#over current relay

[apopic]

Ship Current Monitoring Relay (over/ under current monitoring relay on ship electrical system)

Ship overcurrent relays are used to protect sensitive equipment against over or under current conditions. By using current transformers (CTs), these protective relays monitor large AC currents common to large motor starters, circuit breakers, and transformers. Ship current transformers CT which steps down the monitored current to a secondary (output) range of 0 to 5 amps (AC) to power the…

[creativeelectricals]

Buy Under Voltage, Over Voltage, Start-Stop, Photocell, Liquid Level Relays in Dubai, UAE

Discover a wide range of high-quality relays in Dubai, UAE. Shop under voltage relays, over-voltage relays, start-stop relays, photocell relays.Order now for fast delivery!

[pellucid-constellations]

Of Oblivious Minds (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Azriel's POV (it's a warning here), angst

a/n: I am blown away by all of you and your support!! I really love writing for this fandom omg. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy ♡ Let me know what you think!! I'll get the next update up soon!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

~~

Azriel was losing his ever-loving mind. 

A few weeks ago, everything was fine. Not optimal, but fine. 

He knew his mate, and that was more than could be said for most of Prythian. But even more than that, he could love her from afar. He could make small remarks and catch the smiles they would elicit. He could send his shadows after her on her walks home, protecting her even though she had the entire Inner Circle looking out for her wellbeing. He could buy the ridiculously expensive pastries she loved and stock the kitchens with them, listening for the small gasps she let out each time she found them.

He could talk to you, listen to you, love you in his small ways, even if it wasn’t the ways in which he longed for. 

Because it wasn’t the right time yet. You hadn’t felt the bond for yourself. 

So, yes—admittedly, Azriel had not been in the most optimal position with you. But it was leaps and bounds better than the purgatory you were subjecting him to now. 

He mulled over his current reality as he sat opposite to you at the dining table. He had had to snag the seat from Mor, ripping the chair from her hand in an uncharacteristic show of aggression, and you hadn’t so much as looked up from your plate. He would’ve rather fought for the seats beside you, but Rhys and Cassian had been sitting before he even entered the room. So now he fought for your eyes and was too far away to offer any lingering, accidental touches. 

Not that you would reciprocate either. 

You were avoiding him, and Azriel was at his wit's end trying to decipher why. 

His shadows had relayed dismal reports, only whispering the words sad and alone and contemplative into his ears each morning. He could have guessed as much, if the display of emotions he had tried to comfort you through all those days ago told him anything. 

But Gods, did they really tell him nothing, because you hadn’t spoken to him since. 

“—that is certainly something to consider. Y/n, would you be open to the job?” 

“Hm?” you hummed, and Azriel watched as your eyes flickered over to Rhys in one abrupt movement. “Sorry, what?” 

Rhys raised a brow lined with humor, and Azriel realized he hadn’t been listening to the conversation either. “Helion has extended an invitation to the Night Court—for diplomatic relations and all. It’s mostly a weekend stay for show, but he has quite an extensive library. Feyre and I went last time so it would only be fair if—” 

“Yes,” you nodded, the most emotion Azriel had seen on your face in days blooming into a joyous array. “Of course, I would love to go. Are you kidding?” 

Rhys chuckled. “I figured. Helion has been quite eager to get you to come as well. Seemed like the perfect time.” 

Azriel didn’t miss the way the High Lord’s eyes shone with something other than mirth as he looked closer at the scholar… as he inspected your facade the same way Azriel had been for the past week. 

“When can I leave?” 

Something in Azriel scratched to a halt. “She’s to go alone?” 

Feyre offered the spymaster a soft smile from the other side of the table. “If she wishes. Helion’s invitation was open-ended.” 

“Take the vacation, I say,” Mor piped in, wine glass raised in a solitary toast. 

“Or… you could take me,” Cassian grinned beside you, jostling you in a playful grip. 

You sent a scoff his way. “Aren’t you banned?” 

“No, actually. I’m banned from Summer Court, which is completely unrelated.” 

A short laugh trickled from your lips. It wasn’t a full one, not like the ones Azriel was so used to—the ones he basked in—but it was a laugh, nonetheless.

He felt the way his eyes seemed to follow the crescendo of it, his blinks in time with the sweet sound. 

He committed it to memory. 

“Right, well let’s keep you away from neighboring courts as much as possible so we can avoid a repeat of that, okay?” 

Something like a grin fought at the side of Azriel’s mouth at your quip. 

Cassian prattled on. Something about unjust rules or ridiculous high lords—Azriel wasn’t paying attention. He was too caught up in you and the way you were so close to meeting his gaze. 

“Perhaps she shouldn’t go alone,” Azriel spoke up, interrupting his brother’s spiel. You still didn’t look at him, instead turning to catch Rhys’s response. 

“Azriel, I can assure you this is a safe visit,” Rhys offered. He knew. Everyone seemed to know but you. “It’s hardly even business. It’s more of a vacation. I’ve been shoving century-old relics in her face for the past few months. She deserves time to herself, don’t you think?” 

His High Lord was speaking in code. A terrible, frustrating code that really meant, “give her some distance.” 

Azriel had had enough of distance. 

He nodded his head all the same. 

And then, despite all odds, you looked at him. 

You looked at him and it was as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. As if he had been wrung out and stretched thin and every bone in his body forced him to sit up straighter. You were looking at him and Azriel couldn’t conceptualize the way the spectrum in his chest moved so quickly from utter relief to the brink of desolation. 

Because you looked at him as if you were broken. A sad—such a sad—smile graced your face, one he had never had the displeasure of seeing before, and he wanted to wipe it away. He wanted to kiss it from your face with soft touches and reassuring whispers and that was startling for Azriel because he usually kept his overwhelming urge to kiss you at bay. 

“I’ll bring you back a souvenir,” is all you said. Such simple words to accompany an expression that sent him reeling. 

“Thank you,” he replied, with the most sincerity he could muster. 

And then he held your gaze as it became downcast. He craned his neck to catch every last second of your eyes as they turned back down to the table.

It was hours later that Azriel found himself in the townhouse, boots creating an indent in the office carpet. Rhys sat just feet away from him, leaning back against the desk, waiting for the Shadowsinger to erupt. 

“I would like for you to position your spies further into Autumn. I know you have a few that have integrated into the court, but I need more intel on Eris and his plans.” 

“Of course.” 

“You can take out any currently residing in Day. Just for the next week or so. With y/n going, she can report any happenings.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped. “Would that be wise?” 

Rhys stared back at his brother, expression giving nothing away. “Why wouldn’t it be? Do you not trust y/n’s word?” 

Azriel’s wings were taut against his back. In truth, he hadn’t felt relaxed in days. With you leaving, that tension would surely pull him into thin compliance. 

“Obviously I trust her word, Rhysand.” 

“Rhysand? What have I done to earn your grievance?” the High Lord asked, crossing his arms over his chest, still the perfect picture of calm. 

Azriel was a juxtaposition before him as he clenched his hands and replied, “You already know.” 

“Do I know? I’m not sure you’ve been clear or honest with anyone. Y/n especially.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Rhys bent at the elbow and rubbed a restless hand across his jaw. Azriel ignored the movement in favor of holding eye contact with the High Lord. Azriel was being stubborn, he knew that, but there was no other way to be. 

He needed to be consistent and reliable. He needed to be a pillar for his family to lean on, and you were part of that. He wasn’t going to take that away from you��to be selfish and call upon a mating bond you hadn't even been made aware of yet. 

He wasn’t going to squander your friendship in the hopes of something more. 

There was a chance, no matter how much the prospect pained him to consider, that you wouldn’t want the bond. You had never hinted at wanting more with the spymaster, so there was no telling how you might react to the cauldron blessing you with a union. You could reject it, and with it would go your friendship. 

Just the thought sent ice through Azriel’s veins. 

Truth be told, he had never shown you many signs either. When the bond snapped months ago, it had taken time for Azriel to come to terms with the truth. He had ruminated on it amidst many sleepless nights, watched you from a new perspective over many dinners, and contemplated the path that had led him to you. 

And then he had regretted. Cauldron had he regretted. 

The feeling still lingered, a reminder of each woman he had taken to his bed before you. All of the fae that had meant nothing, and even the ones that had boarded on something, he wished he could do away with.

Because you had been privy to them all. He knew you had witnessed a few late-night trysts, and even worse, that you had watched him pine after Mor for a century. It all seemed so frivolous now; it all paled in comparison to you. 

And the absolute worst part of it all is that he knew. 

He knew how easy it would be to fall in love with you from the start, so he pretended not to notice. 

He threw himself into impractical longing and meaningless lovers and he pretended that it didn’t hurt to look at you. 

The bond had only cemented his foolishness. 

He hardly had a chance with you by the time it snapped. 

“Late night then, Az?” 

You had teased him over breakfast just days before the bond had snapped for him, a small smile on your face as you lounged at the table early in the morning. At the time, Azriel had bit the inside of his cheek and reeled in his snarkiness. He had avoided your gaze, avoided the robe that barely covered your nightgown, and made himself toast in silence. He had already coaxed the blonde fae out of his bed, and he hadn’t needed a reminder of the woman he had been imagining all throughout the night. 

Because that had been something else he opted to ignore—that he pictured you, imagined you, at all times. 

It snapped three days later. He had been accompanying you through Velaris. “Shopping for fun,” you had said, “and I hate to go alone.”

The only thing Azriel had taken home that day was a gaping hole in his chest and the knowledge that lying to himself had brought him nothing but pain. 

The months following were different. 

Everything was different. 

But for you, he had come to the grim realization, nothing was different at all. He was still Azriel, your friend Azriel, who was secretive and private and cared from afar. You still pictured him as a man who chose his lovers based on convenience and quick practicality even though he hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since your emotions began flowing through his chest. 

Gods, your emotions. They were so positive, so addicting, he could sit back and live his days through you until the end of time. You had so much unrestricted joy coursing through you—so much curiosity and delight. Part of Azriel dreaded the day you did recognize the bond; it would dim the connection to you.

That day in the library had been the first time the bond had chafed against his lungs. He had felt the earthquake beneath his feet and thought nothing of it, but then your fear punctured his being and he had run so fast his wings ached. 

And then you started having nightmares, ones he couldn’t fix, and Azriel began to feel like he was losing you. Like the bond was withering and eroding within him and you along with it. 

“How long, Azriel?” Rhys’s voice cut through the air with a harshness. 

The shadowsinger breathed through his nose, jaw tight. 

“Tell me. Tell me how long you’re going to keep this up for.” 

“You don’t understand, Rhys,” came Azriel’s low reply. “None of you do.” 

The High Lord scoffed. “Right, because I had it so easy with Feyre. Az, mates are complicated—” 

“Don’t,” Azriel breathed. A dangerous shakiness accompanied the word.

“Explain it to me. Help me to understand how—” 

“There was nothing for you to lose!” The rise of the shadowsinger’s voice sent Rhys into silence. “There was nothing! You hadn’t known Feyre for three centuries—hadn’t known what it was like to see her cry over worthless males or laugh until she was doubled over. You didn’t have time to memorize the sound of her voice or understand how it felt to lose that small piece of her. Because she won’t even talk to me anymore and—” 

Azriel cut himself off, moving for the first time since he entered office. He paced, the motion of his feet doing little to dispel the tension from the air or from his body. Azriel tugged a hand through his hair, his shadows following the aggressive pull and weaving through the strands. 

“How long?” Rhys asked again, but this time, Azriel knew that he was asking a different question. One that even he himself had avoided answering. 

The shadowsinger paused. His next words were tainted and his voice cracked. 

“I think forever.”

Part 4

[fanfictionlibrary01]

AO3 works being stolen and posted on rivd.net

What is happening, and what you can do. Check for edits with additions at the end of the post!

We've posted these infos in our Discord server, but want to make them accessible for more of you AO3 and fanfic folks out there. What is happening? A user called "Fanfic Books" on the site https://rivd.net is posting over a million of fanfics since May 18th (account creation time of that user), all of which seem to be stolen from AO3 users. You can check if your works were stolen by searching your AO3 username on that site. Reporting this on the site is tedious, and contains so much requested data and personal (sensitive) information about you that is just seems sketchy and like they want to grab your data to sell it off again. (See this for more on that.) That a virus called "rivd" apparently also exists does not help their case. Since the person posting the works is also listed as Moderator of the website, chances of successful reports are, by our estimation, very small to non-existant. (As you can look up here.) Creating an account on that site is also tedious - after trying it, the feedback was that a moderator needs to approve of my account creation request. How long that is supposed to take is not known. What can you do? We deduced - through admittedly rushed, because we felt like time was of the essence, and and sparce, checks - that people who have their works locked on AO3 have not been affected. (At all/as much is not to say, it's our best hope and theory rn.) We advised our server members to lock their AO3 works for the time being, as that currently seems like the only prevention method available. A great tutorial for how to lock all your AO3 works at once has been posted here. Kudos to this X/Twitter post that seemed to have started the spread of information, and others relaying the infos (like e.g. r/AO3 on Reddit). Edit (0,5h after initial post):

With permission of the author on AO3, here are screenshots from when I checked if their works (unlocked on AO3) were stolen. Searching for works of the FFL Discord server's admin, who has them locked on AO3, resulted no matches on the rivd site - hence the theory/recommendation that locking your AO3 works helps.

Edit 2 (4h after initial post):

There also seems to be a new occurrence that the fanfiction tab has been emptied/does not contain (publically displayed) fanfics anymore. What this means and if the fanfics are really taken down is unclear, but given that the anime fanfic category that once existed is seemingly completely gone, something is being done. Rumor is that a mass report of DMCA at Cloudflare caused this - it feels like a win either way!

Edit 3 (23h after initial post):

It seems like rivd.net is now completely down/inaccessible. See last attached screenshot in this post! No infos on what this means or what caused this are available atm, but like before, it feels like a small win!

[paper-mario-wiki]

Could you explain how Ambrosia is able to come back after dying?

1

Sure yeah, I'll give it a shot.

[Fursona Lore/ Mild Existential Horror presented in charmingly primitive MS Paint style under the cut]

2

[At the top of the panel there is the label "conceptual space (currently being created. The middle is labeled "THE UNIVERSE, REALITY (the other)". The bottom is labeled "CONSCIOUSNESS, REFLECTION (the self). The very bottom of the panel reads "OTHER, FREAKIER BUT LESS IMPORTANT STUFF" ]

To keep it brief, a person is when a certain amount of consciousness slips upwards into reality. Consciousness is, like the laws of thermo dynamics [sic], a fundamental property of the universe.

3

I'm sure you've heard of the sticking-a-pencil-through-paper metaphor for theoretical wormhole travel, right? Staying within that visual metaphor, imagine the moisture in the air around that "piece of paper" as what consciousness is. It creates tiny, imperceivable changes in the surface and makeup of the paper. Imagine a microscopic rain cloud making a tiny fraction of the paper a little bit soggy. That's what you are in the universe. A tiny soggy fraction of a massive piece of paper. (That's why you feel so small btw).

Of course, putting it into that metaphor IS greatly simplifying it, since in real life things like time and space sorta overlap, ya know? Because they're entirely separate dimensions of measurement. Consciousness is the same, it is everywhere in the universe all at once, but only after it seeps in from a place that is exactly where we are, but elsewhere. 4D stuff is complicated sorry if that's not super clear ha ha.

4

Normal people happen when a bunch of that stray potential-consciousness starts stacking more and more layers of reality on top of itself. Sort of like those pastries that you fold butter into and then fold it like 10 times and that makes it so theres like a billion layers of butter and dough and butter and dough and butter and dough and on and on and on. But with, uh. The other stuff. Consiousness and matter from the universe.

Speaking semantically, that's all the little tiny organisms that work really hard to make you alive. Like the biome in your gut, or the bacteria in your tissue and blood cells. Look it up, 43% of the human body is made of bacteria. Like, that's just on google.

Anyway, all their effort culminates in an increasingly complex meat shell that constitutes a person.

5

For the sake of practicality, we can imagine the way consciousness "seeps in" to the universe is like heat coming off the sun. The two overlapping infinite planes radiate into each other like heat radiates off the sun.

That clear? Heat from the sun. Remember that, it's important for the next part.

6

I'm sort of like a solar flare.

My consciousness, in its raw form, was so concentrated that it was like a tiny shooting star straight from the source.

Also kind of like a kidney stone, I guess.

7

Since my consciousness (which, to be clear, is approximately the same "amount" of consciouessness as anyone else, just all smooshed together into a single clump) is smooshed together into a single clump, the shell forms naturally as "reality" settles onto it. The "shape" the consciousness takes is basically the same as your body or anyone else's since the framework of both entities are the "same" on the "outside". Thus the "shells" turn out "similar" too.

Sorry for all the quotation marks, it's hard to talk about concepts outside of the third dimension in third dimensional terms, and like. I also am not super sure about this stuff either. I'm only relaying what I've learned from the scientists but some of it goes over my head.

I like to think I'm clever but like. I'm not a genius.

8

So here's the part where me and you are different: When your shell breaks apart (when you die) it's because the consciouessness had been escaping your shell, like air from a balloon, and the physical structure can't support itself anymore. Or, like, maybe you just fall over and hit your head on the concrete one day and pop the balloon all together.

Either way, the consciousness escapes from the pressure, and either goes back "down" where it came from, or goes upward into conceptual space, which is sorta being constituted through forces exerted in the physical universe. Well, I mean, really it's more of a product of a reaction between consciousness and physical space. Whatever I'm getting off topic.

The point is the shell breaks cuz the balloon pops. I think that was my point.

9

Now that you get all that, you can probably deduce on your own how and why I'm able to keep "coming back".

It's cuz I'm not really "coming back", I'm still here! The shell representing me here was just lost.

10

And while the facade may not look precisely the same every single time...

11

I remain the same.

[danelloevee]

@ma7moudgaza2 has been displaced several times for the past 9+ months and currently lives in a tent with his parents and siblings. All he asks is for help in rebuilding his home so they have a more secure place to stay. I will relay a message he asked me to share:

We are a family of 5 suffering for over 9 months from a brutal war that spares neither humans nor stones.

My mother lost all of her family in this war, starting with my uncle Amer, his wife, and his children, who rose in the belt of fire over the city of Tal al-Hawa, then my other uncle and my other aunt died!! I don't know how my mother's heart can be patient with this affliction, but I ask God to give her patience and strength

My father also made many sacrifices when he lost his home and his job as a teacher, and his nephew was martyred at the beginning of the war. He is also strong and patient 🙏🏼

My brother Muhammad, who remained in northern Gaza, struggling with hunger, killing and destruction, also lost his place of work and many, many of his friends died

As for my spoiled sister, she lived the war while carrying the entire house on her shoulders. She lived the war from displacement to displacement and from tent to tent

As for me, Mahmoud, I also lost my studies after the occupation destroyed my university. I created this campaign to compensate us for a little of the damage we experienced. What we experienced is priceless at any price, but today I am asking you for a small donation of $10 that may contribute to saving us and our family from disappointment and the hell of war. We lived to build a new home for ourselves and the beginning of a new and beautiful life

This fundraiser has been verified and vetted and can be found on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi 's list here

The link on the list is his previous campaign to evacuate, but the progress was slow so he is currently focusing on rebuilding their house instead

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

Please # 51 “I’m your husband. It’s my job.”   ☁️For Quinn Thank you !

ooo this is very Quinn Hughes - eldest daughter, protector of everyone coded for sure!

Drabble Masterlist.

"I'm your husband. It's my job."

You were sick, sicker than you have ever been. It was some type of stomach bug that was going around and for some reason your body just couldn't shake it. This was one of the first times in your entire life that you truly had relay on someone fully to help take care of you.

Quinn was amazing throughout the entire experinece. He brought you soap and made sure you ate things that you could actually keep down. Since you felt so sick he kept a bucket next to your side of the bed for you to throw up in if needed, he never complained when he had to clean it out even though if roles were reversed you defintely would. Your body was so fatigued that you even had to get Quinn to help you to the bathroom. He helped you shower, he made sure even though you felt like crap you still showered everyday because he knows that's important.

He made sure you took all your medicine on time and listened to all the doctors instructions. Even though you told him not too because he would get sick, he never left your side almost always cuddling you as you watched whatever you wanted on T.V. You were so out of it you didn't even realize at one point you were watching a Canucks game and Quinn was cuddling up next to you instead of on the ice in Seattle. But once your mind realized you gasped in shock.

Quinn tore his eyes from the t.v. quickly, "what's wrong?" he asked frantically ready to jump up to help in anyway he could.

"Quinny! That's your team!" you tried to raise your voice but it came out more dry and raspy then you would of liked. A smile slowly creeped on his face.

"Yeah that's why I'm watching it gotta make sure Brock and Petty are doing a good job for me." he chuckles still looking down at you.

"No. Your suppose to be there not here. It's your job to be there! People are counting on you. If you leave now you'll make the Kings game for tomorrow." you argue, you try to push him so he leaves the bed but even if you weren't weak from being sick you wouldn't be able to move Quinn unless he wanted you to.

"Yes it's my job. But I'm your husband. It's my job to take care of you. Remember, sickness and health, they'll be okay for a few games without me." grabbing your and pulling you so you were pracatically laying on top of me. "Both are my job, but your my most important job. Okay?" he asks making sure your paying attention even in your delirious state due to the stomach flu.

"okay." you whisper, turning your head trying to focus on the game on the t.v. but you fall asleep before the current shift was even over.

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (3)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.7k words

summary | calm before the storm. the queen forces you to go to the targaryen-hightower supper where you finally sit face to face with aemond, (whilst getting interrogated by prince daemon as well.)

tags | reader is just here for the targ drama tbh, fluff, small angst/but reader comforts,

note | I just realised that both rebekah and reader fall for boys that they technically watched grow up (not really, but really tho, also would you consider this pedophilic, since rebekah and reader had mere platonic feelings, while marcel and aemond were already obsessed)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

It had been a moon's turn since your return, and Aemond had taken to shadowing you through the sunlit halls of the Keep, his presence felt like a specter lurking just out of reach. Instead of confronting you directly, he observed, his violet gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Meanwhile, the currents of Targaryen drama began to stir anew, this time not over the succession of the Iron Throne, but over the shores of Driftmark and the title of the Lord of Tides.

Lord Vaemond Velaryon was set to make his case, summoned to the court to argue vehemently against Lucerys Velaryon’s claim to the ancestral seat, while the King deliberated on who would wear the mantle of the next successor.

Your mind, however, was torn asunder by the weight of the situation. It was as clear as the midday sun that Rhaenyra's three sons bore the mark of bastardy, the truth hanging in the air like a bitter fog. Yet, despite their dark hair and brown eyes, they were still Princess Rhaenrya's sons, making them true Targaryens, and as long as the crown acknowledged their legitimacy, they had every right to embrace their heritage.

Yet, the specter of justice loomed heavily. They bore no true Valaryon blood in their veins, a fact that rendered their claim to Driftmark similarly disquieting. If they were to inherit such a coveted title, it would be naught but a dagger to the heart of the Velaryon legacy, erasing centuries of honor and heritage in one fell swoop.

But who were you to cast judgment on the matter? You were, after all, a bastard yourself in your own right. With no discernible features from either your father or your mother, the only tether to the Mikaelson name was the multitude of witnesses who could attest to your mother birthing you into this world.

Soon enough, the matter erupted into a grand spectacle, as the Queen had relayed with a glint of grim madness in her eye. Viserys, frail and near death, had heaved himself from his sickbed, a ghost of his former self, to proclaim the legitimacy of his grandsons. That proclamation, laden with tension and bitter truths, secured their claim to Driftmark—an act of desperation that would surely echo through the halls of history. It was not long after this madness that the Prince, Daemon Targaryen, wielded his fury like a sword, severing Vaemond Velaryon's head from his shoulders for daring to call Rhaenyra a whore.

To your great displeasure, Queen Alicent had insisted your presence at the supper of Targaryen and Hightower—a feast destined to spiral into a night of revelry or ruin, most likely the latter. You preferred the shadows, where the light of their self-destructive feud would not touch you, allowing you to observe from afar rather than be ensnared in their political webs. Yet, refusal was a luxury you could not afford.

As the time of the supper approached, you dedicated a substantial time deliberating over your choice of attire. The vibrant hues of black and green were decidedly unfit, signifying discord and allegiances you wished to avoid at all costs. Instead, you selected a gown of soft pink silk, its flowing fabric draping elegantly over your form, a symbol of innocence amidst the clamor of tensions. You wove your hair into intricate braids interspersed with delicate pearls that caught the flickering candlelight, culminating your preparation with a cherished pendant—a family heirloom adorned with the Mikaelson crest.

Stepping into the grand dining hall, you were met with the scrutinizing gazes of the Blacks. Whispers and curious glances darted in your direction as you approached the long table, poised and unwavering, choosing to disregard Aegon's lecherous leers that felt all too familiar. A frown tightened your lips when you spied that both seats beside Helaena were occupied. Resigned yet resolute, you claimed the next available chair—seated close to Aemond.

"My prince," you intoned softly, offering a nod of acknowledgment.

Aemond's violet eye bore into you, a swirl of unspoken thoughts birthing an electric tension between you. Time seemed to stretch as he regarded you, his expression inscrutable, before he replied, "My Lady," his voice low and controlled, yet laden with something you couldn't discern.

With practiced grace, you settled into your seat, the heavy air thick with unspoken politics. You leaned slightly forward, attempting to listen as King Viserys, broken and weary beneath the weight of his crown, delivered a grand speech. He spoke of unity and the bonds of family, though in truth, all you wished for was the freedom to roll your eyes, a habit you had long restrained. His words felt hollow, a poignant irony given his role in fracturing his family as much as he sought to mend it

From what Queen Alicent had confided in you, you were painfully aware of the King's heart-wrenching choice—his decisions that saw his first wife deprived of her future and life, all in favor of the male heir he hoped for. That tragic episode echoed through the halls of the Red Keep, leading to not just his wife but both her and their son's death. And now, as King Viserys eagerly sought the son he so desperately desired, he had all but disregarded Aegon, neglecting the boy from the moment of his first cry.

As the King’s voice echoed in the hall, you caught sight of Helaena, Aegon, and Aemond—each face twisted in quiet agony, a poignant testament to the empty love their father bestowed upon them. In that moment, you felt a surge of empathy and support for them — even Aegon. With a discreet but deliberate motion, you slipped your hand beneath the table, gently covering Aemond’s tightly clenched fist.

He tensed at your touch, but after a heartbeat of hesitation, Aemond relaxed and opened his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. A small squeeze passed between you—a silent token of gratitude that spoke volumes in contrast to the empty words spilling from the King's lips.

As the evening wore on, the air thick with unwelcome tension, your mind began to drift, thoughts becoming a haze as the speeches droned on around you. It was only when Aemond's hand slipped from yours, his presence withdrawing as he rose to his feet, that your gaze sharpened. You found him casting a fierce glare at Jacaerys, who was regaling the gathering with yet another toast.

However, it was Helaena's gentle voice that truly broke through the fog enveloping you. She stood, her lovely countenance illuminated by a warm, sugary smile as she raised her glass high. "I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena," she declared, her tone carrying a dreamy lightness, "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you... except when sometimes he's drunk."

Her words pierced your heart, the bittersweet truth laced within them shattering whatever sympathy you had harbored for Aegon. With a mixture of sorrow and indignation igniting within you, you cast a venomous glare towards Prince Daemon, who, aflame with mirth, laughed at Helaena’s toast. Yet you were not as discreet as you’d hoped; the piercing gaze of Prince Daemon met yours, a knowing smirk creeping upon his lips.

“I do believe I am yet to have the distinct pleasure of being introduced to our guest,” Prince Daemon declared, his voice tinged with the kind of arrogance that could curdle the blood of the unwary. The room fell silent; all attention was drawn to you, as if you were a curious creature caged among the dragons, and you suppressed the urge to sigh at the mischief brewing in his expression.

Queen Alicent cleared her throat—a notable attempt to extricate you from Daemon’s merciless gaze. “She is one of my esteemed ladies, Prince Daemon,” she interjected, her tone hinting at a subtle warning, though the sharpness of the prince’s wit remained unyielding.

“A lady, indeed?” Daemon’s voice was laced with mockery, his eyes flickering over you as if you were an intricate puzzle, “Yet here she sits, so comfortably, as if she belongs to the very blood of House Targaryen.” Daemon replied, the cunning glimmer in his eye only intensifying. He leaned forward, every inch the contemplative predator. “What is your name, my lady?”

The warmth of the hall contrasted sharply with the coolness of his gaze, yet you met it with unwavering resolve, the remnant courage of your lineage steeling your heart as you told him your name and lied about hailing from The Reach, your voice steady, resonating amidst the stillness.

"Mikaelson?" Daemon mused, his smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. His silver hair framed a face both youthful and hardened by conflict, and his voice dripped with the playfulness of a cunning predator. "And yet you're no son."

A tight smile graced your lips, the playful banter igniting the spark of your short temper. "My father has enough sons, I assure you, Prince Daemon," you rebuffed, your tone dipped in irritation.

"How old are you? Six and ten?" he pressed, his gaze unwavering, while you caught sight of young Jacaerys approaching Helaena, asking her for a dance. If only irony were not woven into the very fabric of their fates—how you wished Queen Alicent had seen fit to unite them in a more harmonious bond than the betrothal she made with Helaena and Aegon.

But also at that moment, you recognized the precariousness of your own web of lies. Since your arrival at King's Landing, you had deceived the queen into believing you were six and ten, which in truth you were. Oh, how the centuries rolled by, yet your vampiric nature kept your visage untouched, a fragrant bloom eternally in its prime. It was a game of wit and veiled truths, and you knew well how to play.

You met Daemon’s piercing gaze anew, your expression turning steely, tinged with an edge of irritation. “No, your highness,” you replied, your voice as cool as ice. “I am three-and-twenty.”

Prince Daemon raised a silver eyebrow in surprise. “My, my, even older than Prince Aegon,” he drawled, the words rolled off his tongue like honey laced with venom, aimed to sting, "And unmarried, I presume?"

Though you longed to retort with the truth, that you were even older than him, a creature of darkness preserved by the very essence of your nature, you instead offered a demure smile, saying, “Yes. But I prefer it that way. Much more preferable than marrying whilst I was a girl." Your words, though soft-spoken, held a steel beneath their surface—a blade forged in the fires of countless unsaid anger at the world around you.

Daemon’s lips curled into an amused smirk, and he shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “And yet, that is the world we live in.” His tone was laced with the disillusionment of a man who had seen much—his own brand of charm wrapped in an air of indifference.

“Indeed, a world where old men prey upon young girls,” you countered, your voice steady and unwavering, “but I daresay you are no stranger to such tactics, your highness.” The look of amusement that had brightened Daemon’s features dimmed, his smirk wilting like a flower in winter, which you took great satisfaction in.

You jolted in your seat, when Aemond, seated beside you, suddenly slammed his fist onto the table. The cacophony of music and chatter in the hall fell silent as he rose, his goblet held aloft like a rallying cry. "Last Tribute!" he announced, a boldness in his voice that demanded attention.

You glanced around the room, and the unease reflected in the faces of his kin did not escape you. Aemond continued, "To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong."

A faint gasp escaped your lips as you caught the veiled insult aimed at the Velaryon boys' bastardy. The shocked expressions of the Targaryens around you were a clear indicator that Aemond’s words had struck a nerve. Queen Alicent, her composure straining against the affront to her family, attempted to intervene. "Aemond," she cautioned, her voice taut with concern.

But he paid her no heed, raising his goblet higher, a wicked gleam in his eye as he spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Come… let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys," he declared, the words echoing through the revelry like a distant thunderclap.

The hall fell silent, eyes turning to Jace Velaryon, whose face had flushed a deep crimson, betrayal etching lines into his young features. He advanced on Aemond with the fury of a dragon, fists clenched tight. "I dare you to say that again," he challenged, his words barely concealing the tempest of wrath within him.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond retorted with a smirk that could cut glass. "Do you not think yourself Strong?" The taunt flew from his lips like a well-bred serpent, and before the words had fully settled in the air, Jace's fist met Aemond’s cheek with a resounding smack.

Yet, to Aemond, it seemed naught but a gentle breeze, his expression barely shifting as he staggered back only a pace. His pale violet eye sparkled with mischief, unfazed by Jace's sudden fury.

In a swift motion, you rose from your place at the table, the wooden chair scraping against the stone floor as you moved to intervene. Aemond, with a dismissive shove, pushed Jace down, the young prince hitting the hard ground with a thud.

Without thinking, you stepped towards Helaena, and gently took her by the arm. “Come, boys are such immature creatures, yes,” you said softly, guiding her away from the escalating chaos that threatened to engulf them both. Her wide eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she leaned into your touch, casting a sorrowful glance back at the scene as you ushered her away.

You watched as Aemond stormed out the dining hall, his anger crackling in the air like the storm clouds that often loomed over King's Landing. As chaos settled around you, you felt an impulse, a momentary lapse in resolve, and left Helaena's side to pursue him.

He strode fiercely through the halls of the Red Keep, the glint of his silver hair catching the flickering torchlight. You hurried to match his pace, concern fluttering in your chest. "Aemond," you called out softly, "are you alright?"

The scent of his wrath surrounded him, palpable as the incense in the court. He did not glance your way, his voice a frigid whisper laced with venom. "Absolutely splendid."

Your brow furrowed at the sharpness of his words, and with a hint of naïveté, you responded, "I sense a trace of sarcasm in your tone."

Aemond exhaled sharply, quickening his steps in a feeble attempt to distance himself from your probing presence, but your determination was steady. "Did my mother send you to chastise me?" he snapped, the words like arrows loosed from a drawn bow.

"No," you responded gently, your eyes softening with empathy. "I am here of my own accord, wishing only to know if you are truly well."

His stormy glare wavered for the briefest moment, as if the floodgates within him were on the verge of breaking, as if realising it was you he was talking to. But just as swiftly, he clamped down on it, his demeanor hardening once more. Suddenly, he halted and turned to face you, the tension palpable in the air between you.

You lifted your chin defiantly, unwilling to cower beneath the intensity of his stare. "Knowing," he began, his voice low and resonant. "And yet I find I do not know you at all."

Your brow furrowed, a hint of confusion playing at the corners of your lips. "I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean."

He raised a hand, holding out three fingers as if counting off a point. "Three things," he affirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. "I now know three things about you: your name, your home, and that you have brothers."

You paused, gazing at him with wide, innocent eyes, your voice a gentle whisper, "You seem troubled by this knowledge."

He exhaled heavily, pressing a knuckle to the jagged scar that marred his skin, perhaps seeking solace from its lingering pain. A part of you longed to ease his suffering. "It is only my frustration that weighs heavily upon me," he confessed, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and longing. "You hold the knowledge of my life in your hands, yet I know naught of your story."

You crossed your arms defiantly, donning a mask of indifference, "I do not understand the depth of your frustration."

Aemond's singular violet eye bore into your soul with an intensity that made your heart race. "I suspect you do. You are well aware of the affections I hold for you."

A sharp breath caught in your throat as you shook your head, dismissing the peculiar warmth blossoming within your chest. "Those were mere whims of a boy, your grace," you retorted, attempting to cloak your uncertainty in bravado.

His gaze remained unwavering, a storm of emotion swirling within that piercing eye. "Yet here I stand, no longer a boy, and the flames of my desire for you still burn fierce."

"You mustn't speak so," you urged, desperation threading through your voice like a fraying rope.

"Why ought I to remain silent?" Aemond shrugged, a hint of defiance lacing his words. "This is but the truth of my heart."

"Which is wholly improper," you retorted fiercely, the tension between you thickening in the wake of your words.

An awkward silence enveloped you both, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Aemond cleared his throat, shifting the fragile atmosphere. "You held your own remarkably well against my uncle's incessant probing," he remarked, seeking lighter ground.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as a tendril of chill from the nearby window touched your skin, though the coolness hardly bothered you. "There is only one man who may speak to me in such a manner," you replied with a touch of defiance, "and that is my brother."

“Mhm,” Aemond murmured, his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity in his violet eye that seemed to pierce through the very air between you. “Pray, tell me more.”

You stifled a roll of your eyes, at once annoyed and amused by his insatiable curiosity. "I am the youngest of six," you said, your tone now lighthearted yet elusive, "and my favorite color is pink. Might that suffice for your unquenchable thirst for knowledge about me?"

His lips curved in a smirk, his gaze unwavering. "No," he replied, his voice low and firm. "It shall never be enough."

With a genuine exasperation, you rolled your eyes this time, a small smile betraying your annoyance. "Well, if you must know—"

But your words were abruptly stolen by Aemond’s boldness. His strong hands cupped your face, his touch igniting a warmth that seeped through the layers of silk between you. In an instant, his warm, soft lips met yours, and time seemed to freeze. Your heart raced, an unexpected firework of emotion exploding within you as you instinctively leaned into him, responding to the kiss despite the whirlwind of confusion in your mind.

Yet reality came crashing back as your senses settled, and you hastily broke away from him, breathless and bewildered. The air in the room felt charged, and you glared at him, regaining your composure and a semblance of control

The fool wore a dopey grin, that infuriatingly charming smile that only deepened your ire. You shot him a withering look. “I was speaking,” you pointedly reminded him.

His brows knitted in confusion, a flicker of surprise on his face. “What?”

You planted your hands defiantly on your hips, your indignation brewing like a storm. “I was speaking, and you interrupted me! Not only that, but you did not seek my permission to claim my lips.”

Aemond’s laughter rang like the chiming of bells, an amused glimmer in his eye as he observed your vexation. “Very well, my lady. May I kiss you again?”

Your irritation flared, your cheeks warming with a blend of anger and embarrassment. You took a deliberate step back, confusion simmering just beneath your skin. “No, of course not. You have already stolen a kiss from me, but I shall not so easily grant you another.” You held back the childish urge to stomp your foot in frustration. With a petulant huff, you turned on your heel to storm away, your voice carrying a wisp of indignation. “This is most improper and indecent! Good night, your Highness.”

“Good night, my Lady Love,” Aemond murmured, his violet gaze lingering on you until you vanished around a distant corner. His heart swelled with an unexpected mix of hope and affection, the chaotic Targaryen supper and the impending shadows of war fading from his mind. With a tender gesture, he brushed his fingertip against the spot where your lips had just brushed against his, savoring the memory.

And as you stalked off into the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the weight of his gaze lingered, leaving you with a tumult of emotions swirling in your mind, an echo of the kiss that you could neither dismiss nor desire to forget.

[semischarmed]

Hunter, Part 2

In the past few days, you’ve turned your neighbor into your own hedonistic puppet. Hunter’s major life changes were a shock to friends and family alike, but they were ultimately supportive as they helped you, his “new boyfriend”, move into your new apartment together. It only turned you on even more to see them cheer and congratulate Hunter, when you maneuvered his body into leaning over to kiss you sensually while your hand cups his right ass cheek possessively. You drew that particular kiss out, partially because he just tasted that good, and partially to goad Hunter.

Next came everything else- bank accounts, social media, Hunter made you a piece of all of it. 

“You’re not gonna get awa-w….” Hunter’s body shudders before it lick’s its lips, laying a seductive stare on you. “Coming to bed, babe?” You knew that part always killed him. You make him watch as you don his recently used gym clothes, still reeking of his sweat and warm with his latest session. You take a quick whiff, enjoying the feeling of his sweat glide across your flesh and his scent permeate into you. 

The raw, sharp stench of his used compression clothing hung heavy in the room but it wasn’t like Hunter was any better. These past few days were some of the most tiring for him- you loved making his flesh work out, loved the scents and grime he caked himself with, and ultimately decided to keep his body from showering. Hunter probably reeked to everyone else, but he smelled perfect to the only person allowed to matter in his life.

You slide up to him in bed, forcing him to wrap tone arms and legs around you like a warm blanket of flesh. He holds his phone up to your face, letting it unlock as he loads up his Instagram. Hunter was still somewhat connected to his University’s frat, so you had many options.

You make him lick your cheek seductively. You shuddered. “I wanna know what it feels like… To take one of my bros, to watch the betrayal in their eyes while I jam them full of our seed.” Immediately, Hunter wrestles back control, only managing to whimper. Inside him, you can feel your joint seed- the worms you initially used to infect him writhe and wriggle in pleasure. 

You grab the phone, turning to the side as you continue to scroll through his Instagram. Meanwhile, you make Hunter touch himself, self-pleasuring until he reaches climax. You squirm in pleasure as he releases, feeling his body’s pleasure as an extension of yourself. His cum instantly solidifies. Instead of worms, your slithering offspring together expand in size, taking on a more snake-like appearance. You let one flow into your mouth, intending to let it settle in your body like a spring-loaded trap in case you needed a new puppet. You savor the flavor of the singular snake while forcing Hunter to swallow the rest of the serpents. Mmmmm. Tastes just like Hunter.

Hunter convulses as your offspring together reintegrate into his being. Without acknowledging his spasming form, you pull up one of the current members of his old frat. 

“Jake. Junior. Sports Medicine. ATO… Looks like he has a personal training course. What do you think?” You ask the shaking Hunter. You see the veins on his temples enlarge in struggle and his face flush red.

“F-F…. Fuck Yeah”.

- - - - -

“Hey man. You sure you wanna do this in the forest?” Jake asked. So far, that only emotion you've seen come across his face is mild disinterest.

“Yeah…” you reply coolly through Hunter. God it turned you on just hearing his voice relay your thoughts. Hunter gagged internally. He stewed in disgust at feeling his own body act so naturally despite your impure intentions.

You can tell from Jake’s willingness to accommodate, you must have been one of his first clients. It was pretty clear why. Though popular, he wasn’t particularly charismatic. He’s posted at least one or two others- members of his own frat, but you wonder how many other actual clients he had. It was likely not much, considering how easy it was to convince him to agree to start the session the middle of the forest. 

You readjusted in your seat, trying to hide your growing boner. Corrupting Hunter’s own secret spot into a trap laid out for Jake brought its own unique pleasure, but having to force his body to drive made it difficult to keep your own emotions at bay. You internally thank how little of your actual intention leaked. Hunter’s sincerity was one of his best traits, and you readily dispensed it at will, turning it into your own personal weapon.

Deeper and deeper, you drive Hunter to guide your party into the woods. Getting to the remote location felt even longer than before, perhaps due to your excitement. You look at your phone in glee as signal slowly dwindles. Eventually, your party stops at the water’s edge. You admire your handiwork as you look in satisfaction at the sheer stillness in Hunter’s Lake. 

“Uh, so you’re actually already pretty built but we can still work on bulking you up.” His lips follow a flat smile, but his eyes betray his lack of interest. “You said you wanted to get jacked? What about your friend over there?” You smile a little at his nonchalance. It was almost cute seeing him try to secure another client. Oh Jake, I can’t wait to use that tight bod to get ourselves some more ‘clients’.

“My boyfriend”, you correct him through Hunter. “Is just here to watch... I l-like it when he watches”. You anticipate Jake’s reaction to this bizarre response, but the only change in his somewhat bored expression is a slight raise in his eyebrows. Hunter’s face is forced to mimic your sinister glee. Too easy. 

“Sure bro, whatever floats your boat…” he relays back with a tone that feels like an eye roll. “Just saying, he could probably really benefit from this program.” Bored eyes survey your main body up and down. “I can make you strong, bro”. That brings a filthy smile to your face. 

“You’re about to”, you moan.

Jake looks slightly confused for second, but his attention immediately focuses on Hunter’s approaching form, hands placed across his flesh, raking every piece of himself in pleasure. 

“W-“ Jake is cut short as he is pushed several feet back into the lake water below. Amusement paints your face. Evidently, you underestimated the strength bound in Hunter’s body. 

In more emotion than you’ve ever seen him have, the frat bro seizes at the sharp drop in temperature, yelping before he feels his heart drop and face turn pale. Slithering. All over him. He looks around in shock at a mass of serpents, coiling and writhing beneath the once-still water. You could tell he had a sixth sense for their unnatural nature. Too little too late. 

Water splashes everywhere as Jake makes a beeline for shore. He chokes on the lake water a little and stumbles out but he does make it. Jake continues running inland despite being covered in snakes, hoping to flee into the forest. He slowly trudges to a halt, pinned upright as your snakes continue swirling around him.

True to Hunter’s name, you had booby-trapped the water during a previous visit, forcing his body to the brink as it deposited wave after wave of your joined semen. As soon as his seed left his warm flesh, it instantly solidified together, forming sizable serpents. Quite the upgrade from those worms.

Even now, you continue through Hunter, forcing him to pump his dick and blow out another load of your serpentine offspring. His eyes go glassy as they combine into larger forms. This time, they slither around Hunter’s flesh. His eyes fall on the helpless Jake, blinking once in sincere dread before you moan. As you do, his face twitches in discomfort until he is forced to moan as well, bringing a shaking hand back over his dick to pump out another load. And another still. Wave after tireless wave of snakes. Each wave adds to the one before, growing your snake larger and larger, until one several feet long is coiling itself around Hunter. 

You were up to your fifth wave of offspring now. Jake is staring in horror, trying to escape the writhing clutches of your previous trap. Hunter’s body is past its limits. He’s slack-jawed, mouth agape and chest coated in waves of drool. He exudes a thick, pungent sheen of sweat. Your eyes lazily fall back on the personal trainer. 

Jake too is drenched in sweat and struggle and slick with the hybrid cum of you and your previous hunt. He continues to look in fear at the barely conscious, tired beyond measure Hunter. Hunter is still reeling from what his body was just puppetted into doing. In this state, there’s no fight left in your “boyfriend’s” mind. He was only strung up into lucidity by the web of your cells in folds of his brain. 

You will your own body unconscious, feeding the full stream of your thoughts into your hot neighbor. Despite the refinement in control, you still feel the slightest lag, slight delay in each movement. But with this new level of control, you feel blood rushing into his sore dick. His height alone was already a shift from your previous body. Longer, stronger limbs at your beckoning. You feel them brimming with power. Every sensation, every breath through his lungs felt grounding. Without Hunter inside wrestling for control, every movement felt more precise, every sense more vibrant. Hunter’s body resonates with your mind, feeling more like an extension of yourself. You strip yourself, taking your time to enjoy the new sensations.

You blink through Hunter’s tired eyes, boring his hazel irises into Jake’s, and smirk. “Don’t worry. You’re so big… I bet you can take all of us.” You drop to your knees, laying the large serpent into the ground. 

You give Jake a show, starting to hump the air. With each thrust, your serpentine offspring begin to coil further and further around the whimpering Jake. “Please!” He screams. “What do you want? Money? I’ll give you anything, bro!” He shouts as he tries to shake off the snakes. “I-I don’t wanna die” he states in panic. 

You walk up and lean Hunter’s face up to his cheek, your puppet’s warmth like a blanket over his body. You breathe out hot damp air through Hunter lungs. Jake slightly winces at your proximity. “You’re not gonna fucking die, bro”. You lick the side of his face. Salty. “Would be such a waste of that delectable bod”. You can feel Hunter’s consciousness begin to reemerge. He tries to wriggle back control, his disgust apparent. He’s revolted at what’s become of him. Once kind. Once normal. Now depraved. Now yours. You wield him with little care. With a cockiness and a cruelty that paid no respect to the man he once was. “Look at this fucking hunk. This puppet. This meatsuit.” You let your Hunter-bound dick gently graze Jack’s abdomen while moaning out through his deep voice. “Does he look dead to you?”

“No, You’re gonna live. And I’m gonna live. With you… In you. Through. You.” With that, you position Hunter out of the way as your largest offspring slithers its way into the convulsing Jake.

Jake starts hyperventilating as it inches closer and closer into his bound form. You ball your Hunter’s hand into a fist. The snakes already surrounding his flesh tighten even further. He gasps as the first cum-drenched serpent pokes at his ass. He looks back as you start to feed it in, shaking as he tries to control his pleasure when it rushes past his prostate.  

With his mouth slightly open, you feed foot upon foot of yourself. He tries to retch, but that only gives more space for the snake to slip even further into him. 

Once half of the large serpent is comfortably inside, you will the rest of the snakes up his asshole. Jake shudders, unable to fully vocalize his screams. He falls to the ground in a dull thud, convulsing while his body is forced to accommodate the extra mass of your offspring. You hear creaks and groans in his flesh, chest and stomach distended and writhing with your offspring.

Jake is reduced to soft squelching noises when the last of the large serpent slips in, sealing his fate. His shaking hands grip his neck as he tries to fight off the intrusion. He’s far too late, however. He thrashes in the ground, kicking dirt as two snakes slip between his muscle fibers. You entrench yourself into the man, willing more serpents into the folds of his extremities before making them burst back into Hunter-enhanced cum. 

He whimpers, back arching in unnatural angles as you weave the largest serpent into the deepest parts of his body. He eventually quiets into stillness. Unable to move out of fear. It’s only for a moment, however. A splashing sound is heard from deep within his flesh as you explode the snake and coat most of his insides with your seed. You feel your cells begin to hijack his, merging and imposing you into his body. 

You feel your main body stir to life, panting. Hunter’s naked body immediately drops to the ground, unconscious. Controlling these snakes seems to take a lot out of you. You look back at Jake. You still lack fine control of his body. This body is strong too. You feel his muscle fibers fight you, defying your commands through sheer force of will. You lick your lips, causing the sleeping Hunter to do the same. Manipulating both bodies felt like its own workout, especially when they resist. You instead focus more attention on your latest capture.

You wrap one snake around one of his vocal cords and bite. A strand of drool escapes slightly parted lips as his mouth moves with sluggish rigidity. With other bits of control. you clumsily force him to strip. Veins pop around his neck and his face contorts in pain. As you wrap another snake around more of his vocal cords, he relents his voice to you. “I can already tell this body’s a fuckin alpha.” God it felt good to puppet Jake. He twitches in struggle and then pats his abs. They don’t move at all from his hand but they ripple intensely with the writhing of the flesh you lodged inside him. His lips quiver but he is eventually forced to smile- and then a cocky flex. It feels entirely foreign coming out of him. 

A few of your serpents slip into his balls, coiling and coating them with the mix of Hunter’s seed and your own. Hunter already had potency, but you could tell Jake was on another level. You wanted it. All of it. All of him. You inject yourself into every piece of his seed factory, and Jake seizes as he feels his future surrender to you. He feels a wrongness to his core, as you root into his very essence, his potential legacy. Jake sticks his tongue out in your delirious pleasure. He pulls up to your main body, grinding into you while smearing testosterone laden sweat all over your body. “That’s fuckin right. Get in me. All of it. This body- my baby batter’s yours. Inject us into my friends. My family…” He moans. 

Another snake wedges into the folds of his brain before biting. A mix of your cum and Hunter’s floods his mind. Jake grips his head in pain as he’s forced to surrender every thought, feeling, dream he’s ever had. You move your offspring in sync to perfectly imitate Jake. He starts to strip, letting you witness the full glory of his drenched body. ”I’ve always wanted kids. Your kids- Our kids are gonna be so fucking strong. Daddy Jake will make them strong”. He taunts himself as he feels his own body up. “I’m fucking delicious”. With your increased focus, he’s a bit easier to handle. A bead of sweat falls on your main body. Still fucking hard to pilot. “Cmon bro, this all you got?” You make him say to himself. Jake blinks away tears, betrayed by his own flesh and muscle. 

Suddenly, you see a tired Hunter wake, sickened to his core, but free. You instantly try to flex the pieces of yourself still embedded inside him but he resists. Your main body falls into sleep again to solidify your control over Jake’s body. The worn Hunter starts to scramble away before you rush him with Jake’s body, pinning him with your new strengthened biceps. Power. Hunter had good qualities, but Jake was a powerhouse. Raw, muscled power. He was brimming with it, body soaked in the stuff. And it was now yours. Jake’s face animates with your delight. “Oh Hunter…” you coo. “You’re a fighter, aren’t you? I don’t think you’re fighting your way out of this one,” You sake with Jake’s virile voice, opening your mouth so he can see a resolidified snake. It was larger this time, more menacing. You close Jake’s mouth again as his face is pulled into your smile. 

“Here, have a taste”, you make him say, as you pull Hunter into a savage kiss. You fashion your new mouth into a wide smile regurgitating the newly thickened snake. Hunter chokes on your serpent, eyes rolling to the back of his head. The new offspring you’ve forced out of Jake and Hunter’s genetic material is mighty. Dominant. Hunter’s throat expands to allow the intrusion. He’s still weary from the past few days and newfound freedom, and you feel just one of these snakes are enough for full control. Permanent control. The enhanced piece of you begins dissolving and weaving itself into Hunter’s flesh. "You're mine". You hold him in place as he jolts, body twisting and contorting to try in vain to fight it. As his trembling slowly subsides, you watch in glee as his sullen face slowly rise to meet Jake’s eyes, growing smirk on his face mirroring yours.

Your control slowly wanes when your main body rises out of its sleep. You bring Hunter into a deep, wet kiss, before placing your attention back on Jake. Hunter’s flesh moves to your command, just like before, but this time, any resistance is tamped down by your new Jake-enhanced cum. You are still slightly out of breath from controlling his body, but with nowhere near the difficulty you had before.

The triple vision causes you to stagger, but you quickly get used to puppetting two bodies at once. This time, it was Jake’s turn to form a resistance. His body jerks as he tries to brute force command of his own body back. You wrestle it back, forcing a shaking hand to grab his dick and start pumping. You bring Hunter’s hand over, supporting. Your two hands are coarse, and your control over them is somewhat rough. Regardless, you quicken to a breakneck speed, barely leaving time for Jake’s body to gasp.

Jake’s dick releases in a torrent of cum. It coats Hunter’s body, but with your control, he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he moans, scooping it into his hands and bringing it up to your Jake body’s mouth. You make your frat bro slurp the mixture own seed, Hunter, and yours. Jake’s fighting the urge to vomit, but to you it tastes divine. You make him swirl his tongue inside his mouth, corralling every last piece of it deeper inside. 

Making Jake reinfect himself made all three of your bodies hard. Jake squirms in and out of control. He’s forced to grope his own muscles while he feels himself saturate with you, his own Adonis bod reduced into an avatar of your pleasure. He’s ready. You bring your newly infested puppet close. His deep chest heaves for you. Voice dripping with your perversion, “I’ll make you strong bro” you make Jake say in a corruption of his own catchphrase. “This is peak performance”. You can practically feel him fight with every fiber of his being. His bulging musculature spams. You drool with anticipation, pinning his body and yours to a tree with Hunter’s gyrating flash. ”Be one with me” you sing in Hunter’s voice. “O..On..with…. me“, you start to be able to reply back as Jake. “O-o-one…” His head shakes side to side, fighting you intrusion. You pinpoint your mind, like a hypodermic needle to his psyche. “One with me,” He gasps in ecstasy. 

“You fuckin freak….” Jake’s face pulls in a deep smile as he moans. You already have him acting atypically, it borders on unnatural as his lips pull into a smile wider than he’s ever made in his life. He now faces your main body, face closer than you ever would have dared to have it before. “Sin in my body….” He winces in one last bit of resistance, a small tear pooling in his eye. “Let’s make my parent’s cry…” He leans down to you for a kiss, letting you taste every piece of him with your main body for the first time. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he’s forced to suck out the snake you swallowed a few days ago. He gurgles a little before sending a Jake-imbued serpent, drenched in his testosterone and musk, down your throat. You make him pull back, looking at you with his signature bored expression, now tainted with your lust. “Own me”. His hand grabs yours, pulling it over his ass cheek and forcing a squeeze. “From now on… I am yours” 

- - - - - 

It took a few hours to make your way back but you finally manage. This time, Jake drove back. Drawing on the sleeping Hunter's knowledge. His car and the route back are second nature.

Jake places a hand on your inner thigh and smiles. Before long, your back in town and you send the aspiring personal trainer on his way.

You lay back in bed, curling up to your Hunter body. He still reeks but you can’t wait to start concocting your own concentrated Jake-flavored scent. You sigh contentedly, satisfied with your newest acquisition.

Doesn’t hurt to have a little test drive. 

Your two bodies peacefully lull into slumber as you flood the full force of your consciousness into Jake’s body. His face flashes in a split-second resistance before settling back. You fit the shape of your psyche to match his brain, slowly sliding into a deepened control. He has been carrying on as normal, so when you open his eyes as your own for the first time and gasp you first Jake-breath, you immediately adapt to his nonchalance. You survey your new surroundings.

He’s at the school gym, with what looks like one of his ATO brothers. It’s quite empty, probably due to how late it was. You pull one of his half-smiles. You couldn’t believe your luck at the fine man before you. You extract information from Jake’s mind.

A model, at least part time. Smart. Charismatic. “He’s cute, too,” You taunt Jake. “Thanks for the bro, bro”.

One of the snakes you have in his body coils in excitement, but you will it to be still. Might as well finish his routine. You can’t help but push Jake’s body past its limit as you barrel your way through his sets. 

You had a glimpse of his raw power previously, but it paled in comparison to this. As you smash through set after set in his body, you feel deeply in tune with Jake. His heart pumps mightly. Your cells already course through his bloodstream, so the action squeezes you into him further and only solidifies your bond together. His lungs are like engines, you’ve never felt so much energy inside you. You want to keep the charade of his normal personality up, but you can’t help but giggle. So good. So fucking good.

Hunter was dependable, and it felt amazing fully wearing his mind, but Jake was another beast entirely. You feel drunk in his body, in his vitality, in feeling his muscles conform to your thoughts. Your two bodies in Hunter’s apartment start squirming, leaking a bit of precum. Your mind is twisted and slotted into every piece of Jake's. His inner self winces as your very being, very sense of self leeches out of every crevice in his, neurons force-fed your commands. Your Jake-flavored thoughts course through his body, the perfect housing to your newly added self. This was truly being Jake. Wearing him in all senses but physical. And being Jake is a fuckin party.

It wasn’t just sensation. Thoughts themselves felt euphoric. Through his eyes, the world seems just a bit brighter. His mouth is intimately aware of the flavor of his own saliva. And his nose... you take a deep whiff of the perspiration caking his armpits, drenched in his musk. Divine. A moan escapes your mouth, prompting a quick turn from Dylan. God, we even sound good when we moan together. Jake’s face immediately reverts to its normal, dull demeanor. You raise your eyebrows slightly, just like Jake does, as you catch his eyeline, arousing no suspicion. Dylan promptly returns to his exercises, unaware of the danger wearing his best friend. You put Jake in the forefront, only for a moment, relishing in his sense of freedom before immediately straddling his psyche. You ride it as he is forced to bring trembling fingers up to his nipples. You give them a good rub. Oh my god. Another moan, but Dylan ignores it this time. That gets the two of you even harder.

You continue to straddle Jake’s inner sense of self as you work through his last set. It felt good to have him around, to witness how much more powerful he was when you were puppetting his bod. “We’re so fucking strong together,” you grunt in a proud aggression. Jake’s emotions felt far more raw than Hunter’s so it was difficult reining them in. 

Large dumbbells fall to the ground in a loud thunk. Jake’s body- your body is spent. His flesh cries in pain and soreness, but even that felt amazing through his bod. You are intimately aware of his tired flesh. It’s tender, but not for long. You feel the fibers of his being, coated in your conjoined seed getting buried in the folds of his growing muscles. Like all bodies after a workout, his body courses with growth hormones. Mass. His flesh condenses, builds itself stronger, unwillingly with you inlaid deep within them. You whimper in ecstacy. This is yours. He is yours. All yours. Irreversibly yours.

You roar, proud of Jake, of the new branch of your being. You will his tired form upright. He drools as his body whines in soreness. You lap it up, his face filling with determination as you prepare for your next hunt.

Your body is soaked, oozing with Jake’s sweat and scent. You pay no mind as you slowly walk towards Dylan, who had just finished his last set. You can barely mask your excitement through Jake’s normal demeanor. God you look even better up close. Your muscled hand reaches out, offering to pull him up. You ‘accidentally’ pull him too hard and into your awaiting hug. You laugh it off but you can tell that emotion alone was already offputting to Dylan. Fuck it, let’s be one already.

You waste no time, wrapping Dylan with your larger frame. Your ATO bro flails, trying to escape your clutches. He's far too weak to resist, post-workout. Instead you pull his head, up to your nose for a quick whiff of your future scent. Your eyelids flutter a little. He smells fancy.

You tug on Jake’s memories, “Bro, it was so fun getting to know you this semester. Gets me so hard just thinking about that tight little ass of yours.” You start grinding Jake’s body into Dylan. Letting him feel Jake’s hard on.

Dylan is stammering, clearly worried at the hybrid personality of Jake and your perversion. This person in front of him is Jake. It’s undeniably Jake, but it feels so wrong. Your muscled hand grips his chin, turning it from one side to another. “We’re gonna be more than bros, Dylan.” That causes him to struggle more. “You got the cutest face in ATO. Can’t fucking wait to wear it. Ready to be one?”

Dylan starts tossing himself around, as he sees the large snake slowly rising from Jake’s smile. You use your newfound muscle man to keep him steady. Another perk of being entrenched in Jake’s body. You waste no time, forcing Dylan to gorge himself on you, Jake and Hunter’s hybrid seed. 

He makes gurgling noises as you coil and worm into your new bod, and the last sight he sees is Jake pleading “sorry”. Dylan’s shaking stops, arms hanging lifelessly. Jake is still whimpering his sorrys as you brute force your bond into Dylan. It’s normally an arduous process, but being betrayed by his best friend turns his corruption into quick work. His mind succumbs to you easily, still in shock.

Jake is still sobbing “sorry” as he holds you upright. Your eyes slowly blink open, looking to Jake in confusion at first. He opens his mouth, wanting to ask if you were still you but you abruptly use your new body to pull him into a kiss. You force Jake to reciprocate, giving him a forbidden taste of his best bro’s essence.

“No need to be sorry bro,” you moan. “Actually... thank you, Jake. Thank you for stuffing this tight bod with his flesh.” You start to mock Jake by wearing your new body’s sincerity as you continue. “I’ve always wanted to be turned into a meat puppet. This was my deepest desire”. You hum.

Wearing Dylan was equally arousing and you feel Jake squirm in disgust at feeling his best friend’s growing hard on. You start to dance in Dylan’s tight bod, shaking more of your cells deeper in the process. “I’ve always wanted to be slut. And for my best, most trusted bro to be the one to infect me!” You cackle. “You feel him, don’t you?” You moan. “You can tell there’s no going back…”  Jake starts to shake as you resume control, this time dispersing your mind across both bodies. 

You pull back Jake to the forefront of his own mind, again strapping him to your own thoughts so he can fully watch and experience himself defile his best friend’s body. Jake’s body returns a hedonistic sneer. “Hell yeah brother…” You slam Dylan to the gym floor and begin stripping both frat men. “We can take the rest of ATO-“ both bodies briefly moan at the thought of corrupting their own brothers. “But, gratitude, bro. Lemme taste you first. Gonna stuff you so full of my cum, you’ll always have a piece of Jake inside of you,” You chuckle. “Well, more what's already there”.

= = = = =

Phew, another long one. But when have they ever not been long?

[sha-n-dowbannedlol]

Miguel O'Hara — Love Sick

a/n: i've been slaving over genetics (and biochemistry) lately, and when i was scrolling on tiktok during my break i saw this one superbat imagine and thought of writing it with my favorite geneticist

cw: uh just fluff ig, miguel o'hara is not good with feelings, miguel o'hara is emotionally constipated

You haven't always had the best of luck in your life.

It wasn't so bad that it made you hit rock bottom, but you've had your fair share of moments where you ended up drawing the shortest end of the stick in the game we all call life.

And as you stare at Peter's hand balled to a fist, and yours with two of your fingers pointed out, his hand forming a rock and yours forming scissors, you quickly conclude that this is one of those moments.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't put losing to Peter in rock, paper, and scissors as top 5 of the worst moments of your life; however, this is different. To explain just how different it was, we need to go back to a few minutes ago, the reason why you and Peter had to play in the first place.

Not long ago, you received an alert from the Spider-Man 2099 himself asking for backup. You didn't bother to respond as Jess had already reassured you that she's got him—as it turns out, she, in fact, does not have him when she teleported back with an unconscious Miguel draped over her shoulder.

That, in itself, is already worrying enough. But what worried you more was Lyla's report on your boss' situation, relaying the information to Miguel's inner circle of most trusted Spider-people, including you.

"He's been hit with a love potion, an incredibly potent one at that," Lyla reports, her holographic form adjusting her heart glasses and typing away on her holographic computer. "It hasn't kicked in yet, but it will the moment he wakes up," Lyla adds before looking up from her computer, disappearing and reappearing in the middle of the huddled-up spiders

"And when he does, he'll be head-over-heels in love with the first person he sees," The AI informed them in a serious tone, before grinning like the mischievous rascal she is.

"So... Who will the lucky person be?"

It has been decided amongst your group that whoever loses shall be the unfortunate soul that needs to deal with Miguel's affection until Lyla and the other Spiders have concocted an antidote for everyone's admired boss.

And now, you stare back at your hand, then at Peter's, and back at your own hand again. Silence fills Miguel's spacious office as all eyes land on you, and you can feel your cheeks already starting to warm up.

"Can't we just blindfold him?" You spoke before anyone else could, looking over at the holographic AI, who seemed a bit too pleased with the results. "Or lock him in a room or something?"

"Don't be so barbaric," Peter spoke with amusement in his voice.

"Right. Besides, it can't be that bad!" Lyla spoke, her voice with a hint of something that you can't quite put your finger on. Mischievousness? Teasing? Hinting at something she knows but you don't? You didn't know for sure.

"I think Miguel would prefer being locked in a room than being lovesick for an entire day." You respond with a sigh as Peter practically drags you toward where Miguel is currently lying unconscious, and you have no other choice but to let him.

You were a person of your word. You can't possibly back out now just because you lost.

You tense slightly as your spider sense alerts you that Miguel is starting to wake up, feet glued to the floor when he starts to stir.

"You'll be fine," Jess tried to comfort you with a poorly hidden amused smile on her face, followed by Peter patting your back, and you didn't have to turn around to sense that he'd already whipped his phone out to record the whole scene.

The whole room was tense, or perhaps it was just you. Ice ran through your veins the more Miguel moved, and you could feel everyone's eyes on you as his hand moved to rub one eye before finally, finally.

His eyes flutter open.

Ruby red irises land on your form, and you can see a hint of your reflection from his intense gaze. The first person he saw as he awoke.

He stares at you in silence, gaze glued to yours, raking over your visibly tense form as you stare back at him. His face remains neutral, and you're already bracing yourself for his affection—may it be in the form of verbal affection or physical affection.

Miguel then leans forward to sit, before slowly standing up.

You watch as he takes steps toward you, his hand already rising and about to reach out. Your heart skips a few beats, trying to beat right out of your chest to meet his own halfway.

When he was closer to you, you tense up even more, ready to be pulled into his arms...

Except... he just slipped past you.

The hand he raised earlier ran through his hair, his eyes now on Jess.

"Mission report," Miguel demanded in his usual neutral, gruff tone as everyone looked at him with jaws dropped, all dumbfounded by his casualness.

The drowsiness seems to have left Miguel by then as he looks at everyone. He raises a brow in confusion as he notices everyone's stupified expressions and Peter's phone still pointed at him as if they were expecting something from him.

"What?" He asks, brow still raised.

"That's... This isn't how it's supposed to go!" Peter was the first to speak, begrudgingly putting his phone in his robe's pocket.

"Peter, I'm already not feeling well." Miguel responds, brow scrunched as he turns to face Peter, "I have no time for your antics, and that goes for you, too." He adds, pointing towards you on the last part.

Lyla's hologram hen shows up on Miguel's shoulder, bent over and examining Miguel's face, a hand on her chin as she hums. Her boss raises his brow again at this, trying to shoo her away, only for her to keep insisting.

"You were hit with a love potion, Miguel. Quite a potent one, too." Lyla informs the man who's looking at her with a skeptical look in his eyes as she continues, "I calculated its effects would include being down bad in love with the first person you see when you regain consciousness."

Miguel blinks at that, his eyes landing on you, and you recognize the flicker of understanding in his gaze as he does before looking back to Lyla and to the disappointed Peter and the less-visibly disappointed but still very much disappointed Jess.

"Well, it didn't work." Was his simple response, which caused a groan to resound from Peter and a shake of a head from Jess.

"Come on, not even a bit?" Peter asks, looking at Miguel with narrowed eyes. "Look at them, don't you feel like pulling them into your arms and kissing them until the sun sets?"

"First off, that's highly inappropriate," Miguel responds, his hand coming up to pinch his nose bridge in between his fingers to nurse a headache already starting to come up. He says your name exasperatedly, "Please don't mind him. You know how he is."

Before Peter can voice out the offense he took to Miguel's words, Jess speaks up with curiosity and a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"But how come it didn't work?" Jess asks, her brows furrowing in confusion, looking at Miguel, whose face remained neutral despite her questioning. "Lyla was so sure it affected you, and it affected you enough that you lost consciousness, and suddenly it just... didn't have an effect?"

Miguel clears his throat at that, subtly looking to Lyla to give Jess an explanation that would sate her curiosity and make her suspicions die down, but you suddenly spoke to his rescue.

"Perhaps it has something to do with his DNA?" You infer, humming softly to yourself, "His DNA is different from ours, and most of the time, he's immune to potions and poisons because he isn't human enough to be affected by them. Right?"

Your eyes meet Miguel's as you ask for confirmation, and your breath hitches at the sheer intensity of his gaze as he looks back at you. Still, this wasn't anything new. Miguel can be kind of intense and intimidating, even if he doesn't mean to.

"Pretty much." It was Lyla who confirmed your theory on behalf of Miguel, and before anyone could speak, Miguel swiftly interjected.

"Alright, the show's over." He spoke, looking over at everyone and individually giving instructions in order to get all of you off of his back.

"Jess, I need that report before the end of the day. Peter, weren't you supposed to go home early today? Look after your pregnant wife." Miguel spoke before turning to look at you, "And you, I have a mission for you."

One by one, the three of you leave his office, with you being the last one after he briefs you on the mission with Lyla's assistance. Miguel's eyes were glued to your back as you left, much to your obliviousness.

"It worked, didn't it?" Lyla coos suddenly, snapping Miguel out of his thoughts, making him jump slightly and snap his eyes from your figure and towards his holographic AI.

"What worked?" Miguel tried to feign innocence, looking away from Lyla as he turned toward his many screens.

"The Love Potion. It worked." Lyla continues to tease him, grinning at him knowingly as she lays on her stomach in the air, kicking her feet. "You're just so in love with them already that it didn't make a difference."

Miguel remained silent for a while at her teasing words, but the reddish tint blooming on his tan cheeks was enough of an answer to the AI already. Besides, she's the one subjected to Miguel's eyes, always following you around like a lost puppy whenever you're in the room.

"If you tell anyone, I'm shutting you down."

"No, you're not."

".....No, I'm not."

[cheriladycl01]

None of my Achievements are my Own - Lando Norris x Verstappen! Reader

Plot: Being the little sister of Max Verstappen, Ex Girlfriend of Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris current girlfriend nothing that you do, seems to reflect on you, it’s always one of the men in your life getting the credit.

Coming from a family with the last name Verstappen, made anything you did as a child not good enough.

You won a medal in your swimming class, Max had won 3.

You raised €600 euro selling baked cakes across your village for the local environment agency. Max had raised €2000 for his local karting track to get new tires around the edges for protection and have the track relayed.

They were silly little things but as a kid, you never felt appreciated by your family and it wasn’t just your dad, it seemed to be your mum too. Max and Victoria also never took notice of your feelings on the matter.

As you got older, being cast out and almost ignored by your family caused you to develop Anxiety and stayed in the house for most of your teen years.

You only really left when forced to go to Max’s races as he started progressing his way through the FIA feeder series to get to F1.

“Dad I really don’t want to be here today” you sighed rubbing your shoulder as you kept your headphones half on half off.

“It’s good for you to support your brother, especially as he’s becoming an accomplished young man. I can’t say the same for you” he frowns watching as Max passes you guys on track.

That race shortly ended. You saw Max getting a little heated just after the podium, and you ran over to your older brother to try calm him down.

If there was one thing you were good at it was calming his bad temper down. Not that you ever got the recognition.

“Max, Maxie what’s going on?” You ask running up to him, and seeing the guilty looking boy next to him.

“Next time maybe fucking look” Max seethes at the boy.

“Max calm down. What happened” you ask taking a hold of his arm, but he swats your hand off.

“He nearly made me loose that race from his careless driving” he points at the boy before storming of to your father, no doubt to have him critique the hell out of his race.

“I’m so sorry about him” you admit to the boy bashfully. He was still stood there looking rather awkward.

“It’s fine, he was right. You’re his sister right?” he sighs.

“Yeah- how’d you know?” You ask.

“You always seem to be here with Max and your dad. I don’t think he’d talk to you the way he does if you weren’t his family. I’m Charles by the way” the boy says and that was the start of something really beautiful.

You started dating Charles just as he was announced for F2 in 2016. But when that got into the media, of course it was because of Max that you’d managed to get into a relationship with a future F1 driver.

You thought finally having some independence from your brother would mean you could put a foot out in this world.

But once you left home to move in with Charles, it only seemed like as he progressed to Formula One in 2018, your further achievements were still not your own.

“Max, I’m leaving” you’d told you brother. You’d already had this conversation with your father who had refused at the idea at first, thinking it preposterous of you to leave.

“What do you mean?” He’d asked cocking his head to the side.

“I’m going to live with Charles, I think it’s going to be better for me” you said, looking down, and playing with your fingers.

“What do you mean, better for you” he asks with a frown on his face. Despite what the fans, or media stated Max loved you with his whole heart, and it was a huge heart he loved you with, he however was ignorant to your feelings on independence. But that was also partly your fault for hiding it so well.

“I just want to go do something for me, you know where it’s my name tied to it and I think somewhere new away from everything here is exactly what I need” you explained.

“Your name?” He asks with even more of a frown.

“None of my achievements are my own, or are acknowledged because I’m the sister of Max Verstappen but maybe I just want to be Y/N for a little bit? I want people to notice me for me, and what I’ve done in life. Not just because my last name is Verstappen” you smiled and hoped that day your new life with Charles would be different.

It wasn’t, If anything … it was worse.

You got into University to study engineering, but that was only because you were dating F1 driver Charles Leclerc otherwise you would have gotten into University the minute you turned 18 in 2017. Rather than delaying it till 2019 once Charles had a secure seat in Ferrari.

And when you became an advocate for APM Monaco, it was only because Charles was asked first.

Or once you got a job within McLaren in 2019 it was only because you had a brother driving for RedBull and a boyfriend driving for Ferrari. Not because of your ambition and hard work in your first year of University.

And when Charles proposed to you, you were quick to say yes.

You were ready to get rid of the dreadful Verstappen name, and Y/N Leclerc had a nice ring to it, and maybe once you just became Charles fiancé you’d have some independence.

But that fantasy was of course short lived.

“Charles baby?” You asked coming home from a day at university. You’d come home because a lecturer had failed to turn up so you thought you’d surprise your boyfriend with his favourite meal and some flowers.

You heard some movement in the bedroom making you go up and see a sight that broke your heart.

Your boyfriend of 4 years, fiancé for 1 year in bed with another woman. You couldn’t bare the sight.

“Y/N my love. I - what” he gasps as you’d entered the bedroom.

“H-how long?” You’d asked, it was your first question. We’re you not good enough?

“Ma Cherie, please forgive me I’m so so sorry” he begs getting on his knees and the other girl takes her leave.

And the worst thing of all, you were so hopelessly in love with him, that you nearly did forgive him with that look.

“Nothing I’ve ever done in my life, has ever been because of me. I’ve never got the credit for anything, so this one time… I’m taking the credit for breaking up with you. And you are going to tell everyone how you broke my heart … because I will not have you take this from me” you’d said to him with tears in your eyes, a sense of deja vu from you conversation three years prior with Max.

You broke up with him on the spot not wishing to ever see him again.

After some time of self reflecting and improvement you and Lando, who had joined McLaren at the same time as you and became your close friend decided it was time to be more than friends.

Lando had always kind of held a school boy crush on you since you both started in 2019, but he knew you were untouchable thanks to both your brother and your boyfriend at the time. Being the same age made you guys really close.

Once you’d broken up with Charles, he could see the change in you, there wasn’t that sparkle in your eyes, you always looked pretty vacant when he looked at you when you thought nobody was looking.

He’d watch the way your eyes lit up with fake happiness when someone approached you to talk.

You and Lando started dating at the end of the 2022 season. However when he said he wanted to keep it under wraps for a while you were so excited. It meant you had Landos love and affection but you were free to be you right?

WRONG

Whatever you’d did you were still seen as Max Verstappen’s Sister and the Ex Girlfriend of Charles Leclerc.

However as you and Lando grew as a couple you noticed he was one of the only to acknowledge your achievements even if the fans didn’t.

When you graduated from your masters in 2023 he was there with a bunch of flowers and watched as you walked across the stage being the loudest person cheering you on, well the only person really cheering you on. Your parents and brother didn’t manage to come.

When you started running a charity on the side to help creatures in the ocean stop ingesting so much plastic being thrown into the ocean. He was there at the press conference where you’d announced your invention and how it would help clear up the oceans.

All of the little side quests he did with you, he made sure to promote them as yours as yours alone and he was only tagging alone to watch and support.

Of course there were still haters, thought you were only a product of your birth name and who you’d dated and that’s why you’d been given all these opportunity’s and that you hadn’t worked hard for anything in your life.

Which was beyond false.

“Lando?” You asked one day, you both lying in bed after a stressful race weekend.

“Yes baby?” He asks looking away from his phone and his eyes fully trained on you showing he was paying full attention to you.

“I - I really love you and appreciate you, I just wanted to let you know” you say looking over at him, and he moves back in shock a little, trying not to show it.

“W-what? Where has this come from. I know you love me silly” he laughs looking over you to try determine if there was anything else going on.

“I know I know, I just - my whole life whatever I’ve done was never mine … not until I met you. And I just want you to know that I appreciate the fact that you see … well me” you breathe and as ge listens he looks like he could cry from the things you are saying to him.

He knew your relationship with your brother was strained at best, he saw that from the very start. And he knew you and Charles didn’t exactly end on a happy note but he didn’t realise just how much you’d been not only discredited for but out right stolen off.

“Baby - why did you never tell me” he asks pulling you into him and hugging you while toying with your hair gently.

“I guess I never felt like I had a voice until I met you, because nothing was my own. But I have that with you!” You smile tears brimming your own eyes with how much you love this man in front of you.

“Marry me” he whispers not looking at you, and you think you didn’t hear him correctly.

“What?”

“Marry me. I never want you to feel like that ever again, and I love you more than anything on this planet. I want to show you just how much of a voice you have for the rest of our lives” he offers and you can’t help but just stare at his eyes.

“Yes - Yes” you cry and cling to him like a koala.

You’d finally found your voice and your purpose and that was in Lando Norris.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[kisseobie]

240711 jongseob ❤︎ ིུ͠*:·.

pairings: jongseob x reader

warnings: nsfw (mdni)

tags: dom!seob, sub!reader, jongseob is cocky, reader is going insane over his compression shirt and baggy jeans (i am reader), nipple play, blowjob, face fucking, hair pulling, no prep, unprotected sex lol wrap it before you tap it guys, reader is nasty and grinds against his shoes, pussy slapping, rough sex, touchy in a taxi (kind of?) in the first bit, light body worship, reader is an actual whore for her boyfriend .. i think that’s it

a/n: yeah so i had to start writing this as soon as the pictures dropped sorry (i’m not) and a special dt to @lijeons because we both feel insane over him rn

“you listening?” are the only words that leave your boyfriend’s lips that you can successfully say you’ve comprehended in the painfully slow 10 minutes you’ve occupied this drive with him, and yet you are still too dazed to answer with a proper reply, merely nodding along to the question. sitting in this close proximity with jongseob, and nearly falling onto his lap at times due to the taxi driver’s reckless driving, is not an occurrence that you’d ever expect to dread, but today is different. today, jongseob decided to wordlessly proclaim “i hate my girlfriend!”, you suppose, and he might as well lower the backseat windows, stick his head out, and bellow that very phrase out to the streets, because he clearly is unaware of how embarrassingly wet you’ve been rendered in the mere minutes you’ve been in his presence.

you’re being ridiculous, the reason for your sudden dramatics being jongseob’s outfit, if you could even consider it as one rather than a feature from a slutty mens fashion magazine from the 90’s. your boyfriend, although fashionable, isn’t typically the type to pair his usual baggy pants with the tightest compression shirt you’ve ever seen, but once again, apparently today had to be different. you’re choosing to blame it on the boy spending too much time shopping with intak, making a mental note to send an unfriendly text to his hyung later. your boyfriend, bless his heart, is clueless to your internal panic, and is currently flicking through recent photos he took on his digicam whilst explaining his thought process behind each shot to you. you’re trying, you really are, to focus and bask in his excitement, but how can you be expected to pay attention when each click on his camera causes his boyish arms to shift ever so slightly, especially when the shape of his upper body is accentuated with the tight white longsleeve top that adorns his frame? are you just supposed to go on with your day and pretend that his newly found love for thin compression shirts doesn’t send heat flooding to your core?

“..and this one! i took this one in thailand because the colors reminded me of the dress you wore on our date last month.” jongseob relays to you with a toothy grin, looking at you expectedly for your reaction to his cute confession. you smile at him genuinely, temporarily tossing your arousal to the back of your mind and leaning over to place a peck on his cheek, which only makes his smile grow. “i missed you a lot seob.”

“yeah?” he asks, with an annoyingly cocky smirk already making its way on his lips.

“mhm”

he doesn’t waste any more time, grabbing at your waist to pull you into a long overdue kiss, ignoring the fact that you both are in the company of a very annoyed taxi man. you kiss back with just as much, if not more, fervor, pawing at his recently dyed two-toned shag. your hands drop to stroke and knead at his toned arms, freshly manicured nails slowly descending and scratching down jongseob’s clothed chest. he shifts his kisses to the nape of your neck, biting at your skin and pulling you in impossibly closer. you both are interrupted and awkwardly squirm away from each other as the driver’s grunt of frustration reaches your ears, and you look up to lock eyes with the man, glaring at the pair of you from the rearview mirror. you’re giggle nervously, but halt your amusement at the situation when realizing that the impromptu makeout session with your boyfriend has only made your panties even stickier than before, and you curse yourself for being so easily affected by a few of his kisses.

unbeknownst to you, your boyfriend is not as oblivious to your current fixation on his attire as you may think. jongseob resists the urge to coo out loud at how you pivot your thighs against each other to feel some friction, and at how your eyes shamelessly find purchase on his upper body every few minutes. he shimmies closer to you after a while of silence, laying his head atop your shoulder as you try to ignore how good he smells when he’s so up close, how the mixed scent of rich cologne, wood, tangerines, and boyhood makes you dizzier by the second.

he’s lifting his head now, so his lips hover dangerously close to your left ear, smiling knowingly and whispering “i take it you like my outfit?”, and jongseob doesn’t even give you a moment to react, retreating back to his side of the backseat, but not before shooting you a shit-eating grin that makes you want to sock him, albeit lovingly, in the face.

𓂃ᡴꪫ ⋆ ੈ ࣪   𓏲ּ ❤︎

the familiar rigidness of jongseob’s wooden floors poke and prod at your jelly knees, and you can already feel the soreness starting to seep into the muscle. regardless, you’d never dare to get up, not when your boyfriend has his pretty, leaking cock out, with his pants bunched up at his feet. he clicks his tongue as you wrap a manicured palm against the heavy girth, silently signaling to you to “get on with it”. you can’t even blame him for smirking and at your pathetic quickness to lap your pink tongue against his tip, not when you look like a stray cat being fed milk for the first time in weeks.

you’re maneuvering your tongue to lick long, tantalizing stripes against the prominent vein running along his length, hand still wrapped around the base that you know you won’t be able to reach with your mouth. his hisses and groans only push you further, taking his cock all the way down your mouth and suctioning your lips just how you know jongseob likes it. apparently your slow speed is not your boyfriend’s forte, evident in the way he forcefully grabs at your hair and pushes you inwards to take even more of his dick in your mouth. tears are already streaming down your face, but you love when he uses you like this, love the feeling of being suffocated by him so carelessly. you make the mistake of looking up to jongseob’s face, met with the view of the boy who’s brows are furrowed in ecstasy. he peers down at you, maintaining eye contact as he pushes your mouth off of him, giving you a brief chance to breathe.

jongseob looks heavenly, bangs dampened with his own sweat, body still clad in the white compression shirt that clings to every ripple and divot on his lean body. you can’t take your eyes off of him, almost like a moth drifting towards a flickering porch light. you beam up your boyfriend with the prettiest smile you can muster, batting your eyelashes while your fingers creep back up to find home on his thighs. he’s giggling at your sly actions in disbelief, but does nothing to stop you from licking at his fat cockhead once more. “you’re having lots of fun with this, aren’t you?” comes out of jongseob’s mouth, followed by a shaky sigh. when you don’t respond, he’s babbling again. “wan’ you to answer me y/n. couldn’t even get inside my apartment, fuck, without you jumping my bones. bet that cunt is dripping all over my floor.”

to prove his theory, jongseob lifts his shoe to push upwards against your cloth panties, your decision on wearing a mini dress today making the access easier. jongseob groans out loud when he spots the giant wet patch soaking through your underwear. despite your boyfriend examining your clothed cunt with a scoff, you aren’t embarrassed in the slightest, and can already feel yourself getting delirious from pleasure despite remaining untouched. you love when he gets like this, so cocky and dominant that it makes your cunt clench on air, weeping for some stimulation. jongseob is about to pull his shoe away from your core, but you beat him to doing so by shamelessly rocking your panty-clad cunny back and forth over the hard material. you’ve rendered the boy absolutely speechless, gyrating your hips against his shoe like a whore as your juices seep through your panties and on top of the leather material. your eyes are on his the entire time, finding amusement in his disbelief of your desperateness. you make sure to increase in volume with every rock of your hips, letting out pornographic moans as you fuck yourself on your boyfriend’s shoes.

“get up.”

it takes everything in you to not ignore his command, putting a brief pause on your pleasure as you hold onto his thighs for leverage, pushing your wobbly body up with some effort. jongseob doesn’t give you a moment to collect yourself before grabbing at your face for the nth time tonight, kissing you with teeth and tongue before pushing you onto his bedsheets behind you. he doesn’t say a word to you as he begins to lift your dress up and over your head, his silence somehow making the situation hotter. your tits are on full display, nipples hardening as they hit the cool air of jongseob’s ac unit. your boyfriend scoffs, once again, at your lack of a bra but remains silent, taking his time with kneading your boobs and kissing at the surrounding skin. he can sense your impatience, and ever the sweet boyfriend, begins to lift the hem of his own top, but is stopped by your shaky hands as you plead, “nononono, keep it on please.”

he complies to your pathetic request with a snort, refocusing to fully pull off his dirtied shoes, pants, and boxers, now only left in that damn compression shirt, accompanied with a dangly silver chain around his neck. jongseob smiles at your wandering eyes, catching you off guard by hooking his hands under your knees and pulling you towards the edge of the bed. you begin to anticipate the feeling of his slender fingers discarding your sodden panties, but it never comes. instead, jongseob circles your covered clit with his thumb, clearly enjoying teasing you. fat tears start to cascade down your cheeks once more, and you can’t stop yourself from whimpering out in both ecstasy and frustration. you know you would look ridiculous to an outsider, but right now it’s just you and jongseob, so you don’t feel embarrassed in the slightest. your begs come out rushed and wanton, the words scratching the depths of your throat.

“please seobie, touch me already! stop teasing!”

he smirks at your impatience, getting off at your very obvious desperation as he slows the pace of his thumb prodding at your puffy clit, the thin material of your underwear still clinging to your cunt.

“i am touching you.”

just as you begin to sob, jongseob wraps his delicate fingers around the straps of your panties, pulling them down in one swift motion. he leans his face in to nudge the tip of his nose against your button, inhaling deeply as to memorize your scent. you were relieved to finally be bare in front of him, but the lack of touch has you squirming against his sheets in annoyance. you know you’re acting ungrateful, with jongseob treating you so delicately, but you can’t help but want more.

a sudden smack! pulls you out of your head, the combined pain and pleasure of your boyfriend spanking your bare cunt causing you to gasp at the sudden change of demeanor. he hits your cunny again, laughing at the way you subtly push your hips forward to meet the power of his slaps. he repeats the motion a few more times, until your wetness leaves a glimmering sheen on his palm, and your pussy is an angry shade of red.

he gives you another brief moment to breathe, watching how your cunt rises and falls like a second heartbeat. he’s fisting his neglected cock to the sight of you, hair splayed out messily on his sheets, flushed cheeks with tear steaks running across them, nipples hard and vulnerable to his touch. without warning, which seems to be a running theme with jongseob tonight, he begins to slide his mushroom cockhead between your folds, hissings and cursing at the wet feeling.

“you ready?”

you nod, biting down on your bottom lip as you prop your weight onto your elbows, mentally preparing yourself for the stretch of jongseob’s cock. he leans down from where he stands to place a peck on each of your pink cheeks, drinking in your salty tears before capturing your lips into a deep kiss. when your boyfriend pulls back, he rests your smooth legs on top of his shoulders, placing a soft kiss on your left ankle, and the intimacy of it all has you falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

after what feels like eons, jongseob starts to push his girth into your tight hole, letting out a hushed “fuck” in the process. god you missed the feeling of him filling you up to the brim, missed how perfectly the pair of you fit together, creating your own sinful symphony of sloshes and grunts. once you’ve taken him in all the way, he tests the waters by thrusting slowly, making you both moan out at the familiar feeling that will never quite dull despite the countless of times you’ve felt it before. you’re staring at your boyfriend, who’s currently preoccupied with pounding into you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, the view making you throw your head back with a whine. your greedy pussy wraps around him so well, obscenely suctioning his cock every time the boy pulls outwards.

you watch how jongseob’s shirt continues to flex and cling onto his muscles with every motion, can feel the sweat peeking through the material as your legs stay glued to his damp shoulders. he’s breathing heavily now, little whines and whimpers giving away how much he’s missed having you like this; splayed out like a princess on his bed as he works you towards your climax. one particular thrust of his hips hits home so well that you’re seeing stars, fingers fisting his silk sheets as your cunny clenches down on him. jongseob notices the shift, and hits that particular spot over and over, quickening his pace with every thrust of his hips.

“mmm yeah, right there! right there!” comes out of your mouth so loud you’re almost afraid his neighbors will write a complaint. he only speeds up at your loud request, fucking into your gummy walls so heavenly, whispering praises and “i got you” ’s into the air. at a certain point, he’s leaned so close to your body that he lies right on top of you, the weight of his clothed chest meeting your bare one, making both of you dizzy. your perky tits press up against the smooth material of his shirt, creating a type of friction that has you toppling over, cumming around his cock with a loud cry.

jongseob isn’t holding up any better, thrusts becoming messy and irregular as your orgasm spurs him on to chase his own, and with a few more shifts of his hips he’s shooting his release into your walls, filling you up to the brim with his milky seed. he lazily strokes into you one, two, three more times before pulling out. the loss of contact, paired with the feeling of his cum leaking out of your hole, makes you whine in displeasure, already missing how nice he feels inside of you. jongseob carefully flips his body over to lay next to you, panting heavily as you extend an arm out to play with his hair.

𓂃ᡴꪫ ⋆ ੈ ࣪   𓏲ּ ❤︎

the scent of him suffocates you senses in the most heavenly way, and you tuck your face deeper into his now bare chest, shirt tossed aside somewhere on his floors. you inhale the notes of tangerine coming from the boy that you’ve become so accustomed to. sleepy and dazed, you almost miss jongseob’s husky “who knew that me wearing a tight shirt would lead to the best sex of my life?”

you make a noise of discontent and lightly shove him by the shoulder, rolling your eyes at his teasing and he just giggles like it’s the funniest thing in the world. jongseob pulls you back into him despite your whines, wrapping his arms around your naked frame and placing light pecks into your hair.

“i bought it in 3 different colors, by the way.”

you groan into his chest, causing your boyfriend to laugh out loud at your cuteness. you choose to let sleep take over instead of imagining your very hot boyfriend wear another one of those damn compression shirts in whatever fucking shades he bought them in, telling yourself that you’ll rip him a new one in the morning. or jump his bones. whichever comes first.

𓂃ᡴꪫ ⋆ ੈ ࣪   𓏲ּ ❤︎

new chat

you

[12:58 pm] hey! consider killing yourself. 😊

intak 😒

[1:03pm] ??? tf i do?? ☹️

— you disliked a message

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @vivienne-sim @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @sundancearchives @chuuswifereal @seisyiss @fishsquishh @sunnyyangie @asianpenguin04

© kisseobie, please do not repost my writing!

❤︎ ིུ͠*:·.

[hxzbinwrites]

Vox x Emotionless! Reader | Ignorant In Love

(Lovestruck Part 2)

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Violence, Vox being annoying

————

4:30am

Vox woke up, yelping as he sprung out of bed. Not a great decision for his sore back as his clawed hand immediately went to brace it. Groaning, his eyes fluttered, attempting to recall what got him in such a tizzy waking up

Right. Another dream.

Vox had been, haunted, by that humiliating event last week. Even more so that he finally realize how incredibly enamored he was with her.

His screen flushing red at this realization of his current situation, Vox decided to rise out of bed. What good was sulking going to do?

Since that day, (Y/n) hadn’t smiled once more at him. Oh how he craves it. Vox acts like he doesn’t care, but he’s aching for another fix. Another high of seeing that smile. He would do anything and everything just to experience that euphoria one last time, just one drop of it.

Getting dressed for the day, Vox was looking at his bow tie collection, seeking out one of his favorite ties before realizing it had been ruined from the coffee.

Frustrated, he grabbed a random one from the pile, not really thinking too much about it as he put it on.

He stomped out of his quarters, his heels dramatically clacking against the floor as he made his way to his office. It was far too early in the morning for anyone to be active, too late for Val to be doing work (at least IN the office, and not at the club), so the quite walk gave his ever-running mind more time to think

What the hell has gotten into him?! He’s a VEE, THE VEE. If anything, this is woman should be loosing sleep and foaming over him!

‘That’s what I like most though’, He thought to himself,’She’s real. She doesn’t tell me just what I want to hear, or cause problems for me, she’s just…her, and she simply does it best.’

His internal conflicts were brought to an end once he finally sat down in his chair. Cracking his sore, aching joints, before booting up his monitor system.

————

8:30am

(Y/n)‘s heels clacked against the tiled floors, making her way to her desk. Her desk was one of those circular desks that curved around the middle and touched both sides of the wall. There was a small door on the side that she could enter from, but it blended in seamlessly with the black desk, so it would be hard for someone who didn’t work here on a daily to find.

Once she entered her cubicle-like desk, she logged onto her monitor, clocking in. 8:30am sharp, as always. She began to work on her boss’s meetings, but her eye caught a certain one for today “errand.”

This caught her eye, as Vox always made her run errands during work hours. Mostly for coffee, but she’s ran to the convenience store in the lobby for strange things as well.

“Hmm” she mumbled, before printing off the schedule regardless and putting it in her folder for later at 10.

That was her routine, print off the original schedule for the day, present it to him at 10, and if edits are needed, she’d come back and re-arrange some things, and repeat the process until it was to his liking.

(Y/n)‘s hardest part of the job was the PR portion of it. Normally, it’s for the PR team, but they got sick of the Vees tantrums and the entire department up and quit. Now, (Y/n) handles Vox’s PR, Velvette’s assistant handles hers, and Vox handles Valentino’s himself.

Speaking of PR, she was in for a doozy today. Last Friday, when the coffee incident took place, apparently Vox said some…choice words…to the Radio Demon, and Alastor relayed that information back to his listeners on his radio show.

Sighing, (Y/n) began typing a public rebuttal, going for the “deny and victim blame” strategy, as Velvette called it.

‘Why does Vox have to act so…stupid’ (Y/n) thought, her stoic face staying steady as her fingers flew across the keyboard,’For someone so smart, he sure acts dumb. Maybe he should just be a model for Velvette instead, he’s sure got the looks for it, but he doesn’t have the social skills for a public viewpoint like this-‘

“(Y/N). MY OFFICE. IMMEDIATELY.” Vox yelled.

Her eyes flicker up from her monitor, which was now adorned with two clawed hands gripping the top of it. Vox was leaning over it, his tall, slender frame allowing his screened face to intrude (Y/n)’s personal space, but it’s not like that hasn’t been done the before the weekend.

Locking eyes, he saw the flick of emotion run through her, he almost for a moment let his anger go, almost. He could hear her mumbling those things about him. About how “stupid” he was, his “dumb actions….how “he’s got the looks”….never mind that last part.

“Sir..?” She said, her face immediately turning back cold. Ah, there it goes again, fleeting like time itself.

“Don’t sir me,” Vox said, shoving the monitor who knows where. He crawled on the desk towards (Y/n), before grabbing her chin, pulling her towards him. The force from his arm made it where she was on her feet, but she was now hovering over her chair. Vox cocked his head at her, narrowing his eyes and he whispered towards her.

“I heard you mumbling about me over there. Insubordination will not be…tolerated, at this company. If you want to keep this job, and your soul, I suggest you meet me in my office.”

He let go of her chin, before sliding back off of her desk, and walking towards his office. Vox’s hands were clasped behind his back, as he glanced over his shoulder one last time to look if she was following him.

(Y/n) got up and started walking behind him, her face not giving away any emotion.

‘DAMN IT.’ He thought, his mood growing worse,’That whole little stunt was just to get a rise out of her. To get something!’

————

10:00am

Once they arrived in his office, the door slammed shut behind them. Vox’s electrical bolt from his fingertip locked the door, as he walked towards his chair, took a seat, and swiveled it around to see an unamused (Y/n) awaiting his words.

“So, (Y/n)” He started, his claws tapping against one another, “Would you like to repeat, word for word, what you were mumbling about me, or should I repeat it for you?”

“Okay, I asked myself why you acted so stupid. Your actions are ignorant and your social skills need heavy improvement.” (Y/n) said,”also, for your schedule today you have a meeting at-“

“No no no sugar.” Vox said, smirking as he crossed his legs,”Tell me everything you said.”

“I did” She lied, standing her ground.

“Ah, so Im not good enough to be a model anymore? That’s a shame, I would’ve loved to give you a show, but alas.” He sneered, trying to desperately to get a reaction out of her, but failing miserably.

“Ah, a shame indeed.” She said, deadpanned,”Now, todays schedule consists of one meeting with Valentino at 7:30pm and during your 3:30 slot all it says is ‘Errand’? Sir, I’m confused about that portion, don’t I normally run your errands..?”

Vox gritted his teeth, his hand now clenching the sides of his chair. This was getting ridiculous, no emotions out of this one. God, he should just pour an entire mountain of coffee on himself, muck up his PC and everything just to see her smile.

“I was originally planning to get my clothes back from the dry cleaners myself, but I see that as punishment enough for today. Do it and get out of my office.”

“A-Alright sir.” (Y/n) said. They locked eyes, and Vox immediately regretted pushing so far for a reaction. Her eyes showed hurt in them.

Vox couldn’t bring himself to say anything, his face contorted with many emotions. One side of him was over the moon, he made her show something! The other side was in immense regret, he didn’t want to hurt her, that was by far from the plan.

Once she left the office, he started throwing monitors again in frustration.

————

10:30am

(Y/n) didn’t even return to her desk, instead opting for a little stroll down to the convenience store down in the lobby. She picked up a drink and a candy bar to take back to her desk as a little pick me up

Well, she attempted to go back to her desk, she ended up just going to a secluded corner in the building, only adorned by a lonely bench, a plant, and a security camera in the hallway.

(Y/n) sat there on the bench, sighing from stress and she took a chunk of her candy bar.

Sitting there, she replayed the interaction in her mind once more. The way he was so, powerful, it made her cheeks dust pink, with equal parts admiration and humiliation as she smiled to herself, lowering her head. She softly chuckled before taking her wrapper of her snack and going to seek out a trash can.

Little did she know that Vox was watching her every move on his monitor, stalking every security camera that tipped off her motion. He was nearly short circuiting at her little smile. Vox noticed how her shoulders bounced as she chucked slightly. He really wished he could just call her into his office, but it was already time for her to pick up his dry cleaning. Sighing to himself, he adjusted his bow tie.

Out of his entire collection, he just had to pick the most irritating one out of all of them. It was entirely too tight and the material was so unpleasant.

Sighing, he just untied it and threw it on his desk, reveling a small sliver of his skin beneath it.

————

3:45pm

“I’m here to pick up Vox’s clothes.” (Y/n) said, making the worker scramble to go retrieve the Overlord’s clothes.

“H-Here you go ma’am! Do you mind checking to see if everything is in there? We don’t want to forget any article of our valuable costumer’s clothing!”

“Sure” She replied with her signature neutral expression, opening up the box of neatly folded clothes to see his entire wardrobe from that day, except something was missing…a key part of his ensemble.

“Ah, where is his bow tie?”

“Oh, did he not tell you? We had to return it to him, the fabric of it was too thin, it would’ve burnt up in the dryer.”

“Oh, well thank you.” (Y/n) said,”everything looks like it’s in order.”

“Have a good day!” The worker said, earning a nod from (Y/n) as she walked out of the dry cleaners.

‘He wore that bow tie often’ (Y/n) thought to herself,’ Maybe since I pissed him off earlier today, I can get him another to make it up to him.’

She strolled by the clothing district before entering the tailors shop, browsing the different selection of items for a while before the clerk cleared his throat.

“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?”

“Ah yes, I’m looking for a bow tie with a certain fabric to it. It’s rather thin, I need a replacement.”

“You? A replacement?” The man chuckled, looking over at her,”I think I know which one you’re talking about, but I dare say I don’t think you’re in the tax bracket to be purchasing that.”

“I’ll purchase what I please.” (Y/n) retorted, her dead eyes looking into the man’s cocky ones

“Oh really? And who is this for?”

“Vox.”

The man started howling in laughter,”YOU?! FOR THE TECH OVERLORD?? OH PLEASE I-“

(Y/n) briskly walked over and slammed the man’s head down on the table.

“Yes. I suggest you make it quick due to your little interruption.”

“And why should I?”

(Y/n) gripped him by the hair, making his eyes meet hers,”Vox is my boyfriend, and so help me I’ll let him tear you limb from limb just because I said pretty please, now fucking do it.”

“Y-Yes ma’am.” He said, as she let go of his hair, he scrambled to the back room to give her a lavish tie. Instead of the navy blue one he had previously, it was near black with bright blue strips adorning the sides of the fabric where it curved in on itself.

“Hmm, this will do.” (Y/n) said, snatching the box before walking away.

“W-Wait, aren’t you going to pay?”

“Pay? You should be dead where you stand for messing with me today. This is your pay.”

And with that, she walked out of the store, leaving the man shocked.

————

8:00pm

Walking into Vox’s office, (Y/n) looked around to see Vox nowhere in sight.

“Ah right,” (Y/n) muttered to herself, despite the fact that very action got her in a tight situation with her boss earlier that day,”Meeting with Valentino. I’ll just set his stuff down here.”

(Y/n) looked around once more, before setting his clothes neatly on the desk. Patting it down to remove it of any lint that couldn’t accrued on the bag, before setting the nicely wrapped gift atop of it, adorning it with a letter signed to him.

————

9:00pm

Vox groggily walked back into his office, after his “productive” meeting with Valentino on his public image. Not a word went to that moth’s head. One ear and out the freaking other.

He closed his eyes, plopping down unceremoniously into his chair, not even bothering for the brooding dramatics this time.

Rubbing his eyes, he really contemplated calling it quits early tonight. But alas, Vox never does, that’s the mantra of a workaholic.

His digital eyes fluttering open once more, he gazed upon the clothes neatly laid there for him. Smiling he looked at it before his smile turned into confusion. Why was there a box? Wrapped with a ribbon…?

He slowly and gently grabbed onto the small box, unwrapping it like an inpatient child on Christmas morning, only to reveal a new bow tie, the one he ached for the entire day.

This one was nicer though, how she scrounged up some money to “buy it”, he didn’t know, but he was eternally grateful.

His eye caught the letter that was now sitting beside where the box was, it fell off when Vox took the box. He held the envelope and slit the seal with his claw like a letter opener.

“Dear Vox,

I sincerely apologize for this morning. I was out of line. I just don’t really know how to process everything. I feel like you’d understand being mechanical and all, but I don’t know how to process emotion.

Normally, I feel nothing towards anyone, but there’s something weird going on. This strangely warm feeling in my chest and my face, I feel clammy around you, and you specifically.

Feel free to ignore this, but here’s my number. Contact me if you are willing to help my predicament. Enjoy the gift regardless, you deserve it. Also, stop coming to work at 5 in the morning. You’re not sneaky, I see when you’ve clocked in on your schedule.

-(Y/n) (L/n)”

Vox was beaming, a pure genuine smile. He might be a lovestruck fool, but she’s ignorantly in love.

————

Word Count: 2,540

(Part 3?)

TAGLIST

@burningfishkidlamp

@koji-akeme

@callmechito

@neito327

@chocolat3pudding

@yellowsubiesdance

[pellucid-constellations]

All Over Again

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're drunk. Your mate is trying to get you home. Only problem is—you're really, really drunk.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Drinking, absolutely zero attempt to establish a pov on my part

a/n: A cute little drabble because if it all fell is making me a tiny bit sad and I love this trope <3

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

The world spun around you as you let out a delighted laugh, faerie wine pulsing in your veins. This was bliss, and—admittedly—the most fun you’d had in months. The workload you’d been dealt this last year was one for the books. 

��Exactly how many drinks did you have?” Feyre asked you, red and green rays lighting up her face in time with the beat inside Rita’s. 

“So many,” you yelled back, flinging your arms around her shoulders. “So many and I’m going to have more!” 

The High Lady chuckled and swayed with you as you dragged her around the dancefloor. 

This was good for you, your friends had decided, a girl’s night where you could let go of all your responsibilities and inhibitions and then sleep for a solid two days afterward. Feyre and Mor had agreed to stay relatively sober to watch over you, but Mor was just as intoxicated as you were at this point.

“Mor!” you screamed, the shout directed fully into Feyre’s ear. She flinched, but you just continued. “Mor, come here! We can all dance together!” 

The blonde was pulled into the circle of fae, but very little “dancing” took place. You were far past the level of functional inebriation. 

“We should get Azriel,” Feyre shouted over your head, trying to catch the attention of her very distracted friend. 

But Mor just laughed and asked, “Who the hell is that?” as she left the pair to join a woman in a dazzling purple dress at the bar. 

Feyre bit back a sigh, still feeling patient with the small amount of alcohol running through her. “We should go home, yeah?” she attempted, catching your clutch as it tumbled out of your hands. 

You responded with a loud, “Woo!” and Feyre knew she needed to call in reinforcements. A quick outstretch of her mind and the request was sent. 

“This is so much fun!” Your smile was infectious, Feyre replicating it unconsciously as she watched you jump around. “I love you!” you screamed at her—again, directly into her ear. 

It was a few short minutes before Azriel’s presence was felt inside the overcrowded pleasure hall. Small streams of black shadows had begun to slink around your shoulders and arms with you none the wiser to their arrival. Feyre smirked when you jumped at a hand on your back. 

“Hello, my love,” Azriel said, voice low as he bent over to relay the words. “Having fun?” 

Your responding screech had panic flashing across the spymaster’s face, the man simply watching as you threw yourself against Feyre’s chest. He sent a tentative hand out in your direction, but you only pressed further into your friend. 

“Y/n—” Azriel began. 

“I’m married,” you seethed. “I have a mate,” you doubled down. 

Azriel blinked. 

He looked around him, checking behind his tightly coiled wings and past the broad expanse of his shoulders. 

When no other fae appeared to be lurking near his mate, Azriel returned his attention to the pair in front of him, his hazel eyes meeting your piercing (but rather hazy) glare. 

“Y/n, I am… well aware that you have a mate,” he replied, shaking his head to match his slow words. 

You scoffed, sending Feyre a glance as if to say, “Can you believe this guy?” 

“Well, then you should be well aware—” A shaky, misguided finger pointed close to where Azriel was standing “—that I am not interested in you. Got that?” 

A smile paired with furrowed brows conveyed the vast array of Azriel’s current feelings. He watched as you sent him another scathing glare and turned back to your High Lady, noticing the uneven way you stood and the handful of your belongings being managed by your friend. 

“She’s had a lot to drink,” Feyre emphasized. “I’ve been trying to get her to go home but she won’t budge. I thought you’d be able to persuade her. She’s been talking about you nonstop.” 

You were maneuvered into a quieter hallway as Feyre recounted your adventures of the night, making sure to catalog each drink she saw you consume. Azriel fought back a grimace as he pictured you in the morning. You had the worst hangovers. 

“Y/n,” Feyre began, offering you an encouraging smile as you blearily blinked at her words. “Azriel’s here. Do you want to see him? He said he’d bring you home with him.” 

This time, you gasped, face betraying you as it heated with embarrassment. “You called Azriel here?” 

“Mhm, and he said he’s terribly exhausted and needs you to come home for the night.” 

You gaped. “He wants me to come home with him?” 

Standing at your back, Azriel felt his expression pucker in confusion. Hadn’t you just chastised him for flirting with you, a married woman? A married woman who was married to him? 

Feyre seemed to agree with that sentiment as she nodded and said, “Of course he does. He always wants you with him.” 

Your eyes grew wide, hands reaching out to grip Feyre’s shoulders in a serious motion. “Did you tell him?” you panicked. “Fey, you promised you wouldn’t tell him. It could ruin everything.” 

Azriel was suddenly catapulted back about 20 years to when you were too nervous to tell him you were in love with him and Azriel was too much of an idiot to tell you that you were his mate. But that time had passed, thankfully, long ago. The two of you were now very much in love, both mated and married shortly after the inner circle had meddled in your affairs. 

Looking past his disorientation, Azriel caught your wide, pleading gaze directed at Feye. 

“Y/n?” he asked, craning his neck to catch your eyes. When you slowly turned in mortification, a soft kind of adoration pulled at his chest. “Hey,” he smiled. “I’m going to take you home, alright?” 

“O-Okay,” you blushed, taking his outstretched hand in your own. “To my apartment?” 

“No, I thought we’d go to mine. That alright?” he asked, voice gravelly and low and echoing off the long hallway inside Rita’s. 

It didn't matter that you were actually going to his house. The one the two of you shared. 

Instinctually, Azriel grabbed your hand, twinning his fingers with yours and pulling you closer. You, however, so drunk that you were unsure of your current whereabouts or today's date, let out a shaky breath at the intimacy. Azriel felt your fingers tremble between his own. 

“Is this okay?” he found himself asking. 

You nodded jerkily, and Azriel relished in the feeling of falling in love with you all over again. It was an immensely better experience than you pushing him away and accusing him of preying on married women. 

His married woman, but that was beside the point. 

A few steps in silence. You shivered with the rush of cool air outside the pleasure hall. Azriel shifted his wings out, enveloping you in their warmth. 

“Um,” you began, fiddling with his fingers as they rested beside yours. “It’s really nice of you to walk me home.” 

His heart was going to burst. Seeing you, his mate, so shy and reserved and hopelessly enamored by him in such a public way was endlessly endearing. 

“Of course. I would never let you walk home alone,” he replied evenly. And then, to spice things up, he added, “I told you I would always protect you. I meant that.” 

“You said th—” 

You whipped your head to the side as you spoke, losing your balance with the alcohol coursing through you. Your feet fumbled over each other and Azriel caught your hip to deter you from making a full-on beeline for the ground. After he was sure you were not going to plummet to your death, he tucked your hair back from your face. 

“You are my mate,” he said, so assuredly. It was a truth ingrained within him. “I will always walk you home.” 

Your eyes went wide, fingers wrapped tightly around his arms as he held you. You held eye contact with your mate, a feat in and of itself with the state of your head, and he watched as your tongue came out to wet your lips. 

And then, just because he could—because you were his and because you probably wouldn’t remember this in the morning—he whispered, “I love you.” 

The sharp intake of breath that followed his words was apparently too much for your alcohol-addled brain. You let out a small squeak, blinked at him several times, and then, you fainted. Directly into your mate's arms. 

Azriel carried you home (the one you two shared, to clarify yet again), silently laughing to himself, feeling quite smug at the outcome that night. 20 years and he still felt the same. 20 years and he was still in disbelief that he got to walk you home. 

[thedensworld]

Sweet Macaroons | C.Sc

Pairing: Gangster!Seungcheol x Baker!Reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Words Count: ±600

Summary: Seungcheol was far from pleased when a food critic posted a negative review that started to impact your sales. He couldn't stand to see you upset.

In the midst of a picturesque five months, Seungcheol, with an air of exclusivity, tenderly asked you to be his girlfriend. Everything seemed to move in slow motion around you, as if the universe itself was savoring the moment. His crew, astounded, couldn't fathom that a humble bakery owner just down the block from their bar had captured their boss's heart. He had transformed into something they never imagined: a unabashedly cheesy boy. Even Jeonghan, Seungcheol's right-hand man, remained baffled by the depth of his friend's infatuation with you. He couldn't quite grasp what had caused Seungcheol to fall so hard until he witnessed how Seungcheol would gladly stop the world at your command.

As an example of Seungcheol's devotion, he had gone as far as hiring a bodyguard to watch over you and ensure your safety. Seungcheol, ever mysterious about his business, would simply say, "I do business in Seoul and Busan," which, in its own way, was true. He owned nearly a hundred bars and nightclubs, not to mention his own association—a realm of details you didn't need to delve into.

Your bodyguard, Jun, who currently disguised as a barista in your bakery, would dutifully relay every detail to Seungcheol. This included mundane activities like your trips to the grocery store, visits from friends at the bakery, or even encounters with rude customers. Despite being in the know about your daily affairs through Jun, Seungcheol cherished hearing you recount your day, especially when it involved a customer that cussed on you. He'd teasingly inquire, "Should I track him down and make him pay?" A promise he would have swiftly fulfilled if you had not said, "No, you don't have to. I'll give him a piece mind when I'm a billionaire."

At times, Seungcheol really wants to say, "Marry me, and you can cuss him back in an instant." He was acutely aware of the influence he held.

However, he received an extremely irritating message from Jun, stating that a popular food critic had left a scathing review on their social media, claiming to have found a fly and cockroach legs in your sweets. This review had a detrimental impact on your sales and the overall image of the bakery, as people began leaving unpleasant comments on your social media platforms.

"Jeonghan, do you know this person?" Seungcheol inquired, displaying a video of the food critic.

Jeonghan confirmed, "Yeah, they're a very influential food critic."

Seungcheol nodded thoughtfully and hummed, "Do you know how to contact them?" he pressed further.

"I think we just need to get in touch with their management. They'll provide you with the pricing for their content," Jeonghan explained, prompting another question from Seungcheol.

"Then we can have them review our food however we want?" Jeonghan nodded, "Why? Are you thinking about having them promote our new foodbar?" he inquired.

Seungcheol shook his head, simultaneously signaling to Jeonghan that he wanted to be dropped off at your bakery.

Jun had informed Seungcheol that you had closed the bakery early today due to the lack of customers following the internet sensation. When Seungcheol arrived, only Jun was present in the bakery. He mentioned that you had gone to the convenience store for a few minutes. As Seungcheol patiently waited at one of the tables, you returned with a plastic bag in hand. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't immediately notice him. Instead, you went straight to Jun, telling him he could go home. Jun subtly gestured towards Seungcheol, indicating that he was waiting for you.

"Hi..." Your voice, though soft as always, carries a subtle shade of sadness. Seungcheol swears he can hear it, a touch of blue in your tone.

He smiles, approaching you and subtly signaling for Jun to leave the shop.

"Are you okay? I saw it online," Seungcheol asks gently once Jun has vanished from view.

You smile back at him, but tears well up in your eyes, trickling down your cheeks. You turn away, hiding your face from him as you wipe away the tears. Seungcheol's heart aches at the sight, a feeling he's never experienced before, like someone's squeezing his heart, causing a deep ache.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, turning you to face him and pulling you into an embrace. He can feel the tightness in his chest intensify when he hears you sob.

This is the first time he's seen you cry in the five months you've been dating. He swears he'd never want to be the cause of your tears, let alone someone else.

"It's okay, baby. Bad things happen sometimes. It's not your fault," he reassures you as you try to explain how diligently you maintain your bakery's hygiene and ensure the freshness of ingredients. There's no way the accusations the food critic made could be true.

Seungcheol noticed the contents of the plastic bag you had been holding earlier: cleaning soap and equipment. His heart breaks once again, this time tinged with anger.

"Let's go home and rest, okay? I'll hire someone to clean the shop. I don't want to see you laboring with a heavy heart like this," he insists.

Seungcheol calls Jeonghan and swiftly arranges for his people to clean your shop. He drives you home, ensuring you have a proper dinner before settling down for some much-needed rest. Once you're peacefully asleep, he quietly slips away, reaching out to Jun and Jeonghan.

"Get them for me before midnight. Alive," he instructs.

Seungcheol doesn't concern himself with the specifics of how they carried out his request. But when his people successfully bring them to his office, he finally confronts the face that caused his girl to cry.

"What's your name?" Seungcheol asks, rising from his seat and approaching them.

"Who put you up to this?" Seungcheol presents their damning post about your bakery to their face. Poor soul, Seungcheol thinks. This food critic probably never imagined they'd be dragged in by a gangster and subjected to an interrogation like this.

Once Seungcheol acquires the name, he signals his people to reveal the extent of their capabilities. Images of their family and significant other are displayed, and they immediately plead for an apology, expressing regret for their actions.

"You should've thought about that before you posted that garbage," Seungcheol states, fixing them with a steely gaze.

"Upload a clarification video about your previous review. Go to that bakery tomorrow and apologize to the owner. Post both of those things before lunch if you want to spare them," Seungcheol directs, referring to the individuals in the photos as he delivers his unwavering ultimatum.

*

"It was a very wrong act of me to accept the offer to give a bad review to another bakery. I deeply apologize to the owner and my followers for doing such a wrong thing."

Seungcheol smiled at you as you showed him the video from the same account that had claimed they found a cockroach leg on your macaroon.

"See! I knew that my bakery and kitchen have passed the hygiene standards," you said, placing your phone down. There was a visible pout on your face, prompting Seungcheol to let out a chuckle.

"You're too cute," Seungcheol teased, pinching your cheek. He was relieved to see no trace of tears like the previous night.

You gently pulled his hand from your cheek as you stood up to restock the macaroon stall, which was nearly empty. Seungcheol couldn't help but smile as he watched you, his girl, his love, engrossed in the work you adored.

"Before you go, want a macaroon and your favorite latte?" you offered. He swore he would nod to anything you said.

"Here! I've packed some for your staff as well," you added, handing him boxes filled with sweets and a bundle of coffees for Seungcheol and Jeonghan.

He wouldn't let anyone steal your smile, even if he had to stop the world.

[miguelhugger2099]

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who often liked the classics he grew up with—the ones his mom played every weekend.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who liked the singers, men and women alike, who now were as old—if not, older—as his mom so he never got around to be going to concerts.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel that never kept up with recent celebrity drama or news. Oh, some current singer just won 6 Grammys? Good for her. Oh, this rapper held the top spot on the charts for weeks? Nice.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who lives under a rock. But his brother doesn’t.

Fanboy!Gabriel who’s always been into music as his hobby. Ranging from in the States to Overseas. Old and new alike.

Fanboy!Gabriel who BEGS Miguel to take him to this concert of this girl group that came around.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who’d rather die than drive and park around Nueva York for ONLY three hours.

Fanboy!Gabriel who makes a compromise that Miguel could come too! Even walk around Nueva York for some food.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who can’t say no to his baby brother.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who is absolutely exhausted after walking around the arena, Gabriel greeting and handing out freebies to other fans like him.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who ends up at a coffee shop where Gabriel shoo’d him away to. Telling him to grab two cold drinks while he waits in line.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who groans internally when he sees the line. Someone behind him groaning outwardly.

He turns his head to see some woman—you—, hat on top of your head and hoodie draped around you. Pieces of your hair fall on the side of your cheeks that frame your face. A mask covering the lower half of your face and you’re in sweats. Your eyes meet his.

For a moment you look panicked but you stay still.

Miguel looks back at the register, some old man being extra specific with his drink and food order. He then glances down at you again.

“Hopefully the next ones won’t be as stingy with what they want.” He comments. He notices the eye bags under your eyes.

He can tells you smiles by the ways your eyes creased. “Yeah. Hopefully.”

By the time it was his turn, he looks over his shoulder. “What did you want?”

You’re taken aback. “Oh, uh—“

“I’ll pay for it.” Miguel figures you’ve had a long day and felt that he could help.

He flusters you, your hands bringing down your mask to relay your order to the nice cashier girl. Miguel glances down your lips subconsciously, noticing the gloss over them.

It’s only for a few seconds and you pull it over your face again as quickly as possible. Miguel looks around the place. You were acting strange—was someone following you? Were you okay?

He waits beside you at the side of the counter and he bends down at your level. “Are you okay?”

You let out a gasp of surprise, jumping a bit back but smile and laugh nervously. “Ah, fine. Thanks for asking.”

“You sure? Is someone stalking you?”

You look at his eyes, scanning his face for something he’s not quite sure you’ll find. Miguel visibly sees you relax.

“No, no. I’m just on a tight schedule, is all.” You laugh more real this time.

Miguel stands up again. “I know the feeling.” The corner of his lips turn up.

His drinks gets called out first and he takes them both in his hands, taking a sip from one of them.

“You ordered…two?” You ask. Miguel nods.

“For my brother. We’re here for some concert thing he wanted to go to.” He shrugs. You hold your giggle back.

“I take it you’re not interested?” You ask with amusement. Miguel snorts.

“Hardly.” He takes another sip from his cup. “Hopefully I never have to walk around Nueva York again just for some girl group.”

You shrug. “Hopefully.” You agree with him, a smile heard just by your tone.

The conversation is cut short once your drink is called. Miguel finding the way you hum in delight to be amusing. You thank him for the drink, offering once more to pay for it back but he refuses.

Miguel doesn’t notice your manager approaching you, fussing over you and ushering you back into your van.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who enters the arena with his brother. Gabriel had done every hack possible to make sure he got seats close enough.

Not a Fanboy!Miguel who sits with his arms crossed, yawning and leaning his head back to sleep.

But he couldn’t do that when Gabriel shakes him awake. It’s starting!

The giant screens zoom in on each of the members faces and Miguel nearly falls out of his seat when you show up last.

He notices your eyebags are gone. Completely disappeared with makeup. Glittering eyes with a cute puppy eyeliner and false eyelashes. Your hair in a style that stays still even while dancing. The same glossy lips that sing angelically.

Fanboy!Miguel who grips his seat, feelings his heart flutter when you wink at the camera, blowing kisses to the fans in his general direction.