningful way," he explained, his passion for flowers shining through in his words.

As you watched him speak, you found yourself drawn to the grace with which he moved, the way his fingers delicately caressed each petal as if coaxing out its hidden secrets. There was something about the warmth in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice, that stirred your soul. You found yourself hanging onto his every word, entranced by the depth of his passion.

It was irrational of you to be so affected by a stranger. You wanted to stay in his presence, to bask in the light of his warmth and kindness for as long as you possibly could. In that fleeting moment, you found yourself inexplicably attached to him, drawn to him in a way that defied all logic and reason.

In an effort to hear him talk more, to hear his calming voice longer, you pointed to a delicate white rose, meekly asking, "What does this one mean?

His eyes crinkled as he smiled gently. "White roses symbolize pure love."

Your heart skipped a beat once again, the meaning of the flower resonating deeply within you. "Pure love," you murmured, lost in thought for a moment. 

“I’ll be right back,” Silver said, breaking you out of your thoughts as he disappeared into the back of the shop with some lilies, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your infatuation towards the gentle florist. You was barely gone for five minutes, but you already missed him, wanting to spend more time with him, to learn more about the stories that lay hidden behind his kind eyes and warm demeanour.

But how could you make it more natural? How could you bridge the gap between customer and florist? The answer eluded you, but you knew that you couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

"Here we are," Silver said, a sense of satisfaction in his voice as he walked back to your side. "I hope it brings comfort and cheer to your friend."

Your eyes shimmered with gratitude as you beheld the finished arrangement. "It’s beautiful…," you breathed, your voice filled with awe. "Thank you. I'm sure they’ll love it."

Silver’s smile brightened at your words, and you felt a surge of courage welling up inside you. With a timid yet determined voice, you finally voiced the words that had been lingering on your tongue. "If it’s alright, I'd like to request another too."

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features. "Another bouquet?"

You nodded, bashfulness colouring your cheeks. "Yes, one with white roses, please."

A flash of disappointment crossed his face before he quickly put on a polite smile. “Of course, please wait a moment,” before disappearing in the back again.

A pang of sadness tugged at his heart as he meticulously prepared the delicate white roses. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment knowing that you already had someone in your life whom you wanted to dedicate pure love to. Despite his efforts to hide it, a faint shadow crossed his features as he arranged the flowers with practised care, his thoughts momentarily clouded by a hint of longing.

But as he showed you the completed bouquet, his feelings of melancholy were quickly replaced by a surge of warmth, your genuine appreciation for his assistance washing away any lingering sadness.

You swiftly settled the payment for both bouquets, your heart pounding with anticipation as you gathered your courage. With a determined breath, you reached out and delicately handed Silver the bouquet of white roses. His eyes met yours, a confused expression flickering across his features as he awaited your next move.

"Silver," you began, your voice trembling slightly yet resolute, "these are for you." As the words slipped from your lips, a rush of uncertainty engulfed you, but you pushed through, driven by the intensity of your emotions. "They represent... what I feel for you."

Embarrassment flooded your senses as the rational side of you chastised the idiocy of giving flowers to a florist. Could you be any more embarrassing?

Hastily, you uttered, "Thank you for your help! I hope I’ll see you more often!" Leaving behind a note bearing your number, you made a swift exit with the lilies, the jingle of the bell marking your departure.

But had you lingered for just a moment longer, you would have witnessed a rosy blush blossoming across the florist's cheeks and spreading down his neck, a loving smile spreading across his face.

Masterlist

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[rafesapologist]

the boy is mine ─ rafe cameron; chapter two

summary: you were an erudite kook with her life ahead of her, very highly sought after by almost every man from figure 8 all the way to the cut. but you only wanted rafe cameron, and just in the typical nature of getting everything you wanted, you were going to have him.

warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of touching, mentions of alcohol

You woke up the next morning full of energy and excitement, a surge of confidence pulsing through you in a way you hadn’t felt before. The memory of the previous night lingered in your mind, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. After you had returned home, you had spent hours meticulously preparing yourself for the day ahead. You had carefully placed your hair in rollers, ensuring each curl would fall just right, and applied a face mask to sleep in, hoping it would leave your skin glowing and flawless by morning. Today, you needed to look your absolute best.

The anticipation of possibly running into Rafe at Sarah's house added an extra layer of excitement. You wanted to make an impression, to stand out in his memory. It was more than just looking good; it was about exuding confidence and poise, about being memorable.

You sprang out of bed, feeling a burst of determination. The morning sun streamed through your window, casting a warm, golden light across your room. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and smiled, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

In the bathroom, you carefully removed the face mask, revealing soft, radiant skin beneath. You took your time getting ready, savoring each step of the process. The rollers came out next, and you gently tousled your hair until it fell in perfect waves around your face. Makeup followed, applied with a precision that reflected your dedication to perfection.

Lastly was your outfit, and you knew it had to be jaw-dropping. You rummaged through your walk-in closet, fingers trailing over fabrics and textures as you searched for the perfect attire. Before anything else, you slipped on your favorite bathing suit—a berry blue string bikini that hugged your body in all the right places, leaving just enough to the imagination. It was bold, daring, and exactly the statement you wanted to make.

You stood in front of your closet, contemplating your options. The light from the window filtered through sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Your eyes landed on a short, form-fitting sundress that was pure white, like freshly fallen snow. The dress promised to highlight your tan and contrast perfectly with the vibrant bikini beneath.

Slipping into the sundress, you admired how it clung to your curves, the delicate fabric whispering against your skin. The white dress exuded an innocent charm while hinting at the allure of what lay beneath. You added a few touches to enhance the look—a pair of gold earrings that caught the light with every movement and a matching bracelet that jingled softly with each step.

Standing before the mirror, you took in the complete picture. The white sundress and berry blue bikini created a striking image, a balance of purity and boldness that made you feel both confident and captivating. You added a touch of lip gloss, a hint of shimmer that made your smile even brighter, and a spritz of your favorite perfume, a scent that lingered in the air like a promise.

You knew that you had a few hours to spare, so you spent your time trying to calm your nerves, each moment stretching out like a thread in a delicate tapestry. You packed with meticulous care: sunscreen to guard against the sun's embrace, sunglasses to shield your eyes from its dazzling glare, and shots to fortify your courage for the encounter you both dreaded and longed for. You knew facing Rafe Cameron would require more than just poise; it would require liquid bravery, so you prepared accordingly.

As the minutes slipped by, you double-checked your bag, ensuring every essential was in place. The anticipation thrummed beneath your skin, an electric current of excitement and anxiety. You could almost feel the cool blue water of Sarah's pool, the sun’s warm caress, and the mingled sounds of laughter and splashing.

By the time you were ready to leave, your heart pounded with an eager rhythm. You hurried out the door, each step quick and purposeful. The morning light spilled over you, casting everything in a golden hue that seemed to shimmer with promise. You left little room for your parents’ inevitable questions, offering only a swift, “Goodbye, love you!” as you breezed past them.

Their voices called after you, faint echoes in the morning air, but you were already moving forward, the door clicking shut behind you like a final punctuation mark. The world outside was vibrant and full of potential, each step bringing you closer to Sarah’s house and the day’s unfolding adventures. The thought of seeing Rafe again sent a shiver of anticipation through you, blending with the fresh evening air into a heady mix of expectation and excitement.

The ride to Sarah's house felt quick, though you were sure it was your nerves speeding up time. As you pulled into her driveway, you found yourself gawking at the sprawling white mansion ahead. You knew she was a Kook, but the scale of her family's wealth hadn't truly registered until now. The mansion stood like a gleaming palace, its grandeur almost surreal.

Hopping out of your car, you felt a fluttering excitement mixed with anxiety. Your nerves burst in the pit of your stomach as you approached the front door. Hesitantly, you knocked, the sound echoing in the still air. Stepping back, you crossed your arms, trying to contain the nervous energy coursing through you while you waited.

The door finally swung open, revealing Sarah herself, her smile bright and welcoming. She looked effortlessly chic, her blonde hair catching the sunlight like spun gold.

"Hey! Come on in," she greeted you warmly, pulling you into a hug.

"Hey, Sarah!" you replied, returning the embrace. "Your house is...wow."

She laughed, a musical sound that immediately put you at ease. "Thanks. It's home, I guess. I hope you're okay with a few other people being here. Rafe decided to invite his friends without telling me." She rolled her eyes, but your heart fluttered at the mention of his name. The realization that he was there sent a fresh wave of nerves through you, your excitement now tinged with anxious anticipation.

As you followed Sarah through the grand foyer, the mansion felt almost surreal in its grandeur. The air inside was cool and refreshing, a sharp contrast to the sun’s heat outside, each step on the polished marble floor echoing your heightened heartbeat. The rooms you passed were filled with elegant furniture and art, each piece meticulously placed, reflecting a wealth that was as old as it was vast.

Stepping out onto the patio, the sight before you took your breath away. The pool sparkled like a sapphire, its surface kissed by the sunlight, surrounded by lush greenery and perfectly manicured lawns. A few people lounged by the water, their laughter and conversation blending harmoniously with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, a sensory reminder of the opulence that enveloped you.

Sarah led you to a set of cushioned chairs near the pool. "Make yourself at home," she said, her gesture inviting you to relax. "Do you want something to drink? We’ve got everything."

You nodded, trying to steady the nerves that fluttered in your chest. "Sure, that’d be great. Surprise me."

As Sarah walked over to the bar to fetch drinks, you took a deep breath and let your eyes wander, absorbing the atmosphere. The water in the pool shimmered under the sun's golden light, and the sounds of distant laughter and soft conversation created a soothing backdrop. Your thoughts drifted to Rafe, wondering how he would react upon seeing you.

Before Sarah got back, you snuck a shot from your tote, swallowing it quickly and savoring the burn as it went down. You made sure nobody saw you, tucking the small bottle back into your bag with a swift, practiced motion. The liquid courage began to warm your veins, steadying your nerves just as Sarah returned.

She handed you a glass filled with a burgundy liquid, a pleased smile on her face. "I hope you like vodka. These are my favorite," she chirped, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

You took the glass, surprised and delighted. "Actually, vodka-crans are my favorite, so you did well," you said with a smile, lifting the glass to take a sip.

The tart, sweet flavor washed over your tongue, blending perfectly with the warmth from the shot you had taken moments before. Sarah settled into the chair beside you, her presence warm and comforting.

As you both sat there, the sunlight playing on the water's surface, you felt a sense of calm begin to settle over you. The distant laughter and soft music created a serene backdrop, blending with the scents of blooming flowers and the gentle rustle of the wind through the trees. Your earlier nerves began to dissipate, replaced by a growing sense of anticipation.

As the energy on the patio began to wane, the sound of male voices emanating from inside the house caught your attention like a sudden gust of wind. You turned to Sarah, your expression knit with confusion, prompting her to follow your gaze and investigate the noise.

"It's just Rafe and his friends," she groaned, her frustration palpable as she tossed her sunglasses back over her eyes.

The voices grew louder as they approached, the sound of laughter and conversation becoming more distinct with each passing moment. Your heart quickened its pace, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within you like a tempest.

Sarah sighed, her irritation evident as she shook her head slightly. "I swear, they always manage to show up and cause a scene."

You watched as the sliding patio doors opened, revealing Rafe and his entourage. They strolled out with an air of confidence, beers in hand, their laughter echoing off the walls. Rafe led the group, his presence commanding attention effortlessly. His stride was casual yet purposeful, his gaze scanning the patio until it landed on you.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still. Your breath caught in your throat as you met Rafe's intense gaze, the weight of his scrutiny sending a thrill down your spine. In the daylight, he looked even more striking, his tanned skin bathed in sunlight, his crisp white shirt accentuating the lean lines of his physique.

"Rafe, can you not take over everything for once?" Sarah called out, her voice a mix of exasperation and affection. She rose from her chair, her arms crossed as she approached her brother.

Rafe offered a nonchalant shrug, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his lips. "Just having a little fun, Sarah. You know how it is."

His friends dispersed around the patio, some heading for the pool while others made a beeline for the bar. The atmosphere shifted, an infectious energy buzzing in the air. Rafe lingered by the door, his gaze lingering on you like a beam of sunlight.

"Nice to see you again, Y/N," Rafe remarked, his voice smooth like honey, with a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes tracing the lines of your dress with an intensity that made your cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as you wondered what thoughts were crossing his mind, oblivious to what lay beneath the fabric.

"Hi, Rafe," you replied, your voice coming out almost sheepishly as you struggled to maintain eye contact with him. Your heart hammered in your chest like a wild drumbeat, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. You found yourself holding your breath, waiting for his next move, unsure of what to expect but unable to tear your gaze away from his magnetic presence.

"Where's your Yale friend? She busy trying to get an acceptance letter or something?" Rafe's voice, laced with mischief, broke through the chatter like a sudden gust of wind. His gaze lingered on you, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, as if he found amusement in your presence.

"Rafe! Leave her alone," she interjected, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation. She shot her brother a reproachful glare, a silent warning not to push further. "Sadie couldn't come because she was sick, okay?"

Rafe's smirk softened into a grin, a glint of mischief still dancing in his eyes as he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get defensive," he replied, his tone teasing but affectionate.

Rafe finally made his way over to his friends gathered at the pool, his movements exuding a casual grace that seemed effortless. With practiced ease, he stripped off his shirt, revealing a chiseled physique that drew your gaze like a magnet. You couldn't tear your eyes away as he discarded the shirt, the fabric landing with a soft thud on the ground beside him.

Undeniably, you found yourself gawking at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you drank in the sight before you. The way his abs were perfectly defined, each muscle carved with precision, made your breath catch in your throat. His bronzed skin seemed to gleam in the sunlight, accentuating every contour and curve of his body. As he moved, the veins in his biceps stood out like a network of rivers, a testament to his strength and vitality.

You felt a sudden wave of weakness wash over you, your knees threatening to buckle beneath you as you struggled to maintain your composure. Your eyes followed his figure as he strode confidently to the edge of the pool, the anticipation building with each step. With a fluid motion, he dove into the water, the surface rippling and shimmering in the sunlight as he disappeared beneath the surface.

You watched, transfixed, as he resurfaced, joining his friends in whatever game they were playing. The laughter and splashing echoed in the air, a backdrop to the scene unfolding before you. Despite the playful atmosphere, your thoughts remained fixed on Rafe, his presence casting a spell over you that you couldn't shake.

You were brought out of your trance by the sound of Rafe's friend calling out to you and Sarah, his voice cutting through the air like a playful challenge. "Hey, you guys wanna join? We're playing water polo and we need another player!"

Your eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected invitation, uncertainty flickering in your gaze as you glanced over at Sarah. You weren't sure how to respond, torn between the desire to join in the fun and the reluctance to disrupt your carefully arranged appearance.

"Well, I can't," Sarah replied with a wry grin, her tone laced with humor. "I just got my hair bleached; I can't get it wet!"

Your heart raced as you felt the weight of their collective gaze, their expectant stares burning into your skin like a spotlight. The pressure to join in was palpable, amplified by the intensity of Rafe's gaze as he watched you with unabashed interest.

Despite the overwhelming urge to retreat, you knew that backing out now would only lead to disappointment, both from the boys and from yourself. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly agreed to join, your voice tinged with reluctance but determination.

"Alright, I guess I'll play, but just one round," you conceded, the sound of the boys' cheers and excitement washing over you like a tidal wave.

As you stood up to join them, you couldn't help but steal a glance at Sarah, who offered you a sympathetic look in return. The unspoken understanding between you was comforting, a silent reassurance that you weren't alone in this moment of vulnerability.

With a deep breath, you turned your attention back to the pool, steeling yourself for what was to come. Slowly, you began to strip off your sundress, the fabric slipping from your shoulders like a whisper. Your movements were hesitant, tentative, as you prayed that none of the boys were still paying attention.

But as the dress slid down to your hips, you couldn't help but look up, your gaze inadvertently meeting Rafe's. Time seemed to freeze as you caught him staring back at you, his expression caught between surprise and admiration, his mouth slightly agape.

Heat flooded your cheeks as you quickly averted your gaze, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat. The intensity of his stare lingered like a lingering echo, sending a shiver down your spine as you hurriedly finished removing your dress, the fabric pooling at your feet in a silent surrender to the inevitable.

As you finally stood there, fully exposed in your berry blue bikini, you could feel Rafe's gaze burning into you, more intense and unyielding than ever. It was as if everything else around him faded into background noise, leaving only the sharp focus of his eyes on you. He made no effort to hide his scrutiny, his stare lingering on every inch of your exposed skin, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable under his watchful eyes.

You watched, your heart pounding, as his tongue slowly grazed his bottom lip, a deliberate and almost predatory motion. His eyes darkened, and he took his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it subtly. The action was slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. His mouth pressed together afterward, as if he were physically trying to restrain himself from reacting more openly, to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor in sheer astonishment.

The moment stretched on, thick with unspoken tension. You felt your own breath hitch, caught between the thrill of his attention and the anxiety of being so completely seen. Finally, summoning every ounce of confidence you had, you gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile before turning your gaze away, stepping towards the edge of the pool. The cool water beckoned, a welcome respite from the heat of Rafe's gaze.

You took a deep breath and dove in, the water embracing you, its coolness momentarily washing away the intensity of the moment. As you surfaced, you felt a sense of liberation, the water providing a comforting shield from the penetrating stares above. You ran your fingers through your hair, slicking it back, and allowed yourself a moment to adjust to the new sensation.

The boys were already dividing into teams, their laughter and shouts filling the air, a stark contrast to the charged silence that had just passed. You swam over to join them, your heart still pounding but now with a mix of excitement and adrenaline.

"Alright, let's get started!" one of Rafe's friends called out, tossing the ball into the center of the pool. You positioned yourself strategically, ready to play, feeling a surge of determination.

As the game progressed, you could feel Rafe's presence in the pool, his movements fluid and confident. Whenever he came near, the air seemed to crackle with electricity, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that had sparked between you. He was an agile player, his strength and speed undeniable, and you found yourself both admiring and competing with him.

At one point, you found yourself face to face with him, the ball between you. His eyes locked onto yours, a mischievous glint in them, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, the rest of the world fading into the background. You lunged for the ball, your bodies colliding in the water, a tangle of limbs and splashes.

"Nice try," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, as he managed to wrestle the ball away, his touch lingering on your arm just a second longer than necessary.

You grinned, a mixture of frustration and exhilaration coursing through you. "Don't get too cocky," you shot back, determined to hold your own. The two of you paused for a moment, the world around you dissolving into a blur of motion and sound. His eyes locked onto yours, and for an instant, everything else faded away.

The water shimmered between you, rippling with the energy of your silent exchange. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breath mingling with the cool air as you tried to steady your racing heart. The intensity of his gaze was magnetic, pulling you into an unspoken conversation that felt both dangerous and thrilling.

Rafe's lips curved into a cocky grin, a silent promise and challenge in his eyes. He held your gaze for a moment longer, the air thick with tension, before he turned away with a fluid grace. His movement was almost predatory, a display of confidence and strength that left you breathless.

As he walked away, the sunlight glinted off the droplets of water on his skin, creating a halo of shimmering light. You stood there, rooted to the spot, the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. The game continued around you, voices and laughter blending into a distant hum, but your focus remained on the lingering sensation of his presence.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of irritation at his arrogance and excitement at the intensity of his attention. The undeniable attraction simmered beneath the surface, leaving you craving more of the electrifying connection. The water, cool and refreshing, was a stark contrast to the heat of your thoughts and the fire he had ignited within you.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to regain composure, and joined the game once more. But now, every move, every splash, every moment was charged with the memory of that gaze, that grin, and the tantalizing possibility of what might come next.

"Okay, I'm done!" you declared, throwing your hands on your hips as you tried to catch your breath. You realized you were too weak to keep going. "I'm gonna go get a drink. You guys keep playing." With that, you exited the pool, feeling the cool air against your damp skin.

Grabbing your towel from the nearby chair, you wrapped it around your hips, securing it with a tight knot. You glanced at Sarah, who had been watching the game from the sidelines. "Where are the drinks?" you asked, your voice slightly hoarse from exertion.

She motioned toward the kitchen with a smile. "Just inside. Help yourself."

Nodding in gratitude, you made your way inside, the sounds of the pool fading behind you. The cool tile underfoot was a welcome contrast to the heat of the afternoon sun. Entering the kitchen, you immediately headed for the fridge, your mind focused solely on finding something to quench your thirst.

You pulled open the fridge door and, to your relief, found a row of cold water bottles neatly lined up. You snatched one, twisted off the cap, and tilted your head back, taking large, satisfying gulps. The cold water was refreshing, soothing your parched throat and cooling you from the inside out.

As you lowered the bottle, you closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation. The kitchen was quiet, a peaceful contrast to the lively scene outside. You could still hear faint laughter and splashing from the pool, but in here, it was just you and the cool, calming stillness. You leaned against the counter, catching your breath and letting your thoughts settle.

The brief solitude gave you a chance to process everything that had happened: the unexpected intensity of Rafe's gaze, the way your heart had raced under his scrutiny, and the unfamiliar feelings he stirred within you. It was exhilarating and unsettling all at once, leaving you with a sense of anticipation you hadn't felt before.

You took another sip of water, lost in your thoughts, when the sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. You looked up to see Rafe standing in the doorway, his presence instantly commanding the room. His hair was damp, and water glistened on his skin, catching the light in a way that made your breath hitch once more.

"Couldn't handle the game?" he teased, his voice low and slightly breathless, matching the intensity of his gaze. You were caught by surprise at the sound of his voice, feeling small and vulnerable in his presence.

Peering up at him in silence for a brief second, you felt your mind racing as he stood over you, his eyes never leaving yours. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of charged silence. "I just needed a drink," you managed to reply, your voice softer than intended, almost a whisper.

Rafe nodded at your reply, a small hum escaping the depths of his throat. "You were pretty good out there, Princeton," he commented, the nickname carrying a subtle edge, as if he was both taunting and admiring your goody-two-shoes ways. His voice was a velvet drawl, laced with a challenge that made your heart flutter.

A flush of embarrassment warmed your cheeks at the unexpected compliment and the moniker he’d chosen for you. Clearing your throat, you averted your eyes to the tiled floor, feeling the intensity of Rafe's gaze burning into you like the summer sun. "Oh, thanks," you laughed half-heartedly, the sound more a nervous flutter than genuine amusement. "Sports aren't really my thing, so..."

He leaned closer, just enough for his presence to envelop you, the faint scent of chlorine and his cologne mingling in the air between you. "Could've fooled me," he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You held your own out there."

The compliment, however backhanded it might have been, sent a thrill through you. You risked a glance up, meeting his piercing blue eyes that seemed to dance with amusement and something else, something darker and more compelling. The kitchen, despite its airy openness, felt suddenly intimate, a bubble separating the two of you from the rest of the world.

"Well, maybe I’m a fast learner," you said, trying to match his nonchalance. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your water bottle, the cool condensation a stark contrast to the heat blooming in your chest.

Rafe's smirk deepened, his eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe you are," he agreed softly, the words hanging in the charged air between you. "But I have a feeling you're good at a lot of things, Princeton."

The way he said it, with that low, almost predatory purr, made your pulse quicken. You wondered if he could hear the rapid beating of your heart, feel the electric tension that crackled in the narrow space between your bodies.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words tangled on your tongue. Instead, you took a steadying breath, the cool air of the kitchen filling your lungs, and tried to regain your composure. "Thanks," you said finally, your voice more composed. "But don't expect to see me at the next water polo match."

Rafe chuckled, a rich, resonant sound that made your skin tingle. "We'll see about that," he said, pushing away from the counter with a fluid grace. "Maybe I'll have to find another way to see what else you're good at."

He toyed with the string of your bikini on the side of your hip, twirling it around his finger with a casual confidence. The simple act felt charged with a silent promise, an acknowledgment that he had the power to undo it if he wanted to. The gesture made you feel even smaller beneath his commanding presence.

Your entire body felt hot, your cheeks surely blushing as you stared down at his fingers, your mouth slightly agape. The room seemed to close in, the air thick with an unspoken tension that left you at a loss for words. Your breath came shallow and quick, your mind racing as you tried to process the whirlwind of sensations his touch ignited.

Rafe’s smirk grew as he observed your reaction, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His eyes, dark with intent, bore into yours, and you felt the intensity of his gaze like a physical touch. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "Just let me know if you need any help... learning new things. Seems like you're good at that."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening at the proximity of his body to yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, a magnetic pull that made it difficult to think clearly. The room seemed to shrink around you, the sounds of the party fading into the background as you became acutely aware of every breath, every heartbeat.

Rafe's fingers lingered on the string of your bikini for a moment longer before releasing it, the brief contact leaving a trail of fire on your skin. He pulled back slightly, just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze unwavering and full of promise.

You swallowed hard, trying to regain your composure and not let your facade crack under the weight of his suggestive words. "I'll let you know if I do," you replied, though your voice wavered slightly, betraying the mix of excitement and nerves coursing through you. Each word felt like a tightrope walk between desire and restraint, and you fought to maintain your cool exterior even as your heart raced in your chest. Swallowing thickly, you held his gaze, determined not to show any sign of weakness in the face of his undeniable charm.

Rafe chuckled lowly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as his eyes lingered on the string of your bikini for a moment longer. You could feel the weight of his gaze, intense and electrifying, tracing the curve of your body with an almost palpable hunger.

With a subtle smirk draped across his tanned features, he finally tore his gaze away from you, meeting your eyes once more. There was a magnetic pull in the air between you, a silent understanding of the unspoken tension that crackled between you like electricity.

"I'll see you around, Princeton," he said, his voice a low murmur that seemed to echo in the space between you. The nickname rolled off his tongue effortlessly, a teasing reminder of your status as the Ivy League hopeful amidst the chaos of the party.

As Rafe turned away, a rush of conflicting emotions swept over you, leaving you speechless as you watched him confidently make his way back to the patio. His fluid movements and undeniable charisma left you momentarily breathless, a flutter of butterflies erupting in your stomach at the memory of your interaction.

In the quiet solitude of the kitchen, you were left to ponder the significance of your encounter with Rafe. Each moment replayed in your mind like a broken record, the intensity of his gaze and the weight of his words still lingering in the air around you.

Part of you yearned for more, a silent whisper echoing in the recesses of your mind as you replayed the tantalizing moments with Rafe. You couldn't help but wonder what might have transpired if time had slowed, if his touch had lingered a heartbeat longer, or if his words had delved deeper into the depths of your soul.

The questions that danced in the wake of your encounter left an ache of anticipation blooming within you, like a hunger for the forbidden fruit, ripe with the promise of revelation. Each thought, each memory, stirred a longing within you, a primal desire to unravel the enigma that was Rafe Cameron himself.

As you stood in the quiet sanctuary of the kitchen, the distant hum of the party fading into the background, you were consumed by a yearning for more. It was a craving for connection, for intimacy beyond the surface-level exchanges and fleeting glances.

Shaking off the lingering warmth of Rafe’s touch, you took one final gulp of water, bracing yourself for the transition back to reality. The sun’s golden rays embraced you as you stepped onto the patio, your skin tingling from more than just the heat. You approached Sarah with a smile that barely masked the whirlwind inside you.

“Hey, I should get going,” you said, your voice steady despite the tumult within. You reached for your tote bag, its familiar weight grounding you. “My parents want me home for dinner, and I still have to study for exams. I’ll catch you at school?”

Sarah’s expression flickered with disappointment but quickly softened into understanding. “Of course! Thanks for coming by. We’ll definitely do this again soon.”

You nodded, embracing her in a quick hug, the scent of saltwater and sunscreen clinging to both of you. As you turned to leave, the magnetic pull of Rafe’s gaze was almost tangible, an invisible thread that made each step feel weighted with significance. You risked a final glance back and found his eyes still on you, a dark intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

With a final wave to the group, you slipped into your car, the engine’s hum a stark contrast to the lively chatter of the party. The drive home blurred past in a haze, your thoughts replaying the day’s interactions like a symphony of emotions. Each moment with Rafe was a note that resonated deeply, leaving you both exhilarated and yearning for more.

As you pulled into your driveway, the sky painted itself in hues of twilight, the world bathed in a soft, dusky glow. You paused, taking in the serene beauty of the evening, the contrast to the storm within. Stepping out of the car, you felt the weight of the day settling on your shoulders, a mix of excitement and uncertainty.

As you entered your house, the familiar scent of home mingled with the residual aroma of sunscreen and saltwater, creating a unique blend that encapsulated the day’s adventures. The moment you stepped through the door, your parents were upon you, their voices echoing in the foyer with a rapid-fire barrage of questions.

"Who were you with?"

"Where did you go?"

You sighed, trying to muster the energy to answer them calmly. "I was with Sarah Cameron," you said, the name dropping from your lips with practiced ease. "She's in honors society." The mention of Sarah's reputable background seemed to appease them instantly. Their expressions softened, their curiosity sated, and they nodded in approval.

"Alright then," your mother said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "Just make sure you get your studying done."

You nodded, relieved as they stepped aside, allowing you to retreat to the sanctuary of your room. The door clicked shut behind you, and you leaned against it, exhaling deeply. The quiet of your room enveloped you, a stark contrast to the cacophony of the party and the intoxicating tension of Rafe's presence.

You took a moment to collect yourself, pushing off the door and moving towards your bed. The evening sunlight filtered through your window, casting soft, golden beams across your room, illuminating the stacks of textbooks and notes that awaited your attention. You dropped your tote bag by the bed, the weight of the day’s events finally settling in.

With a sigh, you changed into more comfortable clothes, the soft fabric a welcome comfort against your skin. You settled at your desk, opening your books, but your mind wandered back to the afternoon. The memory of Rafe's intense gaze and the feeling of his fingers toying with the strings of your bikini played on a loop in your mind.

You tried to focus, but the thought of him lingered like a whisper in the back of your mind, making it hard to concentrate. You imagined what it would be like to see him again, to share more moments that left you breathless and yearning. The pages of your textbook blurred as your thoughts drifted, and you found yourself lost in daydreams of possibilities.

As your mind wandered, thoughts of Rafe Cameron wove their way through your consciousness like tendrils of smoke, curling and dissipating only to reform, more vivid and enticing each time. His smirk, a crooked promise of mischief, lingered in your thoughts. You imagined the scene in the kitchen playing out differently, with Rafe staying just a moment longer, his presence filling the space between you, his gaze never wavering.

What if you had dared to bridge that gap, to step closer and voice your desire? The thought sent a thrill through you, a tantalizing mix of fear and excitement. You pictured his fingers trailing along your skin, their touch electric and gentle, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His breath, warm and intoxicating against your ear, whispered promises that made your pulse race.

Cold chills raced up and down your spine as you let your imagination roam freely. You envisioned his hands exploring your body with a blend of urgency and tenderness, tracing the lines of your silhouette, his touch both a comfort and a provocation. The memory of his fingers toying with the strings of your bikini resurfaced, each imagined brush of his skin against yours igniting a cascade of sensations.

Closing your eyes, you allowed the fantasy to unfold with cinematic clarity. You saw yourself reaching out to him, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His breath mingled with yours, the heat of his body a palpable presence against your own. The kiss you conjured was a heady blend of need and gentleness, his lips exploring yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

In your mind’s eye, you felt the strength of his hands on your waist, guiding you closer, deepening the connection between you. The way his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, was so vivid it felt real. You imagined the texture of his hair beneath your fingers, the solid weight of him grounding you even as he sent your senses spiraling.

The fantasy was a sweet escape, an intoxicating reverie that left you flushed and eager. Each imagined touch, each whispered word, added to the heady mix of anticipation and longing. The more you indulged in these daydreams, the more you craved another encounter with Rafe, another chance to see where this tantalizing spark might lead.

It was a rush of adrenaline, unlike anything you had ever experienced. Boys had never held much sway over you; you had never felt the desire to pursue relationships like your friends did. Your parents had instilled in you the unwavering belief that studies should always come first—without them, your future held little promise. Marriage, they assured you, was a distant concern, something to consider only after college and a stable career were firmly in place.

The sensation of Rafe's touch lingered, electrifying your senses in a way that was entirely new. You were accustomed to boys making advances, attempting to win you over, but you had always kept them at arm's length. None had ever touched you the way Rafe had earlier.

His touch had been different—confident yet gentle, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. It was a touch that had stirred something deep within you, awakening a desire you hadn't known existed. In that fleeting moment, his fingertips grazing against your skin had sparked a rush of sensations, each one unfamiliar and exhilarating.

As you reflected on the encounter, you felt a mix of excitement and uncertainty. Part of you thrilled at the prospect of exploring this new terrain, of discovering what lay beyond the boundaries you had so carefully maintained. Another part of you felt a twinge of guilt, a nagging reminder of your parents' expectations and the priorities they had ingrained in you. Yet, amid those conflicting emotions, there was a growing sense of liberation. The brief exchange with Rafe had opened a door to a world of possibilities you had never dared to consider. It was a tantalizing glimpse of a different path—one that beckoned with its own set of risks and rewards.

After an intense hour buried in textbooks, you gratefully closed them and sank into bed. With a swift unlock, you navigated to Instagram, driven by an insistent urge to search for the name that had dominated your thoughts—Rafe. Thanks to Sarah and mutual acquaintances, locating his profile was effortless.

As your finger tapped on his profile picture, anticipation knotted in your chest. What if he was entangled with someone else? What if he was notorious for playing with hearts? Despite these apprehensions, you pressed on, yearning to unravel more about him. His profile unveiled snippets of his life—pictures from exotic getaways, moments with friends, and snapshots on the golf course where Topper, Sarah's boyfriend, featured prominently. Their closeness didn't surprise you; it was evident in their behavior.

You scrolled deeper, each image and caption offering a fleeting glimpse into his world. With every post, your intrigue grew. Who was Rafe Cameron behind these carefully curated snapshots? What did he cherish? What was he like beyond the filtered frames?

You found yourself drawn into the depths of Rafe's Instagram profile, scrolling through his life over the past few years. Each photo captured a different facet of him: lounging on sun-soaked beaches, laughing with friends on golf courses, and even a few candid shots that exuded his effortless charm. With each swipe, your smile widened involuntarily, captivated by his magnetic presence in every image.

But then, amidst the series of carefree snapshots, you stumbled upon a picture that shattered your burgeoning admiration. There he was, on a picturesque beach, arm wrapped around a girl with a bright smile and eyes that mirrored his joy. They shared ice cream on a bustling boardwalk, kissed under the soft glow of sunset—a glimpse into a life that seemed worlds apart from yours.

Your heart sank as you stared at the scene frozen in time, feeling a mix of disappointment and disbelief wash over you. You had allowed yourself to get lost in fantasies, caught up in a momentary thrill that now felt hollow. The reality of his relationship with someone else hit hard, snapping you out of the enchantment that had momentarily clouded your thoughts.

You felt an insatiable curiosity gnawing at you, craving to unravel the enigma of Rafe's relationship with the girl in those photos. Each snapshot on his Instagram page painted a picture of a life filled with adventure and camaraderie, yet it revealed nothing about the depth of his connections. The ocean breeze seemed to whisper secrets as you scrolled, each image telling a story of laughter and shared moments against stunning backdrops. But behind those smiles and frozen frames, the truth of their bond remained elusive, leaving you to wonder about the untold chapters that lay between them.

You wrestled with swirling thoughts of the mysterious girl in Rafe's photos, pondering the depth of their connection, its duration, and whether it still persisted. Lying in the dimness of your room, you stared at the ceiling, consumed by thoughts of Rafe Cameron and all that he represented. Each question about him spun through your mind like a whirlwind, relentlessly tugging at your attention until weariness finally overtook you. Drifting into sleep, thoughts of Rafe lingered at the edge of your consciousness, a silent presence that followed you into dreams.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

taglist: @yawnzshit, @saintchxx4

[felibrary]

COLUMBA

synopsis: rainbow roses represent love and passion. similar to the feelings you’ve harbored for lyney ever since the two of you were children, feelings full of determination and tenderness.you take the initiative to confess your feelings,  the cards are already laid out on the table, the choices have already been written out and decided. besides one: the one that reveals lyneys response. how will he react?

✧ pairing: lyney x reader | wordcount: 2.1k | content and warnings: fluff, angst, confessing feelings | prompt: unrequited love | oneshot

✧ authors note: i might dislike this one even more than the "wish you were sober" one... this one's just so much more choppier</3

✧ tags: @azullumi

event: STARCROSSED 2024

“and a rainbow rose for you!” 

the sly magician winks at you as he reaches out his gloved hand to yours. lyneys slender fingers are gracefully wrapped around the stem of the colorful flower. he looks at you, eyes full of anticipation as he awaits your reaction. 

his eyes twinkle like an amethyst - a gem that gleams and reflects the fluorescent light as it gets shone upon, presenting the purity that lies hidden beneath the depths of the pair of eyes. the irises that are drenched in a deep purple glint with a certain shimmer that you can’t quite make out. if you were to take a guess you’d say that they look hopeful, buoyant, almost fond. 

seriously, who were you to deny him? his smile is probably worth a fortune, it’s blithe practically dreamy. the ash blond is undeniably a beauty among the nation of justice - a seraphic seashell that lies buried in the fine sand, easily seeping through the tiny gaps of the palms as it is held with utter care. petite sand corns disappearing out of sight and the only object that remains in the hands is the mussel. 

it basks in the radiant sunlight and the sand that slipped out of the grasp of the fingers can only watch in envy, as the seashell continues to relish in the gentleness of the person who discovered it. the one who is allowed to see its beauty and all the secrets that are kept sealed beneath.

amid the vague living room light, lyney continues to shine as elegant as ever. his stage presence long-forgotten, revealing his true nature to you, the lyney whom you know, the one whom you grew up with, the one who makes your heart race. the lyney that shows himself to the outside world is simply just the celebrated magician of the court of fontaine but there was much more to lyney, so much more. 

to the people of fontaine he’s like the backside of a playing card, unaware of the image, the number, the symbol that is imprinted on it. but that’s not the case for you. unlike them you know lyney like the back of your hand. the two of you grew up together at the house of the hearth. under the care of father with lynette, freminet and the other children that resided there. 

no matter how many times lyney and lynette tried to trick you with one of their new learned magic tricks, you’ve always seen through them. nevertheless you weren’t able to deny that they were really impressive, especially for children of such a young age. naturally, over the years he grew up to be a grand magician, not only wrapping the audience that was seated in the rich red places in the court around his fingers, but also you. luring you in by coaxing mellow praises into your ear and simple gestures like this one, offering you a rainbow rose a day before a performance. 

an action that never fails to make you swoon.

his incandescent eyes, the ones that glow like a vibrant glass shard that got swept to the shore by the tide, his million dollar smile that is plastered on his pale face, they are the traits that make lyney look simply irresistible. 

(you don't think you could ever reject lyneys advances, after all you’ve already fallen far too deep into the bottomless abyss, also known as love, to search for your path out.)

right now, at this moment you think lyney looks absolutely majestic, heavenly even. taking a snapshot of this wouldn’t be enough to capture the beauty of lyney. neither would a portrait do the job well. the movements of the paintbrush are delicate, swiftly moving around the canvas, but they’re not enough. no matter how many brushstrokes were to be painted, they still wouldn’t be enough. 

(either way he’d outshine every other painting that gets hung next to his. he’s the muse that will always be out of everyone's reach.) 

simply because lyneys beauty, his bare nature, is something to keep etched into your mind, engraving it onto stone so that it will never fade or wash away, no matter the circumstances.

you reciprocate his action, accepting the flower. grasping the rainbow rose carefully, so that the stem doesn’t crinkle and eventually falls into two pieces or the blossom loses its petals. “my, what’s the occasion?” a performance awaits the folk of fontaine tomorrow. you already knew the answer, but, nevertheless you question him. lyneys honeyed voice is a sound you’ll never get tired of. listening to him as he talks never feels like a chore, rather, it feels like a voluntary course that isn’t important at all. but nevertheless you stick around, to not miss what others don't get to see.

“well, as you might already know, a performance awaits the folk of fontaine tomorrow.” the magician responds. you can only chuckle at that, predicting lyney has always been easy for you. 

“is that so? i can't wait.” you give him a small grin and take another peek at the flower. beautiful, you think to yourself as you look up to lyney once again. the corners of your mouth curve into a content smile. lyney stares right back at you and does the same, giving you a bright grin in return that makes your heart pump quickly. 

the brightness of lyneys smile competes with the one of the sun, it’s warm and welcoming. it works wonders like medicine, soothing and curing your wounds with a simple grin. lyney is out of this world, he's charismatic, making you fall for him head over heels. fun to be around, always making you laugh over stupid jokes. and not to mention caring. 

the first two buttons of his white dress shirt are unbuttoned, showing off his delicate collarbone. lyney was never particularly muscular, rather, he had a quite slender build.

“i’ve never put much effort into my physical training as in my shows. after all, i have an audience to bewitch with magic tricks, not my body."  you recall his words and the giggle he let out after.

some strands of his ash blonde hair are out of place, including his dyed one. his maroon colored hair slightly stands out, but you don’t mind, it's similar to the color of a maple leaf, vivid and lively. flying through the wind, admired by passersby as it floats around in the air. out of reach until someone takes the chance to grab it. 

“by the way, where’s the thank you?” lyney jokes in an offended manner. his sultry voice snapping you out of your former haze. 

“hm?” you tilt your head to the side.

“for the flower.” he points at the rose with his gloved finger. 

“ah, right. thanks a lot, it's really pretty.” you thank him by giving him another smile. before casting your gaze down to the rose again, admiring the colorful petals as you remember charlotte's words. 

“for example, magicians often use “rainbow roses” in their flower related performances to represent passion and romantic encounters.” her words stuck to you like a millstone around one’s neck. surely lyney knows what they mean, he’s not unaware what they symbolize right?

it makes you wonder if lyney is aware of your feelings, and possibly even returns them. lyney has always had a keen eye for the beauty of this world, attentively swaying his gaze around and admiring the elegance that lies within each individual. did lyney also see that kind of beauty in you? one that goes even further down, reaching into the inescapable depths. but then he’d face the ugliness that slummers at the bottom, despite that, how is lyney able to love you? 

for you the beauty of this planet has always been lyney. he’s the sun that you bask in, relishing in its warmth as the sun tendrils place delicate kisses on your body. the water that engulfs your body, plattering against your limbs and makes you feel refreshed. he’s the blood that runs through your veins, the one that makes you function properly.  

the question still lingers in the air: does lyney reciprocate your feelings? 

your grip around the rose is tight, fearing that it might slip out of your grasp when you’re inattentive and losing it. you watch lyney make his way to the stage, the crowd already awaits their renowned magician, waiting in and staring in awe as he performs another unpredictable magic trick. 

the air is thick, the tension increases at every passing second, for both you and the crowd. if lyney takes another step, you’ll lose the lyney you know, your lyney. instead you’ll have to watch as he takes up on his persona, even if it’s only for a mere hour, it always feels like an eternity to you, until you get to see the lyney whom you love again. 

besides the sound of lyney who was shuffling his cards thoroughly once again, it was dead silent.

“nervous?” lyney looks up to you, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“huh?” you’re confused, what is he implying.

“the way you fiddle with your fingers.” he points at your hands with one of the cards, a red heart you notice. “you only do that when you're anxious.” lyney says. “come on, tell me what’s wrong, you know that i’m always here for you, right?” he gives you a reassuring smile, a genuine smile that isn’t there to satisfy his guests. 

sometimes you forget how easy it is for lyney to see right through you. you nod as a response to his observation. “yeah, ironic isn't it? i’m nervous even though you’re the one who’ll enter the stage at any given moment now.” you try to sound steady, trying to convince yourself. but your voice betrays you, it quivers.

“aww.” lyney coos at you. “you know i hate that expression on you, do you not?” the ash blond sighs dramatically, purple eyes still maintaining eye contact, a fond shadow casting over his pupils. “how am i supposed to go out and present, knowing that my best friend is dying from nervousness.” he jokes, shaking his head. before he looks up at you once again with a look that says “don’t worry.”

best friend. 

“lyney.“ you try to gather your courage, how does one confess their feelings to the person whom they adore?  lyney smiles at you “yeah? i’m all ears.”

“lyney, you’re probably already aware of my feelings. but i really like you.  i love you. i've loved you ever since we got introduced to one another, ever since we were children.” you don’t dare to look him into his eyes, too embarrassed by your confession just now. you play with the fabric of your freshly ironed shirt a bit, to distract yourself, as you await lyneys reactions.

“archons, since when were you this sentimental?” lyney laughs out. “that’s what you were afraid of telling me?” he takes a few steps so that he stands in front of you now. “gotten all shy now?” the magician teases before patting your head. the action makes you look up, greeted by lyneys smile . “i love you too. youre like another sibling to me.” he slightly tilts his head to the side. "even though we’re not blood related, it just feels like we’re family, don’t you think?”

“no! lyney that's not what i-” you protest but you get cut off by the announcement.

“and now ladies and gentlemen, presenting fontaines renowned duo, mr. lyney and ms. lynette! a big applause please!” 

“ah!” lyney looks behind him where everything was already set up and put in place. “i suppose that is my sign to leave. farewell!” he inches away from you. “let’s reunite after the show, shall we?” he winks at you and bids you goodbye before rushing off to make his way over to the stage.

you remain glued to the floor, frozen in place after you’ve just gotten rejected. you hope this is just another one of lyneys antics, a joke that he will later on reveal as faux and tell you that he reciprocates your feelings. but you know that he won't. yes, perhaps lyney is a liar, a good one at that. he has lied to a dozen people before, but never once to you. 

the rainbow rose in your head shines vividly in the dim lightning, its petals making it glow beautifully. you’re not sure what came over you, frustration, regret, remorse. you’re not certain. the petals that were once finely attached to the pistil, will be gone, you rip the petals off, one by one.

he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not.

© VYNICITY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

e/n: "i got sibling-zoned." "that's rough buddy."

[etheries1015]

Dear writer whose writings I love,

HEYYO. IT'S ME AGAIN. (I sent the Lilia using u as a stress relief you ask heheheha!!)

SO LIKE IMAGINE THIS (unrequited love that is actually requited love!)

You're on a "date" with Lilia to the gardens. (You wish)

And then you get to the Gardina section of the flowers and show it to him, knowing fully of what it means. (You hope, yet also don't hope he gets what's you're trying to say)

[FUN FACT: Gardenias are elegant and fragrant flowers that have long been associated with love, romance, and admiration. They are often used to express a secret or hidden love, as their sweet scent and delicate petals can be seen as a symbol of devotion and affection that is not openly expressed. The gardenia’s white or pale yellow petals are said to represent the purity and sincerity of a love that is kept hidden, while the intoxicating fragrance symbolizes the passion and intensity of the feelings that are being concealed. Gardenias are also often associated with mystery and secrecy, making them the perfect flower to symbolize a love that is kept hidden from the rest of the world. They have been used in literature and poetry for centuries to represent the hidden desires and passions of characters who cannot express their feelings openly]

SO

SSSOOOOOOO

This can go SO. MANY. WAYS.

He doesn't know and does nothing. This ends up in you making a poem about Gardina flowers to him, and he does something after that, taking the hint. (Good ending! With proposal and stuff and hehe fluff!! I love fluff)

He knows and asks you directly. (PLS GIVE THIS A GOOD ENDING. IDK HOW TO CONTINUE)

My brain is now fried again. Please expand. I will request every time my brain power suddenly shoots up. Goodbye, and see you again next time.

-🦇

Hello lovely! Yes yes, you actually revealed yourself to me after I answered that ask! Heuheu. No need to be anon! However, if that it what you prefer, I shall not convince you otherwise <3

ANYWAYS I have ALWAYS loved the notion of flowers having meanings and their beautiful poems that come in toe with their vibrant petals. It's truly a wonderful thing, I really wanna study them more. Fun fact! My favorite flower is a peony! I have a tattoo on my shoulder of a peony! ...in slue with an entire sleeve of random flowers, my tattoo artist just made up. Maybe the other arm I'll use for more structural floral... sorry for the tangent DHKFJSLDjf I love flowers. Thank you for this ask heuehueheue

Ahhhhhhh the idea of going out to a garden with Lilia...

I actually like to have this little headcannon that since Malleus is so interested in flowers and gardening, that perhaps he got that from Lilia. Flowers are our friends, after all! And what's better than making an entire garden of little friends to nourish? Along with creating a beautiful garden of roses, Malleus had delved deep into the world of floral poetry and representation.

You grab onto Lilias hand and pull him towards the back of ramshackle to show off the garden you and Malleus had placed together. Malleus was truly your wing man during this entire thing, he had vast knowledge about flowers and knew just the ones to plant In one large romantic gesture for the old fae. Malleus had landed you books and helped you study their different meanings, even taking time out of gargoyle studies club to dedicate gardening your surprise for Lilia.

"What has gotten you so eager, little bat?" Lilia chuckled, "Must truly be grand if you're so worked up like this!" You couldn't hide your excitement or giddiness as you headed towards the gate leading to the garden, a large black intricately designed gate in that perfectly suited the chicness of the dorm. Upon opening the gates, it revealed a large grandiose garden full of flowers of all sorts. Lilia's eyes widened as well as a toothy grin climbing onto his features, raising an impressed eyebrow.

"So this is what you and Malleus have been working so hard on?" He inquired, stepping forward and taking a look around, "I must say, it's rather an impressive feat! The sheer size is almost enough to rival Malleus's own rose garden back at the castle." You smiled brightly at him and skipped over to a particular patch you were proud of; Gardenias.

"These are Gardenias!" You pursed your lips as you bent over and grabbed something you had prepped before hand, taking hold of a neatly wrapped bouquet of gardenias and with a trembling hand pushing them in the arms of the fae. Lilia started slightly and took a gentle sniff of the flowers taking in their creamy sweet scent that reminded him of coconuts and peach. "They...they're for you!" You smiled.

"Oh they're lovely," Lilia said, "I presume you and Malleus are particularly proud of these ones! They bloomed wonderfully. I shall put them in my room!...oh, but I suppose they will need sunlight. Perhaps keeping them in Silvers care may be better..." You felt your heart drop and smile twitch ever so slightly. Pursing your lips you let out a dry nervous chuckle, tilting your head in awkwardness.

"I..Uh," You bit down your bottom lip, "Well, they were for you," You let out a breathy laugh.

"Of course! However I'm worried they may wilt in my care and you worked so hard! Hmm. Oh! I could put them in the lounge, so that everyone can see yours and Malleus's hard work!" You couldn't even bother to explain to him you were the one to nurture these flowers on your own upon Malleu's recommendation. He swore that Lilia would understand the meaning...it was common for fae folk to be knowledgeable on the world of flowers. Either Malleus Lied to you, which was unlikely, or Lilia was a part of the percentage that truly hadn't a clue.

You began to sweat bullets. Throughout this entire exchange, you weren't certain he understood your intentions. Or... was he purposefully deflecting the fact you had mainly meant this as a surprise for him? Was he thinking you were simply making excuses to hang out with Malleus? Or was he just that oblivious? It was rather distressing, for you already had an inkling that Lilia had not returned your feelings, and this only solidified your worries.

You began to wilt like a flower without water, your energy dying and your smiles becoming fake. You tried a few more times to hand him flowers, such as a singular rose (symbolizing love at first sight, a "one and only" in which the person you gift you give your heart to.) He insisted on taking a few more to decorate the lounge with.

This plan was failing terribly.

Finally, you let out a loud groan of frustration, pulling out a sheet of paper from your pocket with a burst of confidence and embarrassment. Your face took on a bright shade of red, pushing the letter into his chest. Lilia struggled to catch it with his hands full of flowers, eyes wide in bewilderment at this sudden display you put on. He stared in shock and confusion, unable to get a word out before you bolted out of the garden and to the dorm.

"Read that later!" You cried out.

"W-wait- what is-" He attempted to catch your attention, yet you were already out of view, leaving the fae utterly confused standing in the middle of the garden with arms full of flowers.

You threw yourself onto your bed and grasped your pillow, curling into a ball and groaning into it.

"eh? What's up with you?" Grim asked, "And what's this piece of paper?"

You sat up in a rush with wide eyes, staring at a piece of paper that you seemingly dropped from your person. You grabbed hold of it and took a look. It was the second page of the letter you had given Lilia... and undeniably the most important part. The first page detailed the history of flowers and how they have significance to them

the second page was the meanings of the flowers and why you chose them for the fae.

It was your confession.

You had forgotten to hand it to him in your flustered state.

You screamed into the pillow.

~ At Diasomnia ~

Lilia sat in the dorm lounge, reading over the page you had given him.

"Hmm...I knew flowers had meanings, but this letter seems unfinished. This is simply prefacing the history of flowers and that they hold meaning with a simple poem at the end, but the definitions they mentioned would be on the second page seem to be missing..." Lilia rubbed his head in confusion turning the paper around to find some sort of indication of continuation, Malleus walking in on the fae. Malleus flashed a mischievous smile.

"How did the visit to the garden go?" He inquired, "You seem confused rather than elated as I thought you would be..did something go ary?" He pointed out. Lilia shrugged and looked back at the tall draconic fae, tilting his head.

"I thought it was going well, (y/n) even handed me a bunch of flowers to bring back, along with this letter..." Lilia took a gander at the vase full of Gardenias and glanced back down at the letter in which stated every flower has a significant meaning.

"Malleus, could you tell me what Gardenias mean? I believe (y/n) meant to explain it to me, but the second half of this letter is missing." Malleus raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you would know?" Malleus furrowed his eyebrows, grabbing hold of the letter and skimming through its contents.

"Of course not. I like flowers of course, but I never took the time to truly study them as you did. I haven't a clue about definitions and things of the sort." The color seemed to drain from Malleus's face at realizing his mistake, before making his way to the gardenias and gently touching a petal from its bloom. He took a deep breath before giving a detailed explanation of their meaning: Passion, love romance, secrecy... Malleus explained the flower was to express a secret love that the prefect held for Lilia. Something that clearly went way over the old man's head.

Lilias's jaw was dropped to the ground, before quickly disappearing in a fog of green smoke.

He had to get the other half of that letter.

[aventurineswife]

Hi! I've been holding back from rambling on about these requests, because I thought they were pretty cute and I was waiting for the day you'd open requests (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

It's about the reader and Aventurine, in a modern universe, it consists of Aventurine wandering around one day, he finds a flower shop, which looks pretty cute from the outside and decides to go in out of curiosity, there he's greeted by the reader who's pretty nice to him and asks him if he's going to buy flowers, Aventurine says yes, even though it was a lie, the reader doesn't comment and decides to give him a Jasmine flower along with a Carmelia flower, the reader never explains the meaning to Aventurine about said flowers.

Months go by, meanwhile Aventurine goes to the store and always finds the reader giving flowers to Aventurine, for free, when she asks him why that is, the reader shrugs and continues with his thing. One day she sees the reader explaining to a client about a bouquet of flowers to a client, Aventurine realizes that coincidentally they are the same flowers that the reader gave her this very morning, some flowers of: Magnolias, Violets, Violet Lilacs, Sunflowers, Gladioras and finally white daisies. They are of love, the reader fell in love with him at some point, then he looks for the meaning of the flowers that he has been giving her all these months, at first the flowers mean friendship but at some point they began to speak of love. This is how he expresses his silent love to Aventurine, with flowers and he never got to explain the meaning why he felt that it was better that his love was silent.

The meanings:

1 | Jasmine Flower: Kindness.

2 | Carmelia flower: Pure thoughts, beauty.

3 | Magnolias: The meaning of magnolias is different for each flower, but the magnolia also represents sympathy.

4 | Violets: They represent the subtlety of love, when you feel that you cannot declare yourself. It is a silent way of declaration.

5 | Violet lilacs: They represent the feeling of pure love.

6 | Gladiators: It can represent asking for a date or strong and at the same time sensual love.

7 | Sunflowers: They represent fidelity, loyalty and of course eternal love.

8 | White daisies: It represents love full of purity.

-💤🩵 anon

“I’m sorry I’m not the most romantic, but I try”

Summary: Aventurine stumbles upon a quaint flower shop and meets you, a kind, quiet shopkeeper. Despite not intending to buy flowers, you give him a bouquet, sparking a series of visits where you continue to give him flowers with hidden meanings. Over time, Aventurine begins to realize that the flowers are silent declarations of love, and your feelings for him have grown. As the meaning of the flowers becomes clear, Aventurine grapples with his emotions and the risks of letting his guard down, ultimately realizing that love, unlike his usual gambles, cannot be controlled.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Florist!Reader, Flower Shop AU, Slow Burn, Silent Love, Emotional Growth, Gambling with Emotions, One-Sided Love (initially), Subtle Romance.

Warnings: Mild manipulation (?), Themes of emotional vulnerability, Mentions of past trauma (?).

A/N: I'm not sure what I did but hope you enjoy! 🙏

Aventurine had always seen the world as a game of risks—calculated, measured, and always with a sense of thrill. But today, something about the mundane world around him felt slightly... off. His usual walks through the city had led him to unexpected places, his curiosity piqued by the smallest of details. And there, nestled between two towering buildings, was a flower shop. The exterior was simple, yet elegant—filled with pots of vibrant blooms and an inviting atmosphere.

Curiosity tugged at him, and against his usual instinct to ignore the little things, he stepped inside.

The moment the door chimed open, he was greeted by a soft, melodic voice.

“Welcome! How can I help you today?”

Aventurine turned to find you standing behind the counter, a gentle smile lighting up your face. Your attire was simple, but something about your demeanor was warm and unpretentious, the kind of presence that made him feel like he could relax, just for a moment. His usual confident demeanor seemed to falter for an instant.

“I… I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” he replied, his usual charm slipping into something more like uncertainty. “Maybe some flowers?”

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing, studying him for a moment. Then, without missing a beat, you stepped forward, reaching for two delicate blooms from behind the counter. A Jasmine flower and a Carmelia.

“These are for you,” you said, offering them to him with a softness that took him by surprise.

Aventurine blinked, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips. “For me? But I didn’t even say I wanted them,” he said, his tone playful but curious.

You shrugged lightly, your smile unwavering. “No explanation needed,” you replied, handing the flowers to him. “Sometimes, kindness and pure thoughts are enough.”

He stared at the flowers in his hands, his fingers brushing over the petals. There was something about your quiet generosity that intrigued him, and despite himself, he found himself returning to the shop again and again, seeking the odd comfort the simple act of receiving flowers brought him.

Months passed, and with each visit, you greeted him in the same calm manner. The flowers were always different, though—each bouquet more delicate and precise than the last, as if you were trying to say something, but never quite daring to put it into words.

One day, as Aventurine stepped into the shop, he noticed a subtle change. You were standing behind the counter, explaining to a client about a bouquet of flowers. The bouquet was a mix of Magnolias, Violets, Violet Lilacs, Sunflowers, Gladiators, and White Daisies. He watched, intrigued, as you described each flower’s meaning—sympathy, the subtlety of love, pure love, asking for a date, loyalty, eternal love, and pure love again.

For a long moment, Aventurine just stood there, watching the interaction, his mind slowly connecting the dots. The flowers you had been giving him were not just random choices—they were deliberate. They weren’t just flowers, they were messages. He hadn’t understood it at first, but now, he was certain. These flowers… these subtle, quiet gestures, were a language. A language he had never quite deciphered until now.

And then it hit him.

He had been receiving messages of love, of affection, but they were all unspoken. Silent declarations from you.

He turned away, retreating to a quiet corner of the shop. His hand brushed the flower in his pocket. Kindness. Pure thoughts.

And he realized that over the months, the flowers had told a story he hadn’t been willing to hear before.

He had always viewed life as a game—a series of moves and counter-moves, all part of the grand scheme. But what you had given him was something he couldn’t control, something far more fragile than his usual calculated risks.

You had given him love. Silent love. And he, in turn, had never truly given anything back. Not in the way you had. Not in the way you deserved.

Aventurine knew his reputation. He was the strategist, the man who calculated everything—every word, every gesture, every move. But now, for the first time, he didn’t know what to say.

He had gambled with everything in life, but with you… the stakes felt higher.

As he approached the counter once more, you looked up at him with that familiar, quiet smile. The air between you two was always filled with unspoken words, a tension he wasn’t used to. He held out the flowers you had given him over the months—one at a time, slowly placing each one on the counter.

“I understand now,” he said quietly, his voice softer than usual, his usual bravado replaced by something more vulnerable.

You glanced at the flowers, your fingers brushing over each bloom as he placed them. “I never expected you to,” you said, your voice low and calm. “I just… wanted to give you something real. Something that didn’t require words. Love doesn’t always need to be explained.”

Aventurine’s gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours. In that moment, something shifted between you. It was subtle, yet undeniable.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Jasmine and Carmelia flowers you had first given him, holding them out toward you, his smile faint but genuine.

“I never thought I’d understand something so simple,” he murmured. “But I think… I think I’ve been playing the wrong game all along.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then took the flowers from his hand. Your smile, this time, was full of warmth. “Sometimes, it’s the quiet things that speak the loudest.”

Aventurine could feel his heart racing. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t prepared himself for it. But, as with every other gamble he had taken, he couldn’t resist the pull.

And for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t trying to calculate the outcome.

He was simply… here.

With you.

Aventurine was no longer playing a game. He was letting himself listen.

[muiitoloko]

YOU WRITE SO WELL!!! I think you'll figure out who I am by the way I'm requesting this but I'm doing it anyways XD.

So crezie idea, it's wedding day. And Obadiah has tried his best to encorporate both church and gypsy wedding in one. Let's say they both planned it through and they are both happy bout it. BUT of course there is still beef on his side and the girls fam.

They lowkey banter (the family) and when they cross a line (idk which fam you choose) Obadiah fights back and protects you like the husband he is (dkfhdkfnes and or maybe... Reader is strong willed too >:D then she might get the reward XD but I see how Obadiah is the protector type... And we strive for that :3) and we just get the after wedding where reader is like "yep your getting a reward for that" IDK XD but that's an idea I have aha~ I hope it sparks something in you too 😭 you could end it here... But I think we could still request an after math where Obadiah becomes a father... I'm looking too far into this XD But please tell me you'll be doing part 5 soon :"3 (no pressure tho... I'm just really happy an author like you exist... And ghorl you SERVE! 💅)

Also I'm weak by how soft he is 😩 we strive for a smp husband 😌✊

Title: The Vow in Red

Summary: Obadiah Slope's marriage to a gypsy woman defies societal norms, blending Anglican tradition with gypsy customs in a love story that overcomes deep-seated prejudices. Together, they build a life grounded in resilience and unity.

Pairing: Mr. Obadiah Slope × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Insults.

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your order.

First, Second, Third, Fourth and Fifth part here.

Also read on Ao3

The day of your wedding to Obadiah Slope arrived with a tension that hung thick in the air. The town of Barchester had never been so alive with whispers and speculation. The fact that Mr. Slope—a man of the Anglican faith, deeply entrenched in the church—was marrying a gypsy woman was more than just a scandal. It was a spectacle, one that had drawn the attention of nearly every resident, and despite the intimacy you had hoped for, it seemed that the entire town had packed into the church, waiting for the ceremony to unfold.

As promised, Slope had done his best to incorporate elements of your culture into the ceremony, while still remaining faithful to his Anglican beliefs. He had listened, learned, and understood what mattered most to you. One of those compromises was the color of your wedding dress. Tradition in his world called for white, a symbol of purity and virtue, but you had chosen red, the vibrant color symbolizing passion, love, and vitality in the gypsy tradition. And though it went against convention, Slope had insisted on honoring your choice.

Now, he stood at the altar, tall and thin in his dark clerical robes, a splash of red sewn into the lining as a nod to your heritage. His hazel eyes searched the crowded church, waiting for you. The murmurs in the pews were unmistakable, a mixture of judgment and curiosity as townspeople and even some of your own family whispered amongst themselves. It was clear that few in the congregation approved of the union.

As you entered the church alone, walking down the aisle in your red dress, a hushed silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of your footsteps against the stone floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands trembling slightly as you took each step forward, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes on you. The air was thick with tension, and despite the warmth of the red fabric that clung to your skin, you felt a chill run through you as you passed rows of disapproving faces.

The gypsies who had once been your family, your community, sat at the back of the church, their expressions hard and unreadable. Some refused to meet your gaze, while others glared openly, their whispered insults cutting through the air like a blade. From the other side of the church, the more conservative townspeople, particularly the strict Anglicans, looked equally disdainful, their lips curled in contempt as they watched the woman who dared to marry one of their own.

"She’s bewitched him, surely," a voice hissed from the crowd, and you clenched your fists, trying to keep your composure.

"Red, like the devil’s bride," another whispered, the words sharp and biting.

You swallowed hard, your steps faltering for a moment as the weight of the judgment around you began to press down. But then you saw Obadiah, standing tall at the altar, his hazel eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. He gave you a small, reassuring nod, his presence grounding you, and you forced yourself to keep walking.

The bishop, an older man with a stern face, stood beside Obadiah, his hands clasped in front of him as he prepared to begin the ceremony. He had agreed to perform the marriage, despite his own reservations, and though he maintained an air of dignity, there was a certain stiffness to his posture that betrayed his discomfort with the situation. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat and raised his voice, addressing the congregation.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God to witness the union of Obadiah Slope and his bride in holy matrimony."

But the whispers continued, growing louder, more insistent, as the ceremony went on. You could hear snatches of conversation from both sides of the church—snide remarks about your heritage, accusations that you had ensnared Slope through some kind of sorcery, and worse, insults that cut deep from your own people.

"Traitor."

"Shame to the gypsies."

Your heart sank, and though you tried to focus on the ceremony, the words gnawed at you, each one like a stone being placed on your chest, making it harder to breathe. You glanced at Obadiah, hoping for comfort, and though he stood strong, you could see the flicker of anger in his hazel eyes. He had heard the insults too.

The bishop tried to carry on, raising his voice to be heard over the growing murmurs. "Marriage is a sacred institution in the eyes of God, a bond—"

"She doesn’t belong here," a voice from the crowd cut through the bishop’s words.

"Neither does he," came another, this time from the gypsy side of the church.

Obadiah’s jaw tightened, his thin lips pressing into a hard line as the insults continued. His gaze flicked to you, and he saw the discomfort, the hurt, the way your shoulders had tensed as the judgment of both worlds crashed down around you.

Finally, he’d had enough.

"Silence!" Obadiah’s baritone voice boomed through the church, commanding attention. The room fell still, the air heavy with the weight of his authority. His hazel eyes swept across the congregation, a mixture of anger and disappointment flashing in them as he took in the faces of those who had come not to celebrate, but to condemn.

"This is a house of God," he said, his voice firm and unwavering, echoing through the vaulted ceilings. "And you dare to bring such vile hatred into it? Shame on all of you."

A ripple of surprise passed through the crowd, and Obadiah took a step forward, his gaze sharp and unyielding as he addressed both the townspeople and the gypsies alike. "You judge us, not for the love we share, but for your own prejudices, your own fears. You speak of purity and faith, and yet you come here, into this sacred place, to spew your poison. Have you forgotten the teachings of Christ? Have you forgotten the commandment to love thy neighbor?"

There was a murmur of unease in the crowd, but no one dared to interrupt him. Obadiah turned to the gypsies at the back of the church, his gaze softening just slightly as he spoke to them.

"And you," he said, his voice quieter but no less resolute. "You accuse her of betraying her people, yet you are the ones who have turned your backs on her. She has not abandoned her roots—she carries them with her, proudly, into this marriage. I have done everything in my power to honor her heritage, just as she has respected mine. But you refuse to see that. You refuse to see the love between us."

He paused, his chest heaving slightly as he took a deep breath, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "We are here today to join in holy matrimony, not to be torn apart by your hate. If you cannot find it in your hearts to support us, then leave. But I will not allow this to continue."

For a moment, the church was silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You could feel the tension easing slightly, the hateful whispers dying down as the crowd absorbed what he had said. Slowly, you reached for his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you took his in yours.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Obadiah turned to you, his eyes softening as he looked down at you, his grip firm and reassuring. "I won’t let them hurt you," he murmured, his voice full of quiet determination. "Not now, not ever."

The bishop, clearly unsettled by the confrontation, cleared his throat and adjusted his vestments before continuing the ceremony, his voice more subdued but resolute. "As we continue this sacred union, let us remember that love, in all its forms, is a gift from God."

The rest of the ceremony moved forward, and though the tension remained in the air, the whispers had all but stopped. As the bishop spoke, he made room for elements of both Anglican tradition and the gypsy customs you had grown up with—simple gestures that acknowledged both sides of your identity. At one point, Slope held out his hand, and you tied a red ribbon around it, symbolizing the binding of your lives together in the gypsy way. And though the red dress had drawn disdain, it was a proud symbol of who you were.

When the ceremony finally concluded, and the bishop pronounced you husband and wife, Obadiah leaned down to kiss you, the gesture tender yet full of the fierce love and protection he had promised.

As you turned to face the congregation together, his hand firmly in yours, you saw the mixture of emotions in the crowd—some faces still hardened with disapproval, others softened with something resembling acceptance. But none of it mattered. You had each other, and you had faced the world together.

And that, you knew, was enough.

The wedding party was in full swing, the air alive with the hum of lively conversation and the vibrant energy of celebration. Beneath the canopy of stars, lanterns hung from tree branches, casting a soft, warm glow over the gathering. The sounds of laughter and the strumming of a guitar filled the night air, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy and relief wash over you. The worst of the day—the judgment, the whispers—was behind you now, and in this moment, you were simply a bride, celebrating with the man you loved.

As you looked out over the crowd, you noticed Slope standing awkwardly to the side, watching as the guests began to pair off and dance to the lively tune being played by the band—a song from your people, filled with the rhythm and passion of your heritage. You chuckled softly to yourself, knowing that dancing was certainly not something Obadiah Slope was accustomed to. But tonight, with everything you had been through together, you wanted to see him let go of the rigid formality he often carried like a cloak.

With a playful smile, you approached him, reaching out to take his hand. He looked down at you, a mixture of amusement and uncertainty flickering in his hazel eyes.

"I don’t dance," Obadiah said, his voice a low murmur, though there was no real protest in his tone.

"You do tonight," you replied with a grin, tugging him gently toward the open space where others were already swaying to the music. "It’s our wedding, after all. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your bride, would you?"

Obadiah sighed dramatically, though his lips quirked into a smile. "I suppose I don’t have much of a choice," he muttered, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes as he allowed you to pull him into the dance.

As the music picked up in tempo, you began to sway to the beat, your hips moving in time with the lively rhythm. Obadiah, bless him, did his best to follow your lead, though his movements were stiff and uncertain at first. His tall, thin frame seemed out of place amidst the fluid, energetic steps of the dance, but you couldn’t help but laugh as he gamely tried to keep up. His hands held yours tightly, his hazel eyes focused intently on not tripping over his own feet.

"You’re doing great," you teased, leaning in closer as the two of you spun around, the world around you blurring as you moved together. "Maybe I’ll make a dancer out of you yet."

Obadiah gave you a mock-glare, though the smile tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed his amusement. "If I trip and fall flat on my face, you’ll be the one to blame," he warned, though there was a warmth in his voice that told you he was enjoying himself more than he let on.

As the music played on, Obadiah began to loosen up, his movements becoming less rigid and more in sync with yours. The awkwardness that had marked the beginning of the dance began to melt away, replaced by a certain rhythm and grace that surprised even him. You could see the moment he began to let go of his self-consciousness, his body moving more freely as he allowed himself to be swept up in the joy of the night.

You beamed up at him, your heart swelling with affection as you watched him adapt to the lively tune, his lips curving into a genuine smile. This was a side of Obadiah you didn’t often see—unguarded, relaxed, even playful. And as he twirled you around under the stars, his laughter mingling with yours, you realized just how much he had given up for you. Not just his reputation, but pieces of himself—the control, the rigidity—to meet you in your world.

As the song reached its crescendo, you leaned into him, your breath warm against his ear as you whispered, "Thank you for standing up for me today, in the church. I know it wasn’t easy."

Obadiah’s movements faltered for a brief second, his hazel eyes meeting yours as he slowed the dance, drawing you in closer. "I’d do it again," he said softly, his baritone voice rumbling through his chest. "I won’t let anyone—gypsy or townsperson—speak ill of you. Not while I’m around."

Your heart swelled at his words, the fierce protectiveness in his tone filling you with warmth. You smiled up at him, your hand tightening on his as you said, "You deserve a reward for that, you know."

Slope raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. "A reward, you say?" he murmured, his voice dipping into that rich, teasing tone that always made your pulse quicken. "And what sort of reward might that be?"

You grinned, feeling a rush of excitement and anticipation as you leaned up on your tiptoes, your lips brushing against his ear. "You’ll find out tonight," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

Slope’s eyes darkened with desire, his hand tightening around your waist as he pulled you even closer. "Now you’ve got me curious," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "I’ll hold you to that."

You chuckled softly, your lips grazing his as you pressed a quick, teasing kiss to his mouth. "I’m counting on it."

As the two of you continued to dance, the world around you seemed to fade away. The stars above, the laughter and music, even the whispers of the guests—they all blurred into the background as you lost yourself in the moment, in the warmth of his arms and the promise of what the night would bring.

And as the dance came to an end, you knew without a doubt that Obadiah Slope, despite his flaws and his past, was the man you wanted by your side—for tonight, for tomorrow, and for every day after.

Three years had passed since your wedding to Mr. Slope, and the life you had built together, despite the trials and whispers, had blossomed into something warm, stable, and full of love. The small house you shared, tucked away from the center of Barchester, was filled with the scent of herbs and freshly baked bread, a reflection of the balance you had found between your gypsy heritage and Slope's Anglican world. The house was a peaceful sanctuary, where the laughter of your two-year-old daughter, bright and infectious, filled the air daily.

It was late afternoon, and you stood by the window in the kitchen, preparing a light meal as you waited for Obadiah to return from his trip to the city hospital. He had gone to offer pastoral support to the patients, a duty that had become increasingly important to him over the years. His dedication to his work had only deepened, but so had his love for his family. You smiled to yourself, thinking of how gentle and patient he was with your daughter, even after the longest of days.

Your daughter, Emily, sat in her high chair at the kitchen table, babbling happily to herself. Her chubby hands clapped together as she kicked her legs, her bright eyes following your every movement. She was dressed in the colorful clothes you insisted on her wearing—a small nod to your gypsy roots. Today, she wore a vibrant red dress with embroidered flowers, and a ribbon tied loosely in her wild curls.

Just as you were about to call her over for her afternoon snack, the front door opened with a creak, and you heard the familiar sound of Obadiah’s steady footsteps in the hallway. You turned, a smile already forming on your lips, and when he entered the kitchen, his tall, thin frame silhouetted in the doorway, you felt that familiar warmth bloom in your chest.

"Obadiah," you greeted softly, crossing the room to meet him. He leaned down, his hazel eyes crinkling with affection as he pressed a kiss to your lips. His hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer for a moment, as though he had missed you more than the short hours apart should have allowed.

"How was the hospital?" you asked, your voice gentle as you pulled away slightly to look up at him. "Were you able to speak with the patients?"

"It went well," he replied in his deep baritone, his voice carrying the weight of the day's work but with a softness reserved only for you. "I was able to spend time with a few of the patients. There was an elderly woman—Mrs. Pickering—who had been feeling very alone. I think our conversation brought her some comfort. It’s a blessing to be able to help them, even in small ways."

His eyes softened as he spoke, and you could see the sincerity in his expression. Obadiah had changed so much over the years—his once sharp ambition had mellowed, replaced by a genuine desire to help those in need. He had found his calling not in the politics of the church but in the quiet, meaningful moments of connection with his parishioners.

Before you could respond, a joyful squeal broke through the conversation. Emily, having spotted her father, clapped her hands enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Papa!" she babbled, her tiny voice full of delight as she squirmed in her high chair, reaching her chubby arms toward him.

Obadiah’s serious demeanor melted instantly, and his face broke into a broad smile as he turned to his little girl. "There’s my beautiful Emily," he said, his voice warm and playful as he crossed the room to her. He bent down to her level, his long fingers brushing a stray curl away from her forehead before he kissed her cheek, making her giggle.

"Dressed in red again, I see," he added with a teasing glance at you, though his tone held no real reproach. "Always the brightest one in the room, aren’t you, my little flower?"

You smiled, watching the interaction between father and daughter with a sense of quiet contentment. Obadiah lifted Emily out of her high chair, holding her in his arms as she babbled happily, her tiny hands patting his chest. The vibrant red of her dress, the colors you had insisted on keeping alive in your family, contrasted beautifully against the somber tones of his clerical robes. It was a perfect picture of the life you had built together—a blend of traditions, love, and compromise.

"She loves those colors," you said with a chuckle, stepping closer to join them. "Just like her mother."

Obadiah smiled, shifting Emily to his hip as he looked at you with a soft expression. "And I love them both," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Emily giggled again, clapping her hands as if agreeing with her father’s words, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief. "Papa!" she repeated, tugging at his collar with one hand while pointing at the window with the other.

Obadiah laughed, the sound deep and full of joy, as he turned to look out the window. "What is it, my love?" he asked, his voice still laced with amusement. "Do you want to go outside and play before dinner?"

Emily squealed in response, kicking her legs excitedly as she wriggled in his arms, clearly eager to be let loose in the garden.

"I think that’s a yes," you said with a grin, moving to take the tray of biscuits you had prepared off the counter. "But first, let’s have a little snack, shall we?"

Obadiah set Emily back in her high chair, and the three of you settled around the table, sharing the simple meal as the golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the kitchen window. The house was filled with the quiet sounds of family—laughter, the soft murmur of conversation, and the occasional babble from Emily as she enjoyed her biscuit.

As you watched Obadiah gently wipe crumbs from Emily’s cheek, his hazel eyes full of love for the little girl he adored, you felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the life you had built together. Despite the challenges, despite the whispers and the judgment from both sides, you had created something beautiful. Something real.

And as you sat there, surrounded by the people you loved most, you knew that no matter what the future held, you and Obadiah would face it together—side by side, just as you always had.

[fear-is-truth]

in your professional opinion: what would it take for jpm to decide not to kill a potential victim?

the types of victim who (might) live

disclaimer : super unprofessional opinion made by yours truly.. heh

1. innocence as a mirror of his lost humanity

james would probably be fascinated by someone who radiates genuine innocence, someone untouched by the filth of the world. this is not the naïve act many people put on to survive—it’s an uncorrupted purity he rarely, if ever, encounters.

the victim’s wide-eyed wonder or soft, sincere way of engaging with life might act as an uncomfortable mirror for him, reminding him of a version of himself before his descent into depravity. he might not even consciously realise this at first—it would manifest as a sense of fascination.

2. relentless optimism

imagine a victim who, in the face of imminent death, starts talking about how “everything happens for a reason” or how “there’s good in everyone, even you.” they don’t beg or plead; they truly believe that life is inherently meaningful and that even james himself is capable of redemption.

their vibrant energy, combined with an almost annoying optimism, would simultaneously frustrate and intrigue him. he might think, what makes this one so unshakable? how can they remain so full of life when faced with certain death?

he would become curious, almost studying them like a specimen: “your sunny disposition is either idiocy or brilliance. i haven’t yet decided which.”

3. potential protégé

james patrick march is always looking to leave a mark on the world, and nothing would be more satisfying than molding a successor.

if the victim showed any signs of darkness—repressed rage or a hidden fascination with violence—he might see them as raw material to be shaped into a killer in his image.

sparing them would serve his own desires:“you have potential, darling. rough around the edges, yes, but the makings of greatness lie within you. i could teach you… if you’re willing to learn.”

the idea of transforming someone so unremarkable into a cold-blooded murderer would delight him. it’s his way of proving that no one is incorruptible.

4. he fucking hates you

if the person annoys him in a way he finds intolerable, james wouldn’t want them haunting the halls of the cortez for eternity.

“i refuse to have you lingering in my halls, polluting the air with your insipid drivel for the rest of time. leave now, before i change my mind.”

[etanow]

I was looking at your banner (which goes hard as s$&@ by the way) and on closer examination I noticed something really cool!

In the image, Pomni is inside an open coffin and is surrounded by flowers, with one half being colourful while the other is pale white. I also noticed the bouquet of flowers Pomni is holding is especially vibrant (unless I’m crazy).

I have to assume the image is about Pomni, through circumstances beyond her control, is stuck living only a half-life and is desperately holding on to who she is and once was, right?

I don’t know much about flowers and their meanings, but I know in some cultures White is often associated with Death.

Did I get it right or should I be executed for being cringe?

TY for the thoughtful ask!!! Unfortunately, no execution for you because you're right! The flowers at the bottom are common funeral arrangement flowers but do have their own meanings;

Stargazer lilies represent sympathy, majesty, and purity. White roses have many meanings: love, secrecy, silence, humility, reverence, and despair. Dracaena leaves mean inner power, growth, and renewal. White hydrangeas have a few meanings: rebirth, heatlessness, and abundance. Eucalyptus leaves mean protection.

The vibrant flowers in her hand are for herself, and the surrounding bouquets represent the other residents she lives with; a combination of how they feel about her and about them in general.

I'm a dork for flower language if you can't tell oop